Page 86 of House of Crimson Kisses
I turn away. “I was. Once.”
She sighs, a heavy breath full of unspoken words. She shifts her footing. “Is everything prepared?”
“Quiet. We’re not to discuss that when there are others present.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “What would you face if you were in there?”
“You know exactly what I’d face,” I say a little too sharply.
“The witch-god?”
I nod, bile licking up my throat.
This is the real reason I hate the church. The secret that plagues my soul. I would face the Mother of Blood herself. The biggest mistake of my life. And the only lie I’ve told for a thousand years.
This is the lie I tell:
Once upon a time, there were two families, the St Clairs and the Randalls. And like any respected families of nobility, they were at war. For petty things, land and property, the economy and legacy.
Those things are true. We were at war.
But here is where the lie begins. It wasn’t a local witch that took issue with our dealings. It wasn’t a witch that cursed Eleanor and me to become mortal enemies.
It was our families.
They wove their secret betrayal in the depths of midnight. They spoke tales of curses and horror to the witch. Begged her in whispered promises and hapless lies to make our love stop.
Our families.
Our very own families.
How could they? All because their broken hearts were sick of our love, sick of the shame.
So, as midnight struck, they gathered together under the golden glow of candlelight.
As darkness enveloped the world, they forced a witch to sign a contract in bloody prints.
A scarred scroll thick with the fibrous rot of a curse.
And so it was that as the twelfth bell rang at midnight, all our fates—mine, Eleanor’s and the witch’s—were sealed together for eternity.
I think it’s time to confess.
Let me tell you what really happened.
* * *
One Thousand Years Ago
Hope is an insidious little thing. It makes a mockery of reality. It makes you believe the impossible. Eleanor and I thrive on hope. For all the years we’ve tried and failed to stay together, it was always hope that kept us trying again. Kept us fighting for one more night, one more kiss. Despite the threats and warnings, hope made us ignorant.
It made us believe the impossible.
Tonight, we are finally free. Tonight, we fled our families for the last time.
That’s how I find myself at midnight, curled under a blanket tucked into Eleanor’s side.
Neither of us knows where we are, but it doesn’t matter. We’re leaving to find a new city. Perhaps the city with magicians, or perhaps one with the fae people. It matters not. What is important is that we’re not going back. Not ever again.
