Series: The Sacrifice Series by Natasha Knight
Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79889 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“But we will suffer.” Emotion cripples her voice. “We will suffer without you here, regardless. If I die, I want it to be by your side.”
Despite the heaviness in my bones, I find it in me to rise to my feet and pull her in for a rare hug. It’s something I seldom offer these days but something I want to give her now.
“I love you,” I whisper. “But you know I can’t let you do that. I can’t let any of you do that. This is my fate, and I can’t and won’t try to escape it.”
She releases a shuddering breath and nods, too choked up to speak. We always knew it would come to this, and entertaining any other notions is just a fantasy. I learned the hard way not to indulge in such girlish dreams. I live in the real world, and there are no escapes from this reality.
A knock on the bedroom door separates us just as Cordelia’s voice rings out from the other side.
“Can I come in?” she asks.
Raven opens her mouth to reply, but I stop her with a hand around her wrist. She glances back at me with wide, curious eyes.
“Promise me if anything ever happens to me, you’ll get Fiona and bring her back home.”
Raven’s eyes settle on the black cat curled up at the end of my bed, determination steeling her voice as she responds, “An army couldn’t stop me.”
Cordelia knocks again, calling out one more time. “Hello? Willow?”
“Come in,” Raven and I call out in unison.
My little sister enters the room with a somber expression on her face, trying for my sake to hold back tears, and I’m glad for it. I don’t want to cry anymore.
“How is Mom?” I ask.
“She was resting,” she answers quietly. “Nan gave her more special tea to calm her.”
I nod, relieved, until Cordelia swallows and squares her shoulders. “The assholes have arrived.”
“Cordelia!” Raven tries to scold her for the language, but it comes out more like a laugh, and I start laughing too.
“What?” Cordelia shrugs innocently. “That’s what you always call them.”
Raven looks at me and smiles, and I can’t help smiling too. Leave it to Cordelia to inadvertently lighten the moment.
“Well?” Raven asks. “What do they look like?”
“Huge.” Cordelia’s eyes flare as she lowers her voice. “They’re like… trees.”
I swallow and nod, not in the least surprised. The legends of their height have long since echoed through my mind. I’ve often heard it said the Delacroix spawn look like gods among men, although, if it were up to me, I’d use a different term.
“I could probably kick him in the knee,” Cordelia says thoughtfully. “When he comes to inspect us.”
“Don’t you dare.” Raven snorts. “Remember what we’ve told you.”
Cordelia sighs in annoyance. “That would make me as bad as them. We don’t use violence. We use magic.”
“Exactly.” I tap her on her freckled nose. “Now, let’s get this over with before their energy stains this house.”
Raven and I move to go, but Cordelia steps in front of us, whisper-hissing a command for us to wait.
“What is it?” I ask.
She glances between us nervously before removing an envelope from her pocket. It’s a cream-colored missive with familiar black handwriting.
Dread curdles my stomach, and the energy shifts as Raven reaches for my hand.
“I didn’t want to say anything with Mom already upset,” Cordelia explains. “And you said to always bring them to you if I found them in the yard.”
I nod, reaching out with stiff fingers to grasp the envelope. My sisters watch me carefully as I open it, eyes moving over the message before my hand falls limp to my side and the paper flutters to the floor.
“What does it say?” Raven asks.
I open my lips to respond, but nothing comes out. I can’t give voice to the words. I can’t repeat them, even though they are burned into my brain. The threat is as clear as any other my attacker has sent.
On this day, the day of the Tithing, without even knowing it, he has proven that Azrael Delacroix isn’t the only devil I have to contend with. Because Caleb Church still lives and breathes, biding his time in a prison cell, waiting for the day he gets out.
The day he can come back for me.
These eight words confirm it.
Watch your back, witch. Your days are numbered.
5
AZRAEL
She’s more like him than us, isn’t she?
I’m not sure which part of that statement is worse, the part that she is calling both my sister and my dead brother weak or that she has put me in the same category as herself.
It’s not that I want to deny the fact that she and I are similar. That’s not the issue. That part is true. I am more like my grandmother than I like. Emmanuel is, too.
But calling Rébecca and Abacus weak? I can’t stand it.