Series: The Sacrifice Series by Natasha Knight
Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
I sit on the edge of her bed. “Why did you give her the book? How did you get into my desk drawer to get it? I keep it locked.”
“There are no secrets from me, Azrael. I thought you knew that.”
I study her, take in her unapologetic expression. “Why? Why let her see that? You had to know it would only terrify her.”
“Isn’t it better to know what you’re facing? To know the truth that your time is limited?” Her words make me pause. “Perhaps it will make her more compliant.”
“Compliant? You want her to offer her neck to the blade?”
“Well, that will never be. The Wildbloods would never willingly sacrifice themselves, would they? They’re too selfish.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
She raises her eyebrows like I’m the crazy one.
I stand. “There will be no sacrifice, Grandmother. I’m tearing the statue down.”
Her expression morphs into one of shock, of horror. It takes her a long moment to recover. “Then you’ve as good as signed your sister’s death warrant.”
“As long as you believe this bullshit, you will credit countless natural events to it, to this curse, to a piece of rock.”
“Blasphemy!”
“Logic. This Tithing began how many centuries ago? Back when people believed witches to be real. When they murdered them on the testimony of children. We’ve come so far beyond that. My parents died in a terrible accident. Abacus died out of the terror of what he’d be made to do—to act out scripture forced on him from your lips drove him to suicide.”
“Oh! It’s my fault he hanged himself? Or did I tie the noose around his neck, too?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“No? Well, then maybe you shouldn’t have said it.”
“Enough! I’ve had enough! I’m bringing Willow home. You will give her the respect she’s due—”
Snort.
“You will give her the respect she is due as my wife!”
“Is that what she wants? To come back here? To lay with you? If you won’t go through with the Tithing, then what’s the point of bringing her here? Return her to her family. Return her…” She stops, narrows her eyes, and tilts her head. One corner of her mouth curves upward and for a moment, I wonder if she knows. If she’s guessed about the baby. “Oh, Azrael.” She laughs. “Oh, my dear, stupid boy.” That laughter continues, a strange sound from her. It’s a wicked, unnatural thing. “Don’t tell me that witch has spread her legs and trapped you between her thighs.” She gets out of the bed, seeming stronger than ever as she stalks toward me. “She is just a woman. Any woman’s cunt will do.”
“She is my wife. You will not speak—”
“If you think yourself in love with her, let me tell you that is impossible. You are a man.” She looks me over, the disgust in her eyes evident. “Men often mistake fucking for loving. I know. It’s how we manipulate you, how we control you. And even the strongest stumble at times.”
“Grandmother, you’re wrong.”
“You, my darling grandson, are made in my image. You are exactly like me.”
“You’re wrong.”
“And I can tell you one thing for sure. You and I are incapable of such a base, common emotion. No, my dear Azrael. You keep on fucking that whore to your heart’s content. Use her as you like. Bring her home, by all means. This is where the Sacrifice belongs. Her blood, after all, must be spilled on Delacroix soil. The violence you committed against those men, the Disciples, that is who you are. That is what you are capable of. That is why Shemhazai has chosen you. You. Not Abacus. Not Emmanuel. Not your father. You.” She gets close enough that I smell her sickly breath when she next speaks. “Do not make the mistake of thinking yourself capable of love. You are not so weak. You are his soldier. His Penitent. You belong to Shemhazai. And the Wildblood witch, when the time of his choosing comes, will die at your hands. Mark my words, Azrael.”
8
WILLOW
I wake with a jolt, terror gripping me by the throat as my lungs seize. Sweat beads along my brow, my hair sticking to my forehead, and I blink rapidly, trying to discern my surroundings. It’s so dark I can’t see, and the memory of Caleb’s rotting flesh is alive and real in my mind.
For a moment, I wonder if I’m back there, beneath him. Helpless to save myself, my sister, or Bec.
The feeling of a hand on my arm startles me, and I scream, trying desperately to escape as I fight him off. But it’s Azrael’s voice that fills the space between us.
“Willow, it’s me.”
My lungs expand, drawing in a full breath as he flips on the bedside lamp and turns to face me.
“Come here,” he murmurs, dragging me into the sanctuary of his body as he wraps his arms around me.