Page 66 of Their Blood Rite

‘What the…’ I breathe, looking down at my mother kneeling in the mud and cradling me. I'm a newborn. So small as she wraps me in her coat. Completely covered in mud. The Kindred markings are on my wrist.

But my torso is covered in blood.

My mother places one of her many bracelets on the ground. She speaks in words I don’t understand, but I taste the magic in the air and feel it tingling on my skin. The ground shakes, and she keeps muttering her words, rocking back and forth, until the bracelet rises from the soil entangled in vines. They sink into the silver, leaving behind the pattern I know well. She places it on my wrist, and it shrinks to fit.

The kindred markings disappear, hidden away with the glamour.

‘It will grow with you, my daughter,’ my mother says softly. ‘Never take it off. They will put you in the fire ifthey see your markings.’ She rests her hand back on the earth, where a small mound holds a large jade stone.

‘Sleep well in the earth that loves you so,' she says.

Shaw looks at me, his brow furrowed.

‘I don’t understand,’ I tell him. ‘What’s happening?’

Shaw reaches out and rests his hand on my cheek. It creates tremendous pressure, and when I scream, the darkened forest disappears, and I’m back in my room with my father descending on me with his cane in his hand.

He beats me as I try to escape to the underneath of the bed. And in a blink, I’m on a beach. Alone. Watching the gentle waves break on the sand.

I stay there for hours, utterly at peace.

Alow mumbling drifts into my peaceful sleep and calls me back to the waking world. Nightmares are a firm companion of mine. It feels odd to wake without the cold sweat and sense of dread. It’s as though I’m painfully hungover as I try to abandon the dream of lying on a sandy beach, watching the waves break on the sand and the perfect clouds drift across a brilliantly blue sky.

My mouth is dry. My head throbs and my ribs ache from what I think was a bout of extremely violent heaving.

‘Where do you think her father went?’ I hear Archie ask.

‘Not sure. But I’m going to find out,’ Dorian replies. ‘Then we’ll see how he likes being lashed to shit and left scarred up. I’m amazed she’s not insane if she’s been living with this Kindred untrained. That, along with the obvious torture she’s been living with.’

‘You’re angry,’ Archie realises. ‘I thought you didn’t like her.’

‘I don’t like evil blood witch bitches. But I find myself hating the idea of her suffering. She doesn’t feel like the others did. Maybe it’s the mud witch magic in her. Never seen a witch with both.’

‘You getting soft, Dorian?’

‘Don’t tell me this sits well with you, Arch? Those scars? This under the bed shit?’

‘No. Of course, it doesn’t sit well with me.’

I open my eyes. It’s dark and warm. Above me, the base of a bed blocks my view. But this time, I’m on the softest pile of blankets. A deep pillow rests under my head, and a jar filled with fire bugs sits nearby. When I peer past them, Shaw lies on the floor facing me. He has a pillow under his head and a sheet covering his body. He’s topless. Hell, he could be naked under that black sheet. His calmness as he lays there has my breath catching in my throat. After everything that’s happened, it feels strange to see him so still. He’s watching me closely, not under the bed, just beyond it.

‘We gonna remind the coven that this shit ain’t on?’ Dorian asks from somewhere else in the room. ‘They’re getting cocky. We forbade this years ago.’

‘Better believe we are,’ Shaw replies, not once looking away from me. ‘Whatever is left of them anyway.'

‘Oh, you’ve finished walking?’ Archie asks. ‘See anything interesting?’

‘A fair bit. Yeah. Talk later, though.’

Archie shifts. ‘Maybe I should wolf out on them again. Leave them just barely alive so Pixie can take her time to piss on them as they die.’ Archie chuckles. ‘That was fucking hot.’

I turn. Behind me, Archie is on the floor as well. He’s staring at the ceiling with his hands beneath his head. Like Shaw, there’s a blanket over his body and a pillow beneath his head. He’s shirtless and all muscle, not an ounce of fat. His chest is coveredin tattoos. The most prominent one being a great wolf howling to a full moon. He lifts a bottle of amber liquid and takes a swig.

‘I’d pay to see that,’ Dorian agrees.

I follow the sound of his voice. Looking past my feet, I see Dorian, just like the others. On the floor. Shirtless. A pillow and sheet.

'We’ll go see them tomorrow,' Shaw says. 'Remind them who they answer to. After all, their coven leader is dead. Which means a new one will need to be installed. And we know what that means.’

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