He stared at me, his dark eyes liquid, his pulse fluttering under my palm. And I hated him more because he felt so helpless in my hands, because he didn’t fight back, because his long frail form simply relaxed against the wall, yielded to my will. “I deserve all your hate,” he said quietly. “Hate me with all the strength and passion of that beautiful fierce heart of yours. Crush me and break me if you must, in retribution for everything I have done, all the bodies I’ve broken, the blood I’ve spilled. Break my neck, Amarylla. End it, if that will bring you peace. You’ve wanted to kill me since
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