Vow of Hell by Clara Elroy
Ariadne
The mutters coming from the doorway woke me up. My emotions were muffled under a blanket that crushed my skull, a pain like someone was drilling my brain made my eyes heavy, and I couldn’t open them to see who it was. The familiar tones spoke to me, and I relaxed on the mattress, rebuilding my strength little by little.
Irena raised her voice. “Why should we allow him to come? He’s the one that drove her away.”
“He’s her husband. We can’t keep him away,” Mama reasoned.
“Yeah well, she can divorce him.”
A dry cough came from who I instantly knew was Grandma Chloe. “You don’t just divorce someone because of a small argument.”
“Did she even want him in the first place?” Irena seethed. “I remember we were out riding and she was telling me about how she’d broken up with Harry, then you came, and a few days later she’s engaged to Astor and the news of a merger is everywhere.”
It wasn’t rocket science to figure out. I shouldn’t be surprised by Irena’s knowing tone. She even knew I was a virgin, so the theory of me being pregnant out of wedlock didn’t hold.
“Irena, you’re too young—”
“I’m young, not stupid. I know, and the only reason why I haven’t pushed it is because I saw that he was treating her well.” Guilt clogged her tone, and I opened my mouth to tell her not to worry, but nothing came out. “Now she’s burning up, and there are bruises on her neck. I’m appalled you’re not more concerned.”
“She’s right.” The mattress dipped, and a cool cloth was spread over my forehead, providing some relief from the sweat that dripped down my temples. “How did I do this to my daughter? Darian is going to kill us both if he finds out.”
“And then kill Saint too,” Irena added, glee prominent in her tone.
Worry had me straining to speak again, and this time I managed to make some strangled sounds that had them all rushing to me. It was like someone was jamming a hammer on my forehead repeatedly, and even opening my eyes was a struggle. Three worried faces stared down at me. Mama, Irena, and Grandma Chloe. At least I wasn’t as far lost as I thought and could still recognize their voices.
“No one is killing anyone,” I croaked.
They all sighed, and grandma moved to the foot of my bed as Irena settled on my other side, bringing her hand to hair, and patting the mess of curls back. I gave her a slow blink as a thank you, I hated when hair stuck on my temples.
“It’s okay, Aria, you’re okay. We’ll gun him down if he touches you again,” she whispered.
“You’re a murderous little creature.” A laugh burst out of me, and I ended up wheezing, the upper half of my body straining against the blankets. I was tucked in so tight, I couldn’t use my hands. “Why am I wrapped like a burrito? I can’t move.”
“You have a hundred and four fever, agapi mou. You have to sweat it out,” Mom said, dunking the now lukewarm cloth that was on my head in chilled water. I let out a moan of relief when she put it back in place.
“I wonder who taught you to sleep with your hair wet, only wearing a towel while fresh out of the shower,” Grandma interfered, making my hackles rise even though I felt like I was at the gates of hell.
“I am not divorcing, Saint, if that’s what you’re here for. Feel free to leave, your company is safe.”
That shut her up, the wrinkles around her mouth deepening. She was not fine with being told off, but I was all out of shits to give. Concerned family members I could deal with, ones that only sought me out because they needed favors, could fuck off. Mom didn’t have the power to go against her the same way my dad and I did, so I’d be extra spiky around her. It didn’t matter that she was old. She’d coasted through life unbothered plenty already. My sharp tongue wouldn’t be the death of her.
Respecting your elders had a limit.
“Why the hell not? He hit you, Aria,” Irena spoke up on my behalf.
I glanced down, thinking I had three-sixty vision and could somehow see how bad Harry’s fingerprint marks looked around my neck. The movement made the room spin, and I could only manage an inch before my head hit the pillow again with a thump.
“It looks that way, but it’s not Saint’s fault. He’s actually the one that protected me.” I spoke up and didn’t stop because outrage shone in Irena’s blues. I didn’t want her thinking this was a case of Stockholm syndrome.
“I will not scream at you now because you’re sick. Some motherly advice, though? You better prepare yourself when this fever goes away,” Mama muttered against my hair before dropping a kiss on my forehead after I came clean about what had gone down.
“I think she handled it as best as she could with the cards she was dealt.” Grandma surprised me by taking my side, probably because if it wasn’t for her all of this wouldn’t have happened.
“Βέβαια, όταν η φωλιά σου είναι χεσμένη, δεν σε παίρνει να πεις τίποτα.” Mama voiced out my thoughts in more colorful terms in Greek, well aware that it annoyed Chloe when she did that.
“Anyway, you should’ve told us earlier. We would’ve found a way to deal with him.” Grandma acted like she hadn’t heard her, and part of me feared this woman. She acted like she had ties to the mafia, and with all that she’d told me I believed it.
“It’s Aria we’re talking about. She’d cut her left arm off before asking for help,” Irena interjected, a frown etched on her face as she folded her legs underneath her. “So, Saint is the victim in all of this?”
Her guilt-ridden voice sounded suspicious, and I narrowed my eyes at her. “What did you do?”
She shrugged, looking sheepish. “I might’ve gone off on him and his brother when we found you.”
I couldn’t be mad. Not when she thought I was a victim of domestic violence. The word we struck out at me. The band around my heart let up a little, and my chest expanded with fresh air. Pathetic is me, would be the most accurate way to describe how my chest expanded with hope.
“He looked for me?” My voice burned with yearning.
Irena nodded. “Was out of his mind until we found you. Searched up and down until he finally remembered to call his housekeeper. She was the one that told us you were here. I left them to get the spare keys from Mom. He didn’t even know where your apartment was, by the way. Did the asshole even care to help you move?”
Mrs. Adkins only showed up for five hours a day but somehow always saved the day. Cooking, cleaning, and maintaining a house wasn’t easy when you worked constantly. Saint and I were far from domestic, and we liked it that way. The few moments of peace we got together we cherished and spent them making memories.
A violent cough erupted from my mouth on my next breath as I readied to respond. I still did so, my voice a raspy mess. “I need to apologize.”
Mama placed her hand on my shoulder when she saw that I was about to get up, and I didn’t have any power to fight her. “I’ll send him the address once you’re a little bit better. Rest, for now, your immune system is weak.”
“On that note, I will be leaving. It’s good to know that this was all just a huge misunderstanding.” Grandma clutched her designer bag to her side and patted my covered foot before she left. “Get better soon, Aria.”
Sometimes I wondered if she only had a problem with us because I couldn’t comprehend how my dad turned out so good with that kind of lacking maternal love.
“I’m surprised she lasted that long,” Irena scoffed.
We shared a look before bursting out laughing. I cradled my forehead, moaning in pain simultaneously, but I didn’t care. The isolation that sucked the life out of me was gone, and even though a piece of my heart was missing, I loved being surrounded by Mom and Irena, not having to hide anymore.
* * *
Saint
The light in Ares’s living room flickered, making my eye twitch. The tenor of the football commentator on the TV got louder, falling into a cadence and my leg bounced violently with the effort it took not to haul the television against the James Turrell piece on the wall.
I enjoyed watching big beefy men get their asses tackled as much as the next guy, but I couldn’t focus for shit. It didn’t help that I knew they were throwing me a pity party because:
1. Leo would rather eat bricks than leave pregnant Eli alone right now, which meant that she forced him to go out.
2. Ares cared as much about the sport as I did about the Harley Davidson collection he wanted to build. Spoiler alert, I didn’t. I was more of a Ferrari or—anything that has a roof over your head because I live in a city that has been blessed by the rain gods—guy.
I powered my phone again, checking for a text from Irena, who was turning out to be my least favorite person in the world right now. I would’ve been more vivid in how deep my dislike ran but she started sending me updates on how Aria was doing after I threatened to get her license suspended for backing up into to my Aston Martin. Her driving points limit was pretty low since she was a first-year driver, so she didn’t have much wiggle room.
I felt like a low-level crook, blackmailing a teenager, but I didn’t regret it. Not when I knew Aria was sick and I wasn’t fucking allowed to be near her. I’d never taken care of a sick person before, yet for her, I was all but ready to wear a pink apron and make her down so much soup she’d be peeing for days.
“How much longer am I supposed to wait?” I fumed.
My presence was like a dark cloud over the room, shrouding Leo and Ares’s good intentions with ungratefulness. Ares’s house, while big and modern, reminded me a little too much of my life pre-Ari. It lacked that feminine touch, there were no coffee mugs with lipstick imprints on his coffee table, no flowery perfume lingering in the air, and no thousand-dollar purses hanging from his coat rack.
The idea of going back to that fucked with my head. Made me want to destroy the furniture and inaugurate Eliana’s bong all by myself.
“It’s been like what? Two days?” Leo dropped his head back on the white sectional, and Ares sighed, lowering the TV’s volume. “Fuck, you’re whipped.”
“Three,” I deadpanned, not bothering to correct his assumption because he was right. I was whipped. It had been a gradual fall but no less painful. By the time I remembered I had to set her free, I’d locked myself into a cell with her and thrown away the key.
“What happened with your father?” Ares asked about the thing that would most definitely take my mind off Aria for a few seconds.
“He did not apologize if that’s what you’re asking for. As for the rest, you already know. He has to attend physical therapy for a while, but that’s about it. He got out mostly unscathed.”
“That’s for the best. Better this annoy you for the rest of your life rather than the fact that you took his life,” he remarked.
“I’m not so clear cut on that. The idea of shutting him up for good when he supported his decision certainly didn’t sound all that annoying.” I acknowledged the unsated bloodlust that simmered below the surface.
“He did?” Leo barked a laugh. “That man truly has a death wish.”
Ares shrugged. “Hey, at least now you can embody your name for once. A true saint, gifting life left and right.”
“Do you think your parents named you that, thinking it would be a good way to atone for the sins they’d committed?” Leo’s tone dripped with sarcasm, and I hated how his statement made sense in my mind.
“Normally, I would tell you to fuck off, but Killian’s name means little church, so you probably aren’t that far off.”
“No way.” Ares guffawed. “Has he ever even seen the inside of a church?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him to be a regular at any Satanic Churches,” I said, remembering that one time I’d seen him with cuts on his neck. I asked him what the fuck happened, the psychologist already on speed dial on my phone, and he took no shortage of joy in informing me about how he was into blood play.
I could’ve lived without being privy to that information.
My brother was a textbook freak. The only thing that kept him from being labeled as one were his genetics.
“You used to say that about me too,” Ares complained.
“Because you dressed like an edgy teenager on the verge of depression. You made it too easy to roast you,” I said, and Leo choked on his next sip of beer.
My screen lit up with a text, and I missed Ares’s reply as I dove for my phone like a man obsessed.
Killian: 310 Irving Rd.
Killian: That’s Ariadne’s address.
Leo and Ares’s voices turned faint in the background, the sound of my heartbeat in my ears muffling every other distraction as my fingers flew over the keyboard.
Saint: How the hell did you find it?
Killian: I tailed her sister.
I shook my head. Of course, he did.
And why the fuck hadn’t I thought of that?
Saint: Your delinquent ways came in handy for once.
Killian: You’re welcome, and I’m inviting a few friends over tonight. I hope you don’t mind.
Now it made sense as to why he went out of his way to help me out. Kill wasn’t the type to offer his time willingly, but when he wanted something, he knew exactly how to get it. He figured I’d be too busy with Spitfire, and he was right because nothing was saving her ass from twenty lashes with my belt. Five for each day she stayed away.
Saint: Stay away from my bedroom.
Killian: Ok. No promises for your bathtub, though.
Saint: Your birthday gift will be a bucket of bleach.
Killian: I’ve never gotten high on bleach fumes before, but I’m sure it'll be something to tell the kids about.
I blew a frustrated breath at the ceiling, vowing to start looking for an apartment for Killian. With the way he was going, he wouldn’t graduate anytime soon—or ever. I had to find him a place of his own to mess up.
But all that would wait until after I got rid of this hollowness in my chest.
I’d gotten a taste of how good life could get, and I’d take the whole damn cake too. So long as I regained Ari’s trust. She fell, and I let her slip through my fingers like quicksilver. The shock had washed away, and this time when she crumbled, I’d be there to mold her back to her lively self.
“What’s up, Lord McCuntson?” Ares asked over the rim of his beer bottle when I dug out of the body-shaped hole I’d left on his couch.
“Killian found Ari’s address,” I announced, watching their eyes round.
“I have a newfound respect for that kid,” Leo expressed.
“Well, what are you waiting for, pretty boy?” Ares gave me a dry look, bending to retrieve some keys from his glass table, throwing them at my chest. “Take my Ducati. It’ll help you cut traffic better.”