Alpha Damon (Sienna) novel Chapter 182

Giovanni:

The door creaked open, the scent of ash and leather wafting into the grand marble foyer like a warning. I stepped inside, boots echoing with cold authority across the polished floor. Silence wrapped around the place like a shroud.

Everything seemed calm, far too delicate in a way that I did not like, in a way that I did not understand nor comprehend.

Something was wrong.

Not the kind of wrong that came with betrayal or blood, but the kind that came with softness. Weakness. I could smell it. Feel it in the stillness. The air no longer trembled beneath my presence the way it should. Everything around seemed to be far too calm for my liking.

My jaw clenched as I strode forward, past the portrait-lined corridor, my fingers brushing the edge of the mahogany frame of Marissa’s hidden photo behind the canvas, Delilah’s mother. Even in death, she lingered in the shadows of this house. A mistake I should have corrected years ago.

The woman that I was in love with, and though I tried my best to try and avoid the feelings that I had for her, I couldn’t. She had managed to sit in my heart, refusing to leave it, reminding me of the one piece of humanity that I had, a piece that I had lost, long discarded. Because she chose to leave. She chose him.

I paused at the scent that drifted from the east wing.

Lysandra.

No. This wasn’t her. Not the version of her I had forged. Not the Luna with fire in her voice and venom in her gaze. This was the scent of sickness. Of decay. Something that I knew I was going to get rid of eventually. It was only a matter of time.

I followed it, nostrils flaring with each step, until I heard her voice. No longer sharp or arrogant. But quiet. Too quiet. Broken. And another voice, Delilah.

Low. Soft. Comforting. “You need to try and get something inside of your system. Nothing’s going to hurt you. I am not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to allow anyone to do so.”

Her voice was so gentle that her crying baby would have calmed down. Bile filled my throat and I wanted nothing more than to vomit.

“Who the hell do you think you are to try and contain something like this? I gave you an opportunity to attend to her, not to baby her as if she was some kind of child. You have things to take care of.”

I crossed the room in three strides, my hand shooting out to grab her wrist. Her eyes flashed, and she yanked away.

“She was vomiting. She was starving. She was terrified,” Delilah snapped. “So unless you’d prefer she die in her own filth, I suggest you back off. Because trust me when I say I’m not going to back off. She is now my responsibility. She is staying in my room and whether or not she like it, I do not care.”

“You’re not here to play nursemaid,” I snarled. “You’re here to destroy the Lockwoods. Not waste your time wiping vomit and coddling a failure. I do not care what you think of her right now, you are going to follow my commands.”

Lysandra flinched at the word. Delilah turned to me slowly, like something old and dangerous had stirred beneath her skin. “She’s not a failure,” she said, voice razor sharp. “You made her this way. And I’m not here to follow commands, I’m here to get revenge. And I’m going to get this on my own terms. It seems to me that all your plans have failed. I’m going to do this my way on my terms when I am ready.”