Page 56 of Their Blood Rite

Will they punish me? Make me pay? Be filled with rage?

‘There are hundreds of possibilities,’ Shaw says, distractedly looking at the countless items on the table. ‘These are the most powerful ones for a blood witch, so we’ll start here. Don’t get your hopes up, Pixie. It’s unlikely you’ll have one. But we’re keen to know what, if any, gifts you may have that we can play with. It is not in an earth witch's nature to use their gifts for selfish or harmful reasons. Nature is about balance. But you? A blood witch? It’s about taking. Draining and devouring. It’s all passion and need and want. Blood magic is not about balance.’

‘If I use this twisted magic, I’ll become a monster.’

‘Good. Then you will be in perfect company with us.’ Shaw snatches my hand and uses a dagger to cut my palm. The tip of the blade moves as I yell in pain and anger. Blood seeps from the markings he carves and he holds it over a strange straw dolly.

‘Well?’ Shaw urges. ‘Feel anything?’

‘No.’

He moves my hand. Blood falls over some rune stones.

I shake my head. There’s nothing there.

Thank the gods.

The next is over a dead cat. As soon as my blood lands on it, I gasp, feeling the connection. The boys all inhale, smelling it somehow. And they all let out a growl from deep inside their chests, staring at the cat that twitches as my blood lands on it.

‘W-what does that mean?’ I ask, staring at it with wide eyes.

They all share a silent, unreadable stare.

‘You feel that?’ he asks. ‘Feel the connection?’

‘To the dead cat?’ I snap, still trying to pull my hand away.

‘Yes, Pixie. Do you feel the connection to the dead cat?’

‘I… I don’t like… Shaw…’

The longer I hold it there, the stronger it becomes. This connection… this pull, calling me. Pleading with me. My hand starts to lower. The closer I get, the more powerful it is.

And the worst part is that it’s downright intoxicating. The strength and sense of belonging. The rush of heat coursing through my body.

‘Don’t be afraid of it,’ Shaw encourages. His hands go to move, to let me go. As soon as he eases, I feel the stability of the connection become unsteady and volatile.

I slam his hand back on me.

‘Don’t let me go,’ I demand.

‘Why?’

‘It feels safer. Just don’t move!’

His hands grip me tighter. When he let me go, it felt like I was being consumed by chaos.

This is steady. It’s firm and solid.

It’s fucking euphoric.

My hand touches the cat.

And it fucking meows.

Screaming, I let go and throw myself backwards. I would be on the floor if Shaw weren’t there.

‘It m-m-meowed!’ I stammer, staring at the now lifeless cat. ‘How?’

---