Page 1 of Reap the Night
Chapter 1
ORDELL
I’ve lived longer than I care to. Long enough to have seen many awful things and to have experienced every emotion, but the dull bone-aching sensation spreading through my blood as the dark-haired woman faces Ezekiel is something new.
Her familiar wide gray eyes flare, and her mouth parts slightly in awe. Ezekiel stares right back at her. They remain locked like this for several seconds, and my heart sinks, dread pooling in my belly, because how can this be?
How can we have been so wrong?
This is her.
Our potential savior.
NotOrina.
What have we done?
“Master?” Matthew breaks the strange tension. “Should I return the veins to the House of Spirit, or should I house them?”
A silent battle rages across Ezekiel’s features, understated and almost imperceptible unless you know what to look for. The flick of a brow, the tightening of his mouth, and the rapid pulse at his throat betray his emotions.
What must he be feeling now?
He knows that this woman is connected to his curse, and he probably thought he’d already killed her in the massacre. He thought he was free of the dance that always plays out. Free to step into a new dance with Orina.
What will he do?
His expression smooths out, still as a frozen lake. “Free the men and kill the woman.”
The woman cries out in shock while Ezekiel relaxes into his seat, picking up his goblet and drinking deeply as if making the decision has freed him once more.
“Please!” She takes another step toward him. “Your Majesty, what have I done to deserve such a sentence?”
“Matthew…” Ezekiel looks over her head at the shocked Renfield.
Matthew hurries forward to grab the woman’s arm, and she stares at him in horror.
“Take her away. Now,” Ezekiel says.
His tone is cool and even, but his white-knuckled grip on the table gives him away.
“I thought you were going to stop killing innocents?” Hemlock challenges.
“Oh, she is no innocent.”
“What?” The woman’s head whips from side to side, her gaze wild with terror, flying everywhere but settling nowhere. “What have I done?”
“Nothing. Yet,” Ezekiel says. “And it will stay that way. Don’t worry; your death will be quick and painless. The sleeping poison will do, Matthew.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Matthew looks relieved.
But the woman is far from consoled. She thrashes and sobs as Matthew drags her toward the door, as the two men who’ve just been set free look on with mixed emotions.
“No! Please! Let me go!”
I can’t allow this to happen. We need her. I shove back my chair, ready to intervene.
“Let her go!” Orina stands in the doorway, clutching the frame for support. She’s pale and weak. Dark smudges beneath her eyes. “Ezekiel…please let her go.”
