Curse of the Fae (PA #3)

Chapter Seven

Alexander (Greed)

Today is a great fucking day.

Michael's dead.

My parents left the realm after only a few hours of pretending to care about all of their children.

I stole from fifteen students under the guise of teaching them life skills.

Kian ate Galileo's hands.

All I need is Gwen to get her head out of her ass and Willow to stop making me feel things. Then it'll be the perfect day.

When Wrath never showed up to the arena for the death match, I knew shit was going down. I abandoned my seat with the perfect view—close enough to see the blood splatter but far enough to not get sprayed by it—in favor of tracking my missing siblings and the object of their obsession.

They're in Ari's room. After Rome escorts Kian out, Willow returns her attention to a stoic Galileo.

"Are you s-sure you don't w-want to see a healer?"

In an effort to calm her emotions, Willow's words stutter between lingering sobs.

I don't like the tears streaking her skin.

Galileo's not worth crying over.

Fuck, I can give him something to cry about. 

"I'm fine, baby," he assures her. "They'll grow back by tomorrow. As soon as you wake up in the morning, I'll be good as new."

Willow stares at the stumps of his wrists. Her disbelief is evident, but she squares her shoulders and nods to herself.

"Okay, sure. Everything is f-fine. Do you n-need anything to drink? Or eat? Or maybe u-use the bathroom? I can help you in there."

Is she offering to wipe his ass?

Galileo's reached an all-time low.

Best. Fucking. Day. Ever.

"Does Galileo need to use the big boy potty?" I tease.

Galileo narrows his eyes. "I'm not in the mood for your childish attempts at humor, Alejandro."

I'm childish? The man continues to pretend he doesn't know my Devil-damned name.

If he's not immature then he's a dumbass.

"My sincerest apologies." I raise my hands before lowering them with a frown. "Oops, didn't mean to be insensitive."

"You're a dick," he spits.

I shrug. "So I'm told."

"Alexander."

It's a single word.

Just my first name, really.

But its utterance by a woman with way too much power over me holds significant weight.

I can't meet her gaze for long. She's all fire and heat—the good parts I miss about my childhood home and none of the bad.

I don't say anything, but that in itself is a surrender.

I don't talk back.

I always talk back.

But not when she's indirectly ordering me to shut my mouth.

And fuck if that doesn't make me hard.

"Do you need a trip to the bathroom, brother?" Ari jokes, half-smiling as he looks between my crotch and my face.