Page 95 of Savage Sacrifice
“Would it even still exist? Or be in my possession anymore? They probably discarded it the moment they got rid of me,” I insist, but the words are barely out of my mouth before he opens the top drawer of his dresser and pulls it out. I gape in surprise as he holds the hefty book in his hands. “You have it,” I breathe, and he eyes me nervously.
“It’s why I wanted to get out of there. I thought it might help,” he explains honestly, and his sudden urgency to exit, along with the glint in his eyes, now makes sense.
“How do you even have it?” I murmur, my fingers itching to reach out for it, but the pain in my chest has me frozen in place. Those sheets of paper became my strength, my very core, and now I fear that, without magic, it will become my source of pain.
“I was clinging to whatever I could get my hands on that reminded me of you,” he admits, making my heart ache.
A wobbly smile captures my lips as he extends the book toward me, and I gulp, forcing down my fears as I take it from his grasp. It’s delicate and heavy in my hold as I gently run my fingertips over the front. I can’t take my eyes off it, but I’m too scared to open the pages.
Wordlessly, Asher drapes his arm around my shoulders again, only this time, he ushers me toward his bed, encouraging me to take a seat on the edge while my gaze remains locked on my grimoire.
He sits beside me, a silent force of strength and encouragement, as I will myself to break past the layer of fearand open it. I have no idea how much time passes while I just stare at it, but my lips dry out and my fingers start to ache from the stilted movement.
“Silver, if you need time, we can?—”
“I’m scared,” I blurt, cutting him off. I finally manage to tear my attention away from the grimoire to meet his concerned stare. “I’ve been going around in a blur, acting like everything is okay, but I know there’s a part of me that is missing. A part of me I barely got a chance to know, and now it’s gone. I haven’t tried to access my magic, nor have I touched a grain of sand, but I know it in my heart, I know it’s not there. Holding this, while knowing all of that, hurts more than anything else we’re dealing with.” The truth hurts, coiling tight in my chest.
He reaches for my chin, comforting me with his touch as I press my cheek against his palm. I can see his thoughts swirling in his eyes, darting back and forth between mine as he searches for the right thing to say or do.
“I need you to know, Silver, that you’re mine, in every sense, in every world, in every form. None of it matters, just us.” I press my lips together, letting his words drape over me, but he’s not done there. “I can see the uncertainty in your eyes, and I can’t say I have the answers for tomorrow or the next day, all I have is everything we are in this moment and I know that’s enough to wade us through any storm.” Tears prick my eyes. “If I never lose the pressure of being The Crow’s nephew, it won’t stop me from being me. If Tatum never finds the strength from the pain he’s been through, he’ll still be Tatum. If Wylder doesn’t find the sacrifice he has to make, he’ll still be the same asshole he is now. If Blaze remains forever an asshole, well, that’s him through and through. Fuck, if Lincoln never shifts into a wolf again, he’ll still be my alpha. And you, Polaris Beauchamp,youhave the potential to grow into anything or anyone you want to be. If that’s a witch, amazing, if it’s not, then…”
“I’m still me,” I finish, warmth burning in my chest, and he nods.
“Whenever you’re ready to look through this grimoire, I’m right here with you. I’m always going to be right here with you, even if it’s not in a physical way, I’m there,” he states, tapping his finger against my chest, making my heart soar.
Fueled by his presence, I take a deep breath, and before I can change my mind, I open the grimoire. He presses his lips against my temple, like my own special version of a pat on the back as I start to flick through the pages.
Turn after turn, I mostly find spells. Some I recognize, some that make me pause in surprise at the possibility, while others make me gape in a mixture of shock and a hint of disbelief. Who needs to be able to dismember a body? A shudder runs down my spine and I quickly turn the page again, pausing at the inscription worn into the pages.
It seems for every ten spells, there’s a random piece in between that offers a part of history, an understanding of where specific ideas came from or even why things may now be frowned upon.
I’m over halfway through the book, Asher silent at my side, when I spot it.
It’s etched into the pages, worn down as if someone has continued to run their thumb over the words.
When the sun bleeds gold and the moon weeps red, six souls shall rise where old hearts have bled. Bound by blood and fate’s cruel thread, they’ll walk the path where memories tread. Each must yield what none would give, so others lost may learn to live. In sacrifice, their truths will burn, and from that fire, hope shall return. One heals the wound, one bears the pain, one breaks the past, one weaves the chain. One guards the light, one walks the shade—together whole, or all shall fade. Gone be the kin and the cursed decree, as love prevails for eternity. Underblackened skies and twisted tradition, a world once lost shall be forgiven.
What’s more concerning is the transcript scribbled above it.
When blood and moonlight bind the three, all but one shall take the knee. Control the curse and set us free, under thy witches will come harmony. With balance struck, the scales shall tower, and witches shall reign with rightful power.
“It’s as if the witches want this curse in place. Like they want the original witch’s curse to rule, but it doesn’t make sense how,” I think out loud before turning to Asher, who nods in agreement.
“It would make sense if the witches survived the curse, but they don’t. They still face the same fate as everyone else,” he adds, and I hum, racking my brain for the answer, but I come up short. “Is there anything else?” he asks, and I flip through the remaining pages, but nothing stands out.
Closing the grimoire in my lap, the thud echoes around the room. “We also have to consider that Professor Juniper, Bryony’s mother, gave me this,” I state, pursing my lips, and he grunts.
“We really need to speak to Belladora,” he mutters, wiping a hand down his face, and I nod, but my gut twists.
“We probably should have thought about that before I came back. We’re never going to be able to see her if we’re stuck in here,” I breathe, and he takes the grimoire from my hand, moving to place it back in its hiding spot before he plants his hands on his hips, staring out the window as he stands deep in thought.
“There’s something we’re missing,” he grunts in frustration, and I offer him a tight smile, knowing that same feeling is nestled in my gut.
“But what?”
“That’s what we have to figure out.”
“Maybe we need to get one of those boards and lay everything out so we can see it all at once. It will at least declutter my brain, because I can’t think straight,” I explain as a yawn parts my lips.
