Page 15 of The Sanguine Selection
What others?
I run a hand through my tangled blonde hair, long since torn from its braid. “No, no! Have you lost your mind, Papa? You really think I could do that? Kill you? You’re my father, my family. It's insanity to ask that of me. But what I will do is find a healer, and we will make you better. I… I'll give you some of my tonic!” I break off realizing that I haven't had any in a day.
“Your tonic!” Papa echoes, his face paling even more and the sheen of sweat stands out in stark contrast against the pallor of his skin. He murmurs something too fast for me to catch, but I can't discern what, even though his worry is evident. “We must get you that tonic!”
His fervor startles me as he struggles to sit up, and I rush over to push him back down onto the bed. “Lie down! You are unwell. My tonic can wait. I promise I'll be fine and will not catch whatever you have.” Of this, I am not certain. Papa's warned me about spreading sicknesses that have decimated whole families, but I know to wash my hands and stay clean.
Papa grabs my shoulders, shaking me hard, his fingers digging into my skin until I cry out. “This is not something you can catch, but it is something that will kill you if you do not kill me first!”
“You're not making any sense, Papa. I don't understand—I don’t understand!” I repeat this over and over, hoping to get through to him.
“Get me the ankhallah.”
I pause at his new command. “What?”
“Get me your mother's necklace.” His voice is laced with determination, and he sounds like his normal self. I know better than to question him, so I reach inside my furs and lift it over my head.
When I move to hand it over to him, he hisses like a feral animal, shying away from the gleaming silver antique. “Pull on the tip. It sheaths a dagger.”
Doing as I’m told once more, I remove the tiny scabbard and expose a small knife no bigger than my middle finger. I turn it over, examining the weapon I had no idea was hidden inside. Although it’s sharp, it appears too tiny to do any real damage. “Papa, what do you want—”
“Stab my heart.”
Although he just asked me to kill him,again, I’m still stunned at his demand—that he still thinks I’m capable of such a feat, of murder. “No!”
Anger and urgency lace his words. “Yes, Oxana, you must! I cannot do it myself, and it must be carried out with the sacred silver imbued into that blade.”
Tears fill my eyes and run down my cheeks. “Papa…what you’re asking me to do… Besides, this dagger isn’t big enough to kill you, at least not immediately. It will puncture your flesh, opening you up to rot and a slow, tortuous death. Is that what you want?!”
He licks his dry lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “I promise, child, itwillkill me. Perhaps not instantly, but far quicker than you realize. I beg of you, help me. End this agony that has become my life while yours is only beginning.”
A chill runs down my spine at his premonition. “What do you mean, Papa?”
His eyes lose focus as something wild chases across his face. He belts out a pained roar, his voice deeper than I’ve ever heard it as fur pokes out of his skin and his nails elongate into claws. At the same moment, the drum sounds loudly again, closer this time, followed by a bevy of howls that raise the hair on my arms—the most worrisome coming from the man on the bed in front of me as he transforms from the father I love into something from my nightmares.
“Run.” Papa’s snarling voice comes from around the vicious row of sharp teeth in a muzzle where a face should be. “RUN!” Clutching Mama’s necklace, I turn and flee from the only person who ever loved and cared for me, sobbing in painful realization.
Nowhere is safe.
8
Oxana
Frantic.That’s the only way to describe what I’m going through. Like I’ve been shoved outside during a powerful, raging storm—nowhere to hide from the crackling lightning, no protection from the pounding thunder, completely vulnerable to the elements.
I only just have time to snag Papa’s coat before slamming the door of the only home I’ve ever known behind me, somehow realizing I might never see it again.
Papa…what’s happening to him?
A howl cleaves the night and behind me Papa answers with one of his own, surging from inside the wooden walls of my home. I can’t wait another second. With no plan in mind, I start to run, feet slamming onto the snow-covered ground, my mother’s necklace burning in my hand.
Moonlight reflects off the snow, brightening the forest floor, and for once, I’d give anything for it not to. Plunged into darkness, my odds of staying safe would increase. Or at least that’s the lie I tell myself when I look down and find I’m retracing the path I took when fleeing back towards the inner circle.
Gooooong…
I almost jump as the sound of an ancient cymbal cleaves the night again, seeming to echo from everywhere all at once. My head pounds from the power of it, my inner ears vibrating from the intensity. Desperation fuels me, my love for Papa giving me the strength I need to keep pressing on in spite of the bitter cold, in spite of the potent fear gripping my insides.
A rustling sound pulls my attention and I halt in my tracks, crashing my back against a broad oak. If my raspy attempt to catch my breath doesn’t give me away, then my thumping pulse sure will. I glance up at the sky, the full moon shining bright above layers of empty branches…
