Page 148 of Their Blood Rite

I cry. I hate that I do, but I start to sob. ‘My Father. Your friend. Thalia. You cut them. Took their parts.’

‘Listen to me, Pixie.’

‘My father screamed as you took his heart-’

‘Just listen.’

‘What the fuck have you done?!’

‘JUST FUCKING LISTEN TO ME, YOU GODDAMNED BLOOD BITCH!’ he roars, unbridled anger spewing out of him. He takes a breath and tries to calm himself as I stand rigid and terrified. ‘It was a necessary sacrifice. We need you to do one fucking thing and then…’

‘Then?’ I ask, holding in the sobs. ‘You’ll let me go?’

He lets out a heavy breath and slowly shakes his head. ‘We can’t let you go, Pixie.’

‘Kill me?’ I whisper.

‘No. It’s one spell. Then we can go back to normal.’

‘Normal? There is no normal after this.’

‘You’re a blood witch, Pixie. This is why you’re here. This spell will free us. It will-’

A door closes. From the direction of the kitchen, a horned creature I recognise from the party the other night looks at me.

‘She’s a blood witch?’ he asks, clearly having overheard our conversation.

Before he can call out to tell anyone else, dark shadows descend on him, smothering him as he screams in terror. He tries to fight them off as he’s dragged to the cellar door, leaving a trail of blood on the floor. The cellar door slams shut, and Dorian exhales, the same shadows darkening his aura.

The shadows then start to stretch across the ground towards me.

Terror grips me, and I spin to grab the door. It opens, but Shaw’s arm reaches over, and he slams it shut.

I go to scream. His hand covers my mouth, and he starts dragging me back towards the cellar. Away from escape. Away from the gentle laughter of those outside.

Before I can tap into the blood smothering his hand, the smell of lavender fills my nose. My eyes roll into the back of my head, and I fall limp.

‘You’re not going anywhere, Pixie.’

I fooled myself that maybe I had made a place here. That I had worked into their good graces.

That perhaps I could even be happy.

But I always was an idiot.

I’m their prisoner. I always was, and I always will be.

I’m in a small stone room with no windows, no bed and only some candles up high that provide any light.

I sit, hating the gag in my mouth, which chafes into the corners of my lips.

I don’t know how long ago I was put down here, but I woke up alone, cold and chained. The silver necklace around my neck tethers me to the wall, and my hands have been tied behind my back. I sit, staring at the closed door, just waiting for it to open.

Sometimes, I hear a muffled cry in the distance and wonder if it’s Thalia. If she’s still alive.

She must be terrified.

I shouldn’t care, but I do.

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