Chapter 90

Thomas’s jaw clenched as he spat the words at Cyrus. “She’s my wife,” he said sharply, voice taut with possessiveness. “As long as she consents, I can do whatever I please—and mark my words, my Honey will agree in an instant.”

Cyrus, lounging in the corner by the half-open door, pressed his fingers into his ears and rocked back and forth, chanting in a mocking tune. “La. La. La. La. La.” His voice, light and taunting, floated through the air like a child refusing to listen. Then, in a sudden burst, he hurled back, “Blah! Blah! Thomas is a—fucktard! Fucktard!”

A weary sigh escaped Thomas. He stepped over a threadbare rug and settled onto the visitor’s sofa nearest the door of his wife’s room, running his fingers through his hair. He knew the Valkyries inside—those fierce women who had adopted Cassandra as one of their own—would be engrossed in gossip (or simply in conversation) for hours yet. Their whispered laughter and occasional murmur of agreement drifted out through