“You didn’t kill me,” she finally goes on, speaking in a gentle tone, “because you thought I’d had an affair. You killed me because you were looking for a reason all along. I’d remembered what you told me about that woman, Marina. Of course, I didn’t know the story the way you told it here tonight—you kept things from me because of what you are—but still, you told me more than what you were supposed to.”
“Yes, I did,” I speak up. “There were many things I did and said that I should not have.”
Artemis’s hand slides down my chest and away from me.
“Yeah,” she says, agreeing with deep regret, “and because of that, because you loved me, and stepped in a hole so deep you couldn’t see over it, you knew the only way to pull yourself out was to end my life. You knew that if you didn’t kill me, that The Order would kill you. But most of all, Victor, more than anything”—she points her finger at me—“more than anything, you needed to kill me for yourself. Not because you worried about what Brant Morrison would think of you, or report about you; not because your life was hanging in the balance by The Order—you killed me because you needed to, because you hated what your love for me did to you.” My ears ring and my head snaps sideways as her full palm smacks against the side of my face; the skin burns like fire, but I resist the urge the reach up and touch it.
Artemis glares coldly, unforgivingly. She leans forward and says, “And just so we’re clear, I never had an affair. The baby I told you I aborted was yours, Victor.” She pulls away.
“I know,” I say, at first under my breath. Then I raise my eyes, and my voice. “I did not believe it then, because I had had a vasectomy, but—”
“You didn’t want to believe it,” she cuts in sharply.
I shake my head. “No. I did not want to believe it.”
I feel her fingers digging into the flesh of my jawline; her warm, sweet breath on my lips. “Thinking that it wasn’t possible I’d been carrying your child,” she goes on, squeezing, “making yourself believe that I’d cheated on you, it all made it easier to do what you would’ve done anyway.” I see her eyes sweep over my mouth. And then she touches her lips to mine. “You would’ve killed me that night no matter the situation—even if I was still carrying your child.” She squeezes harder, nearly breaking the skin with her fingernails, and then she releases me abruptly, pushing my head backward.
“Say it, Victor,” she demands. “You would’ve killed me even if I was still carrying your child.”
For the first time since I had forced myself not to, I look right at Izabel; my face full of regret and apology and shame. “Yes,” I answer Artemis without looking away from Izabel. “I still would have killed you.”
Tears seep from the corners of Izabel’s eyes. A suffocating silence blankets the room like a stifling heat.
THIRTEEN
It can’t be true…
It can’t.
I feel like I’ve woken from some strange dream, like one of those dreams that seem normal in the beginning, but halfway through, things begin to defy all sense of sanity and logic. Now I’m sitting here on this chair, awake, feeling out of touch and out of time, wondering what the hell just happened, as an uncomfortable feeling sweeps over me, and I never want to dream that dream again.
Was I right all along? Was I right to be afraid of Victor, to wonder if he could ever kill me if the situation were dire enough? Had Niklas been right in saying, ‘How long will he allow you to compromise him? Victor is experiencing his one moment of entitled weakness right now, just like I did with Claire. Just like Gustavsson did with Seraphina. And look at what love did to Flynn, right in front of your eyes. It’s my brother’s turn now, like a rite of passage, but how long will it last?’ Had Nora been right? ‘Anyone can be in love, Izabel, and I can tell by the look in that man’s eyes that he is in love with you. But a man like Victor Faust can’t stay in love forever. Like Fredrik’s type can’t live without love, Victor’s type can’t live with it. And the more that it gets in the way of his duties, and the more human you make him become, the closer you push him to his breaking point. He’s just like me. And one way or another, he’ll instinctively do whatever it takes to restore the balance to the only life he’s ever known.’
I feel like now I have my answers.
And I know…(a sob rattles inside my chest)…I know that not only will I die today, but also by whose hands.
Raising my head again, I look only at Victor; the tears streaming down my face are itching, and I wish I could move my hand to wipe them away.
“I still love you, Victor,” I tell him, not caring that Apollo has a knife against my throat; he doesn’t cover my mouth with his hand this time. “No matter what you’ve done, or what you will do, I’ll always love you.” The words are as true as they ever were, but this time they taste strange and final in my mouth.
But I need Victor to understand that I understand him. I need Victor to know that I’m more like him than he realizes, and that I’ve almost always been…
“Sarai, baby,” my mother whispered to me; her body odor, mixed with strong perfume and cigarettes, choked me as she laid next to me on the soiled bed. “You forgive me, don’t you? I never meant for any of this to happen. I just…wasn’t thinking straight.” I saw the whites of her eyes briefly in the darkness as the heroin began to swim through her bloodstream. She smiled euphorically as if she’d touched the Face of God. I set the needle down on the tray at the foot of the bed.
“It’s OK, Mom,” I whispered back, and loosened the tourniquet from her wiry arm. “I forgive you…”
Victor looks at me, but he doesn’t respond. Not verbally, anyway. His eyes tell a different story. Unfortunately, I have no idea what it is.
Artemis’s laughter rings in my ears.
“After all this,” she says to me from inside the cell, “you still have love for this…barbarian?”
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation.
She shakes her head. “Such a dumb, love-struck girl.”
“You loved him,” I counter. “You knew he killed Marina, and you knew, in a roundabout way, why, yet you still loved him.” I round my chin, defying the cold blade pressed to my throat. “And you still love him now. He slit your throat and left you for dead, and he admitted that he still would’ve killed you if you were carrying his baby, yet you’re still in love with him—dumb and love-struck doesn’t even begin to explain you.”
Artemis scowls, and Apollo wrenches my head backward vigorously in reaction to it.
She steps away from Victor and approaches the cage exit; the guards shuffle backward carefully to make way for her. I watch Victor in my peripheral vision, and see him start to follow, but he stops when Apollo’s hand makes a threatening movement against me.
Artemis exits the cage without incident, and stands in the opened doorway. She motions a hand toward us. “Bring her now,” she orders, and I’m violently extracted from the chair and brought to my feet; all the way to the cell, Apollo’s knife blade is kissing my jugular. Artemis moves out of the way of the door, and then I’m kissing the stone floor when Apollo shoves me through the opening.
Victor’s hands are behind me before I can even raise my head, and he’s lifting me into his arms. “I am so sorry, love,” he says, and presses his lips to the top of my head; his arms encircle me.