Page 14 of Their Blood Rite

My curtains are open, letting in the almost full moon. No wonder it’s cold. The window is open. Wrapping the blanket tight around my body, I head over and peer out, watching the clouds drift past the almost full moon and attempt to settle my pounding heart.

‘A nightmare,’ I tell myself, taking in deep breath after deep breath. ‘Just a nightmare, Ashe. Nothing more.’

With a dry swallow, I look up at that moon.

‘A nightmare,’ I repeat. But this time, not for the dream’s sake. But the future. When that moon becomes full. When it turns red.

The Blood Moon is coming, slap bang on my birthday. I glance at the clock atop the mantle over the fireplace. It’s three am.

‘Happy birthday to me,’ I sigh, looking back at the moon.

‘Happy birthday indeed.’

I scream and turn, spinning on my heel to face the voice.

But the room is empty.

My back sinks into the wall, and I don’t even dare to breathe.

‘Twenty years old,’ he says, his voice as soft as silk and as alluring as anything I've ever heard.

That voice.

I know that voice.

‘C-come out,’ I manage. My words are barely a whisper as I remain pressed to the wall. My eyes scan every inch of the dark room before me.

Nothing.

I see no one.

‘Just a dream,’ I whisper. ‘A dream. Nothing more.’

The window behind me slams shut and locks all on its own. I yelp and stagger back.

‘Are you sure I am just a dream?’

I feel his breath on my neck. His words were whispered right into my ear.

I don’t dare turn. His fingers run through my hair as he leans in close and inhales deeply.

‘Because I’ve always thought of myself as more of a nightmare.’

He grips my hair, and I’m thrown onto the mattress.

He’s on me in a second, his hands pinning my wrists above my head as he lies atop me.

‘Hello, Little Pixie.’ He laughs as I struggle beneath his solid frame, finding my attempts to buck him off or wriggle free utterly amusing. ‘Easy, now. I would hate for you to hurt yourself.’

‘GET OFF ME!’ I scream, thrashing wildly beneath him. ‘HELP ME! FATHER!’

But my voice is barely there. No matter how loud I try to be, I’m almost silent.

Shaw laughs and manoeuvres me easily, gripping my wrists in one hand and pulling off his belt with the other. No matter how hard I struggle and scream, he just smirks, focusing on using his belt to secure my wrists to my wooden headboard.

When my hands are restrained, he takes hold of my ankle, pulls out a length of rope from his pocket and ties one of my feet to the corner bedpost.

He stands to tighten it fully, watching me closely as he secures the knot.

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