Page 11 of The Path of Blood and Betrayals
I refuse to be sold.
Kicking out, I succeed with my heel catching his soft groin and he curses, dropping me. It’s a brief reprieve as I stumble to my feet before he grabs my shoulders, hauling me into the air again.
I’m tiny compared to him, dangling limply like a doll, toes scratching burnt grass.
Glaring, I spit defiantly into his face, refusing to cower. It’s a weak hit, barely hitting his cheek but it’ssomething.
He just laughs at me. “You’ve got some fight in you, I’ll give you that. I’m sure I could find a buyer interested in you.” He shakes me. “InSeti’s Hell, I might even keep you forme. You’re someone I’d enjoy breaking.”
Gagging, I swing my feet to hit him again, but he slides away. Cursing him loudly and my inability to land a hit, I inhale, mind spinning. If I don’t do something, I’ll be stuck, forced on my knees for men I don’t want.
A trail of blood drips down his throat, pooling into his collar and my eyes fasten to it.
Gods, I don’t want to do it, but the only way out of this is to listen to that blood call, give into that wicked power that thrashes inside my veins. If I want to live, to survive, I’ll need to rely on the magiceveryone despises.
It’s an easy choice: let himbreakme, or use the magic I was given.
Fingers tense at my side and I coax them to move, to bend and find the blood that surrounds his heart.
I let my magic control my movements, finding his heart and attack. The blood pools, slows, tightens around his heart like a noose until I feel it stutter and hear the drum skip.
The raider sputters, eyes bulging slightly as my magic strangles his heart and he drops me. Sitting on my knees, dress pooling around my thigh, I keep my eyes on his chest. He sways, body following my fingers before I close my fist.
The pop rings in my ears as he drops, and relief washes over me in heavy waves, but it’s staunched as I look up.
Tay stands there, sword at his side, eyes wide. There is no relief in his gaze, just cold, hard fear as he looks to my fingers, tips red.
There’s a pause, the sounds of swords clashing between us before he grabs my arm, hauling me to my unsteady feet. His touch doesn’t linger, too afraid of my magic.
Face grim, he says, “Let’s go.”
By the timeday breaks over the tops of the forest, the ground is smoking, huts are burned and I’m covered in ash, bleeding into my wrecked night shirt as I lean against a singed boulder.
Beside me, Nafre is speaking to the Coven elders with Tay, brows furrowed and conversation heated. No one is thrilled with how the Coven faired, everyone is worried about their wards and even more are mad at my involvement.
War has come to our doorsteps, but they’re still worried about the blood summoner in their inner circle.
I stand by Cully, Tay’s intended, as he tends to a few of the remaining villagers. He’s a skilled healer, though he doesn’t possess the powers that Taylay has; no one else has Tay’s magic. It’s a rarity.
Cuthbert is a sweet, lanky man, with twinkling dark stormy eyes, and a kind disposition. He tried to heal me earlier, but I refused, making himfocus on the Witches. Can’t have him giving me special treatment when they already don’t trust me.
Inspecting my arm, I faired better than most—a few cuts, the stabbing to my shoulder, the gash on my hip and a hard bump to my skull when a solider used their hilt to subdue me. It didn’t work, but I’ve been fighting off the headache, double vision—and my magic—ever since.
Shifting, a few elders glaring at me, and I tug my hair to cover my scar. They hate the reminder of what brought me here. It’s a bad omen.
“We’ll need to house who we can,” Nafre directs, gesturing to her home. The stone cottage is large, grand for the Coven but simple for the Matriarch. It sustained minimal damage. “We’ll take in the elderly or the injured. The rest, we’ll set up a small camp around our home to act as a barrier. Guards are preparing tents.”
With faulty wards, the Coven is vulnerable. I’m not the only one afraid.
“We’ll need supplies,” Tay says, arms crossed over his broad chest, shirt nothing but rags. Blood and dirt cover him, but he doesn’t have any injuries. “I’ll make a list of essentials and send out the call. The sister Covens should heed us if we request it.”
Nafre sighs. “If they will.”
“What of the Human villages?”A matron rubs her frail hands. “A few should be willing to cooperate.”
“In exchange for what?” Tay asks, displeasure marring his dark face, fist clenching. Too little sleep and too much worry has made him uncharacteristically short-tempered. “The Humans will not help us without compensation. And if you haven’t checked, all of our medicinal herbs are burnt along with most of our coin.”
“Then water,” a patron answers, voice rough from the flames. “Humans will want our water in exchange for supplies. We could use the hands, food, shelter.Seti’s Hell, even the protection now that our wards are failing.”
