Demetria
Demetria's blues eyes burned coldly.
No man, and she meant no one at all cheated on Demetria Juno Edgerton-Smythe and got away without shedding a hell of a lot more blood then Remy LeBeau already had. He was a dead man walking.
And Rogue? Rogue, or so she had thought, was her friend. Friends just don't sleep with their friend's boyfriend and/or significant other!
Hellfire and damnation promised glowed behind her eyes as she brooded. And poor Jono. He wasn't ever going to get over this. Not by a hell of a long shot. She bet he was sitting in his room, writing depressing violently angry and rage filled songs and thinking more and more about how he could end his life. He had been going well, damn it. And then this.
Maybe she should just go kill Dirk and Julie. This was all their fault anyway. God damn it, this wouldn't go by without some serious retribution.
Forgiveness was for the weak.
She was going to hang onto this until her thirst for revenge had been appeased. And that was going to take a whole lot of suffering on both Rogue and Remy's parts.
Demetria stared out her bedroom window, while blood dripped down her palms from where she'd dug her nails in.