CAGED (#3, of Crows and Thorns)

Chapter 16

The Horned God continued smoothly. "I admired her grace. Her sense of worth and her how grounded she was." He brought his gaze back to mine, his amber eyes now a shade darker, like a knuckle-length of whiskey. "As progressive as the Houses are, our world is steeped in tradition, and she was barely tolerated by the other Houses, but that didn't bother Tabitha, nor Varen, or even your aunt." Sirro glanced away and stared through the window, framed by swathes of antique silk and brocade, at the high-rises jutting below the height of his penthouse, with their concrete roofs and industrial air-conditioning units. His gaze went distant with fond memory, and a smile that seemed full of pride ghosted his lips. "Instead, she rose to the challenge. She didn't just assume the role of your father's wife, with everything that came with being Matriarch to a House. She fitted it perfectly, and she didn't let her humble beginnings hold her back. She used them to her advantage. So easily did she charm your entire household, when you'd think those closest to Varen would rail against his new fiancée, warn him against marrying her. Yet she won them over, well almost everyone." A soft smile played on his mouth, rounding his cheeks. "She certainly won me over."

It shouldn't have surprised me. But it did.

Sirro shifted his position in his armchair, the leather hissing with his movement as he straightened his spine, turning back to look at me. Though his eyes sparkled with delight, there was also a glimmer of cunning. "Tabitha rose from a lesser family without rank to the oldest House in history. Imagine, a servant marrying the Head of a Lower House. Practically unheard of. But you Crowthers...you don't much care for formality and tradition. Perhaps that's why your family line endured while others fell to the wayside. That and your ruthlessness and familial loyalty."

His gaze left mine to shift back to my brother. Pink tinged my brother's cheeks and his golden tan had almost returned. His eyes still had a glassy high, his pupils dilated with the effect of the painkiller, but fuck he looked a hundred times better.

Sirro cocked his head, his line of sight skimming the gap of skin between Jett's jeans and t-shirt. The ragged edges of wounded skin were knitting back together again. "But this, Jett Crowther...is it you? Or is there something else running in your mother's bloodline?"

Sirro reached over and tapped the bolt hidden beneath the rolls of scarlet cloth. "This would kill a Horned God. Not straight away, but we would eventually succumb to it. And its curse would outright kill one of you within the hour." His mouth curved into a sly smile that had an icy shiver scuttling down my spine. "But, seemingly not a Crowther."

Shit, shit, shit—

Before pure panic could wrap its teeth around me, Sirro gestured to the wound. "Has anyone else seen this? Have you spoken to any of the other Houses about it?"

Jett blinked, his features slack, and turned toward me, as did Sirro, both of them waiting for my answer.

I shook my head, black locks of hair sliding along my forehead with the jerky movement.