Page 93 of Her Blood Revenge

Bensen is lighting a fire in the fireplace as Archie pulls on an old shirt and a pair of trousers.

Pixie will not enjoy seeing him in her dead father’s clothes. And judging by how Archie sniffs and grimaces, he’s not enjoying it too much, either.

He raises his attention to the stand-in coven leader.

‘I’m curious,’ Archie says. ‘Were you at the last blood rite, Bensen?’

‘The… the last blood rite?’

‘Yes. The last blood rite. That age-oldritual where young witches add their blood to the fire in order to release their magic, and then you all fuck like rabbits under the blood moon. Were you present at the one just passed?’

Bensen attempts to stand taller, puffing out his chest and clearing his throat before replying.

‘With all due respect. The blood rite is a sacred wiccan ritual and is of no concern to anyone beyond the covens.’

The words spill from his mouth like vomit. Uncontrolled and inelegant. His attempts to stand confident and brave fail him in spectacular fashion.

Archie smirks, finding him amusing.

‘Were you present?’ Archie asks again. ‘And be aware, if you do not answer my questions, I will remove a finger from your person.’

Please don’t answer, I think to myself, imagining how beautiful his screams would be as Archie tore off his little finger.

Bensen nods once.

‘I-I was,’ he admits.

Archie leans forward a little. ‘Do you recall Ashe Nectan taking part in the blood rite?’ he asks, gesturing to the room. ‘This was her house. She lived here with her father. Jameson Nectan.’

He gives a vague shrug. It’s comical how he pales.

‘T-there were a fair amount of p-participants.’

Archie glances at me for the briefest of seconds.

I nod.

And he descends quickly. By the time the witch sees him, Archie has his little finger in hand.

Literally.

Torn from his body with extreme ease and a rare elegance only Archie seems to possess.

Bensen screams and looks at his bloody stump as Archie tosses his pinkie to me.

‘I’ll give you a reminder, shall I?’ I ask, examining the finger in my palm. Complete with a white gold signet ring that I think Pix may like. It’s small enough to fit on her index finger, and the small gem will match her eyes perfectly. ‘She’s a pain in the arse. Has one hell of a filthy mouth. Swears like a village raider. Hair as silver as starlight and big doe eyes.’ I lift my gaze. ‘And you tied her to a tree, tore off her clothes, sliced her to ribbons and tried to kill her. Ring any bells? Fail to answer again, and Archie will take your entire arm.’

‘Yes! Yes, she was there!’ he sobs, clutching his hand. ‘She’s dead, General. I don’t know what you think occurred that night, but I assure you… s-s-she’s not any form of problem. She refused the Rite and was dealt with. A-as your laws command.’

‘She’s not dead,’ I tell him. And the stunned look on his face is authentic. ‘And you and I both know that she was not tied to that tree because she refused to do the rite.’

‘No. No, she is dead. Cole LeSaint saw to it. She is dead.’

‘Cole LeSaint.’ I grind out his name and curl my fist around that small finger, pulverising it into mush before wiping the mess onto the leg of my trousers. ‘Has Cole been here of late?’

He swallows dryly. But it’s clear he has no fortitude to withstand us long. He’s already admitted that Pixie was at the blood rite. He may insist that her crime was refusing the Rite, but he knows the truth. If he had been there, hewould have seen the flames declare her a blood witch. He would have seen Archie attack in his wolf form. He would have cut her along with all the others.

‘Cole is away.’

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