Page 65 of Their Blood Rite

‘Enough!’ Ronan’s word reverbs off the stonewalls. ‘That’s enough,’ he sighs. His fingers run down my skin again.

I got such comfort from my bracelet. My mother made it for me when I was little. It meant something. It meant she loved me.

Now, it means something much darker. And I don’t know what, exactly. Did she know it was a glamour? What was she trying to hide? The scars? The Kindred markings? I’ve worn it since I was a child. Since she healed me as a baby and made me swear never to take it off.

Shaw examines my body, running his finger along the various scars he’s found. I don’t want to look. Seeing the state of my arm was enough.

I sit. Shaw remains on his knees but gives me my personal space. I hold my torn dress to my chest and struggle to look any of them in the eye.

I wish they would leave. I don’t want them to see me like this. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction.

The room is silent. All I feel are their eyes on me.

‘Did your father give anyone else your trigger?’ Shaw asks finally.

‘I don’t know.’ I sniff and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. My gaze lands on the bracelet.

I struggle to get myself onto my feet, swaying as I stand. Shaw rises with me, his arms rigid as if ready to catch me.

‘You’re not looking too good there, Pixie,’ Archie says. ‘You’ve gone pale… er.’

My legs give way.

I’m caught by three sets of arms and never meet the floor.

Chapter 10

I taste mud in my mouth. It’s cold and thick, filling my throat, ears, and nose. Everything is dark.

I’m cold. So cold.

It’s all I can think. I’m cold. I have a longing for a warmth I can’t remember. A security I’ve never had. And a need to take a breath, but there's no air to claim for myself.

Gods, I long for it.

It’s noisy. Rumbling shudders through my body, and then suddenly, there’s air. More coldness and wetness. Rain pours down from the night sky, and I see my mother. Her face is streaked with tears, and she sobs so loudly, it’s deafening. Her fingers reach into my throat, and she scoops mud out. I cry. But it’s not my cry. It’s the cry of a baby. A brand new baby but coming from me. She holds me to her chest, and I find that warmth I crave. I feel that security I never knew. She takes my hand.

It's so small and clings to her finger tightly. On my wrist are markings.

Kindred markings.

‘Thank you,’ my mother cries. ‘I will be in debt to you for all eternity.’ She leans down and kisses the ground. ‘Thank you.’

Behind her, I see a man looking down at us both. Invisible to my mother as she holds my baby form to her chest, shielding me from the rain.

The man steps closer and crouches beside her. He strokes my face and inspects my hand, looking at the Kindred markings. Rain tumbles down his face, soaking his hair and clothes. My mother doesn’t see him. Because he’s not here.

This is a dream.

His gaze lands on mine.

‘You watching me, Pixie?’ Shaw asks.

Any attempt I make to speak only makes my wailing louder. He takes me from my mother’s arms, lifting me.

‘You were a cute little thing, weren’t you.’

When he stands, I’m at his side. My body. My age.

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