Page 96 of The Reaper's Vice

Two Table Members appear at my sides, grasping me under the arms and pulling me toward the table. They set me on my feet at the head of the table, and I’m vaguely aware of someone placing a dagger into my palm. Orion meets my eyes, and though he can’t speak past the metal gag between his teeth, I know exactly what he would say.

Do it.

“There is no other way.” One of the Table Members places his hand on my arm, drawing my attention to him. “You are our Madam. There is no other life for you. You know this—deep down, you know it to be true.”

I swallow hard, turning my gaze to the golden wall in front of me, picking a random spot to ground me as I raise the dagger high. When I speak, it's no more than a whisper, though it’s addressed to no one in particular.

“I’m sorry.”

I bring the dagger down.

47

SERAPHINA

“DEATH IS FAR TOO BORING”

The tipof the blade clangs against the table, the force of the vibration sending a shudder up the length of my arm. I can do nothing but blink at that spot on the wall, breathing in the fresh smell of blood, listening as it falls to the floor in delicate, echoing drips.

My eyes flick to the table, taking in the pieces of gold chain holding Orion’s head in place, then to the growing pool of crimson appearing to flow from his neck. A sharp stab of pain echoes from my palm as I squeeze it tighter around the handle of the dagger, but I grit my teeth and tighten my grip even more. Fresh blood flows from the deep gash in my palm and down the glinting silver handle like a crimson waterfall, pooling on the table around Orion’s neck like a halo.

“Well done, Madam.” The Table Member at my side gives me an appreciative nod, not realizing the trick he’s fallen prey to. He turns his back to me, stepping away and forming a circle with the other masked men. They fall into hushed whispers of excitement, so preoccupied with their perceived win that they don’t notice Orion rising from the table.

Because I neveractuallystabbed Orion Adair—this time, at least. Right as I was lowering the blade to make the killing blow, I slipped my hand down to the bladed portion. The force of the blow cut a deep gash into the middle of my palm, while Orion remained unharmed. And there was so, so much blood—on Orion, on the table, on me—you would only be able to tell where it was coming from if you looked closely. Which the man in the bird mask failed to do.

I take a step back as Orion flexes his arms, the vein in the side of his neck throbbing against his thick golden collar as he uses all of his force to snap his restraints. The chains come away with a booming clang, drawing the attention of all thirteen Table Members. Their eyes widen in shock as Orion pitches forward, yanking away the chain on his ankles.

One of the members takes a step forward at last, raising a shuddering finger and aiming it straight at Orion. “I—you were… you’redead!”

A menacing chuckle echoes around the space as Orion stands from the table, his eyes dark as pitch. “Oh no. Death is far too boring, especially with all the excitement going on in the city recently.” He turns to me, his eyes smoldering as he hums, “Wouldn’t you agree, little dove?”

My lips tip in a smile as I nod, tossing the dagger through the air. Orion snaps it up with a smirk, his eyes meeting mine as he brings the blade to his mouth. His pupils blow as his tongue lashes out, dragging across the length of the bloodied silver as a hungry growl rumbles from his chest.

Retching sounds drag our attention back to the Table Members, and my nose crinkles in disgust as I see one of the members spewing his guts onto the carpet. The others look just as horrified—some even going as far as to make crosses with their fingers and push them in Orion’s direction.

Orion shakes his head with a low chuckle, lowering the dagger to his side as he adjusts his grip. “What fucking pussies. Scared of a little blood, are we, gentlemen?”

No one utters a word, though a few pitiful whimpers break out among the group. Orion tuts, reaching up to his neck and sliding his fingers beneath the golden collar. With a snarl, he rips it clean away, letting it fall to the floor with a mighty clang. He stalks forward, herding the members into one corner of the room as the smirk on his face widens. “If you’re scared of blood, you won’t like what happens next.”

Orion rushes forward, aiming the dagger directly toward the eyehole of the closest Table Member. He’s just off center, and the blade clangs uselessly against the metal, the sound mingling with Orion's snarl of rage. He brings his free hand up, ripping the mask from the man’s face as he raises the dagger for a second strike, the corded muscles of his forearms straining deliciously. With a sneer, he plunges the dagger through the Table Member’s eye. Blood flows from the socket and down his face and neck as the body shudders, trying desperately to hold on to life as Orion twists the blade deep into his brain tissue.

The man goes limp, and Orion rips the dagger from his eye, allowing the body to fall limp to the gold-plated floors. A puddle of red forms around his feet as he stares down the rest of the men, his shining white smile a terrifying sight combined with the splatters of red coating his face.

“Well? Who’s next?”

Three of the Table Members rush forward, their eyes narrowed behind slits and daggers raised in shaking hands. Orion descends into battle with the three of them, dodging their blows easily and dealing vicious slashes to any part of their bodies he can manage.

I look past the fight to the nine remaining members, my heart constricting when I realize they’re preparing to join the fray. I yank against the thick golden chains holding me to the wall, wishing I possessed the sheer brute force of Orion when they refuse to give way.

Heaving, I glance down at my hand—at the pooling, slippery blood coating my palm—and I know what I must do. Taking a deep breath, I press the palm of my left hand just below the joint of my thumb, closing my eyes and feeling for the correct position. My muscles tense, my lungs scream for me to let out my breath, and just when I think I’m about to pass out, I shove my palm forward.

A deep crack penetrates the air as blinding, white-hot pain spreads from my thumb joint. My eyes fill with tears, and I have to bite my lip to stop my scream from leaving me. Blood fills my mouth as I grab the cuff on my broken hand, my muscles spasming from holding the pain inside as I slowly push the cuff from my wrist.

It clangs to the floor, and for a moment my heart stops—worried I may have drawn the attention of the Table Members. When no one looks my way or tries to stop me, I let out a breath, turning my attention to my busted hand. Gritting my teeth, I grab my thumb and pop the joint back into place. A blinding burst of pain shoots from the area, then ebbs to a gentle throb, and I throw my head back in relief.

That is, until I remember I have to do it to my other hand.

Sighing, I rub some fresh blood onto my good wrist, pushing the pain to the back of my mind as I position my palm like I had before. The second one hurts more than the first, but the relief is twice as sweet as my second cuff falls to the floor.

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