Page 168 of The Seven Rings
He walked on through the mists, the knife gripped in his hand.
Kill them, she’d said. Kill them all.
He walked down to the second floor. The need, so great, all but swallowed him whole. The taste of her lingered on his lips, the scent of her covered him, and her voice pounded in his ears.
His vision narrowed on the doors at the end of the hall. The turret room. The master.
It will be ours, Dobbs murmured in his head.It will all be ours.
As he reached the doors, music blasted, and the dogs sent up a howling.
He pushed inside.
Trey stood by the bed; Sonya scrambled out of it.
Throat dry as dust, pain screaming in every cell, Owen turned the point of the knife toward his own throat
“I’d do myself first, you fucked-up bitch. Take it, Trey. Jesus, take it before I end up doing just that. I can’t let go of it.”
“I’ve got it. I’ve got you.”
Trey twisted the knife out of his grip, then tossed it on the bed. When Owen swayed, he grabbed him.
Something screamed, something that hadn’t been human in over two centuries.
“Sonya, get a blanket. He’s freezing.”
“No. No, I gotta… Sick.”
When Owen lunged for the bathroom, Trey went with him. “Get the knife, get downstairs.”
Cleo rushed in. “What—”
“I’ve got him. Go!” He slammed the door to the bathroom.
“Sonya, what’s happening?” She turned to the door and the sound of Owen’s retching.
“Trey’s with him. We’ll go down, make tea. He was so cold and pale.”
She picked up the knife, shuddered. “Dobbs killed Astrid with this knife. I recognize it.”
“What’s it doing here?”
“Owen had it.” Sonya took Cleo’s arm, pulled her from the room. “We’ll go downstairs. He’ll tell us what happened when he can. But I think, God, Cleo, I think Dobbs tried to get him to kill us.”
“He would never. No matter what she did.”
“And he didn’t.”
She glanced up as they reached the stairs. It sounded like a war waged from the Gold Room. And thin tendrils of fog tore apart and dissolved in the light.
“I think she drew him up there. He’ll tell us,” she said again, and looked at the knife she carried.
“I’ll make the tea. We need to put that somewhere safe. Somewhere she can’t get to it again.”
“Out of the house,” Sonya agreed. “It can’t stay in the house. I’m taking it out now, out to my car, locking it up.”
The front doors slammed open, shut, open, shut. Lights flicked on and off.
