Requiem of the Soul (The Society Trilogy #1) - Natasha Knight Page 0,5
away from me. His illness won’t be the easy way out. While he lays in that hospital bed, shriveling up and withering to nothing, I will destroy everything he ever loved. And if he should wake again, it will be to a horror even worse than death.
Fate has decided for me. Time is a luxury I no longer have, so I must act now. That certainty is vibrating through my bones and rattling the rusted cage around my heart. Every last Moreno will pay in blood and misery so acute, they will know suffering more intimately than I ever could.
The passage door at the side of the chapel crashes open, jarring me from my thoughts as my entire body reacts with a violent shudder. How fucking difficult is it to indulge my one simple request of complete silence in my own home?
The new maid spills into the room, unaware of my presence as she switches on the light. The brightness stings my eyes, and I watch her in disbelief as she begins to dust the pews, humming as she works. She hasn’t noticed me yet because she’s wearing earbuds, and her senses are duller than a mouse heading straight for a trap.
Slowly, I rise to my full height and pivot my head to look at her. She catches the movement from the corner of her eye and glances up at me. In a fraction of a second, her face morphs to horror as she witnesses me without the benefit of dim lighting. The duster she was using clatters to the floor, and she brings a trembling hand to her mouth, but not before a scream erupts from her throat.
Every fiber in my body knits together as I pierce her with an unrelenting gaze. I should be used to the revulsion by now. Yet on the rare occasion someone glimpses me in the light, I am reminded who I am. The monster lurking in the shadows. The scarred remains of the only De La Rosa male to crawl from the ashes of our destruction. This is what I have been reduced to. And this is why those responsible will pay in blood.
“What did I tell you about the lights?” I roar.
The maid shrinks into herself, bursting into a fit of hysterical tears as she shakes her head, scuttling away like I might devour her soul at any moment. In her hasty retreat, she manages to switch off the light and seal me back into the room, as if that would stop me should I decide to give chase. But she is not the prey my soul hungers for, and I doubt after tonight, I will ever see her again.
I watch the sales assistant in the full-length mirror as she wheels out a selection of dresses as requested. Her eyes are cast toward the floor, and she never looks at me once. At least she is capable of following directions. Or perhaps she is just terrified of me, as most women are.
The luxury clothing store squatting in the shopping district on Canal Street is owned by IVI, so it isn’t a problem to wake someone in the middle of the night to meet me here. That’s the power of the De La Rosa name. As a Sovereign Son, nobody challenges my whims. And if they are smart, they follow my demands without question.
This mousy little assistant has done so to my exact specifications. The shop is dimly lit, with only a few flickering candles casting a soft glow over the expensive fabrics hanging from the racks. There is no background noise, not even the gentle whirr of a fan. Silence and darkness. They are my two constant requirements in life.
“I’ll return with a few more in just a moment, Mr. De La Rosa.”
She exits to the back room with brisk footsteps, leaving me to study my reflection in the mirror. It isn’t often I indulge in such an act, considering I had all but two of the shiny surfaces removed from my home. The grotesque sight of the face staring back at me is almost unrecognizable. Although improved from the surgeries, and somewhat hidden beneath the permanent half Calavera mask tattooed on my face, the reflection still feels like a stranger to me. A face more suited to Dia de Los Muertos, with shading around the eyes and jaw, creating a lifelike representation of a skull. One foot in the grave, some might say.