Araneae’s stare blistered through me as white wine continued to drip from the tile, pooling on the granite as crystal debris littered the counter and floor.

Fuck it.

Lorna could deal with it in the morning.

Araneae wanted to know what is wrong with me.

That was her question. My tongue was almost bitten in half as I forced myself to leave that question unanswered. In reality, there was a shit-ton of things wrong with me—right now the ...