Wrath A Novel Victoria Christopher Murray Novels & Stories

Chapter 19: The Weight of Forbidden Roads Victoria reached Castle Valros at gallop, black stallion lathered and heaving beneath her. She vaulted from the saddle before the beast had fully stopped, boots striking marble with a crack that echoed through the courtyard. Blood still streaked her cheeks like war paint; her obsidian armor was dented, cracked along the left pauldron where a demonkin axe had bitten deep. She didn’t slow. She stormed through the great doors, crimson cloak whipping behind her like spilled wine.

Wax and fire scattered across the marble. “Answer me!” he roared. “I’ve prayed to you. I’ve honored you. I’ve done everything expected of me. And for what? So you could take away the one person who made this cursed existence bearable?” His chest heaved. Tears he refused to acknowledge burned in his eyes. The rage felt good—better than grief, better than the crushing weight of loss. It was fuel. It was for a purpose. It was the only thing keeping him from collapsing entirely.

Viktor said. Ruin remained quiet. The soldier struck him again, but this time the impact landed against his ribs. I struggled against the ropes binding my wrists. “Stop it,” I shouted, but no one listened. Viktor stepped closer to Ruin. “You can end this quickly.” Ruin finally spoke. “How?” “By acknowledging the authority of the Bratva leadership.” Ruin shook his head slightly. “That will not happen.” The soldier raised the baton again, and another blow struck Ruin’s side.

Freya’s pov I thrashed in his grip, but it was like trying to fight a mountain. The golden-eyed man barely reacted, his fingers tightening slightly around my wrist, a silent reminder that my strength was nothing compared to his. He was tall—too tall—and his presence was suffocating. The moment his strong hand touched my skin, a shiver of horror ran down my spine “Let go of me!” I hissed, twisting in his grasp as my feet scraped against the cold stone floor of the dimly lit auction house

Treat her right now and maybe she'll take care of you when you're old. I frowned. "Everything Della 'achieved' was because I paid for it. And the cash you blew from Patrick? Marital property. I'm reclaiming it. Better start saving." The crowd finally caught on. Whispers turned to jeers—calling Cathy shameless. A side chick bold enough to taunt the wife, then expect her to babysit the side chick's kid. People spat, cursed, full-on hurled insults at her. She snapped, face red. "Erza Everard, what are you even proud of? Your precious sons worshipped Della! You treat us like this, they'll all turn against you! They don't even claim you anymore. Serves you right!"

Still, he touched the boy as though the world wasn't collapsing around them. As though violence did not exist. As if love alone could change destiny. Wrath snarled. He hated gentleness. He hated softness. He hated. He stepped closer before he realized he was moving. Flames burst high around him, crackling in the air. "What mortal dares summon me?" Wrath thundered out, shaking earth with his voice. Jophiel looked up. Their eyes met. It was then that something inside of Wrath burst. A chain he never knew existed snapped clean through.

Shame flickered across his face, but his stance remained firm. I gritted my teeth and pulled back the bowstring once more. I didn't care about the child in her womb. Call me heartless, call me cruel—revenge was the only thing I had left. Then Griffith shouted, "The newly mined ironstone from Avalora Pack!" I stilled.

My wounds leg, arm, side were agony, but the mark’s fire was torture, a pull toward the shadow, the void, the Architect, toward a truth that would end us. Lyra clutched her shard, her face bloodless, her body shaking but her grip unyielding, her existence, my existence, a curse we couldn’t outrun. Killian knelt beside us, his hands empty, his bruises black, his silence a scream, the sacrifice’s visions shattering him. Mara stood, her knife dropped, her eyes burning, catching the cliffs’ dissolution, her strength crumbling as the world unraveled.

Nothing came out. Wrath leaned down, breath hot against my ear. “You’re not here by accident. You belong to us now.” Lust spit once. It hit right between my cheeks. He dragged a rough finger through it, slicking it over my hole, pressing in without hesitation. I cried out, body arching, muscles seizing. It hurt. It burned. “Keep still,” Wrath growled. “You wanted this.” Another finger shoved in beside the first, stretching me. No mercy. My legs kicked, but his hand on my back didn’t move.

Blood marked the stone floor, but it wasn’t hers. A flick of her wrist and the sigils along her arm ignited. She twisted mid-air, flame coiling from her palm— And struck. Thorne howled as fire licked across his shoulder, searing flesh and fur. He staggered back, eyes wide. “Witch!” “No,” Lyra hissed. “Queen.” And with a final blow, she sent him crashing into the stone wall. The ring fell into stunned silence. Then came the growls of approval. A few cheers. Not many—but enough.