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“You’re going to drive me into the city. You’re getting me out of here.” Callum shakes his head. “No.” “Wrong answer. The one you want to say to me starts with a Y, rhymes with mess. Try again.”
“I’m going to gift your worthless head to my bride, mortal.” I don’t know who it is that’s speaking, but I like them. They’ve got the right energy for dealing with Callum the almost-killer.
“Is this not gift enough? Who among the living do you seek vengeance on? Tell me and I will tear their limbs from their bodies. I will offer their hearts to you on a silver platter for your enjoyment. Their screams will be your wedding song. Who will it be that I claim in your name?” Everyone. I want them dead. All of them.
“What is it? What’s the one thing you care for?” “You,” Wrath replies, “you are the only thing I care for, darling wife. The rest of the world can burn,” he declares. I nearly lose my battle not to lick his fingers.
