Wicked Enemy (Ruthless Enemy Book 2) by Marion Blackwood

Author:Marion Blackwood [Blackwood, Marion]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Dagger Publishing
Published: 2023-09-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

The mass of oil lamps on the wires above painted the whole street in shifting colors of every hue. Music spilled out from the red door on my left, and the mouthwatering scent of fried street food hung in the air. It mixed with south Malgrave’s signature scent of rich perfume, alcohol, and blood. This side of the river was messy and violent and wickedly depraved, and yet it called to my soul in a way the north side never had.

I felt free here. Free to dance, free to drink, and free to fuck whoever and however I wanted. As if I could shed all of the stifling rules of propriety and instead just… be me. Just live.

And I hated myself for that. I hated the way the south side called to my soul. I hated the way I craved the freedom it provided.

This dark mage-infested part of the city was the reason why my father was dead, and I was betraying his memory by secretly enjoying it. What an awful daughter, awful person, I was. How could I possibly feel at home here among the very people who had killed him? It was sick.

Guilt seared through my chest like a hot knife. And suddenly, the colorful lights and the pulsing music and the cacophony of scents felt like a thick blanket that was pressing in on all sides, smothering me. I couldn’t breathe. It was too much.

Taking a sharp left, I darted into an alley between two buildings. My heart was slamming against my ribs. I needed air. I needed to get out of this oppressive pit full of memories and longings and feelings. And I needed it right now.

I whipped my head from side to side as I reached the next cross street. There was a low one-story building on one side, so I picked up speed and sprinted towards it. Right before I reached it, I jumped up onto a wooden box full of half-dead flowers, and pushed off.

Wind rushed over my face and tugged at my hair as I flew upwards. My fingers curled around the edge of the roof as I reached it, and I used my grip on it to hoist myself up. After rolling to my feet, I jogged over the roof and approached the next building. The roof was higher on that one, but since I was already standing on this one, I could reach it without too much effort.

Relief crashed over me as I straightened on top of the highest roof. Now, all the colors and music and scents were below me. Just a simmering surface of activity far below instead of a boiling pot around me.

Tilting my head back, I stared up at the dark star-dusted sky above and drew in a deep breath. My heart rate began to slow again.

Cool night winds blew across the rooftops, swirling through my hair and clothes, but I welcomed the slight chill. It helped ground me in the present again.

My father was dead.

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