Page 13 of Their Blood Rite

‘The Blood Rite doesn’t have to be a bad thing, Ashe. It’s the beginning of something wonderful. When your blood goes into the fire, your power awakens and becomes yours to control.’

When I try to look away, he refuses to let me go and pulls my face back to him.

‘You know precisely what happens if you refuse to do the Blood Rite, Ashe.’

‘I know.'

‘They will bleed you. Burn you. Carve you up and harvest your organs. You will die slowly and in unparalleled agony. Is that what you want?’

‘No. Of course not.’

‘Then act like the girl I raised you to be, not the petulant child you are acting like right now. You will do the Rite.’

‘It’s bullshit.’

‘And you will cease all your swearing. You know Cole hates it when you swear.’

‘He never complains to me.’

‘No. He complains to me. I think silence is best from now on. Before I lose my temper.’

‘Fine,’ I whisper.

He lets me go with a slight shove and sits back, still staring at me.

Countless minutes later, he looks away only when the carriage stops.

Without a word, he picks up his book and the box and leaves, slamming the carriage door shut behind him.

I remain in my seat, trembling from head to foot, and slowly let out the breath I had been holding.

Every muscle is rigid, and I have to focus hard to relax them. When my fists unfurl, I stare at the crescent-shaped cuts in my palm. There’s blood under my fingernails and little beads of it gathering in my open hands.

One more night.

Then, it all changes.

The shadows move in the corner of the room. They’re watching me.

My father says shadows have no eyes, so how can they watch?

But they do. I move. They move. Their stare is hot. It burns into me.

When the floorboards creak, I throw the duvet over my head. An icy hand reaches out and rips it off. With a scream, I scramble away, falling off the bed and landing hard on the floor. It grabs my ankle as I try to get under my bed to hide.

And I scream a silent scream. My throat closes, and I can’t breathe.

I sit with a start, gasping for breath as I clutch my racing heart.

‘A nightmare,’ I pant, focusing on my actual reality.

This. My bedroom. My bed.

Not the shadows.

I pick up the book I'd been reading before I fell asleep and place it on the bedside table. The candle is all but spent, and the fireplace is nothing more than embers.

It’s cold. My body shudders as I reach for the blanket at the end of the bed.

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