Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 146722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 734(@200wpm)___ 587(@250wpm)___ 489(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 734(@200wpm)___ 587(@250wpm)___ 489(@300wpm)
Noa tried to swallow, but the garrote made it almost impossible. For a second, she thought of Diel. Of how he must have felt wearing chains in Purgatory. And then in the years afterward, where he was trapped behind the collar that would curb the man he was always destined to be.
“Repent, witch!” Auguste hissed.
Noa clenched her teeth but managed to spit out, “Never.” Auguste didn’t care if she repented. She had been under this man’s harsh hand for most of her childhood. He didn’t care about her salvation. He just wanted to bring her pain, a sadist in priest’s clothing. Auguste and the twin fuckers who’d killed her grandmother were going to kill Noa too.
It was simply a matter of time.
And as she sat there, something became crystal clear within her—Noa would never renounce who she was ever again. She was the granddaughter of a Wiccan priestess. She came from a long line of persecuted witches, and she would never give in to the men who had hunted them down like dogs. She would die who she truly was.
A witch.
A heretic.
But an innocent woman.
“The devil has his hands firmly on your soul,” one of the twins said, slicing his hand across her cheek. It burned, setting her skin alight. But Noa was growing numb. Her fight to stay conscious was waning. Her fight to stay alive was dimming with every second under their command.
Auguste turned the lever to the garrote, tightening the leather collar around Noa’s throat. She tried to keep still, but as her airway was crushed, her legs tried to thrash and she instinctively fought the restraints around her hands.
The creaks of the collar and ties on her hands were a thunderclap in the dank room. Then Auguste was before her, victory in his stare. “I win,” he said. Noa’s face reddened as she fought for air. Her vision became blotchy, black spots floating around her like an aura. This was it. This was the moment she died.
“What you and your heretic sisters could never understand is that we always win in the end. It has been prophesized. Heretics like you will burn in hell for all eternity. This …” he said, gesturing to the garrote, to the stake they had already burned her on, only cutting off the flames when the skin on her legs and stomach had begun to melt, and to the stream they had plunged her into several times until she had passed out, only for them to revive her and do it all over again. Noa was exhausted. Yet something inside of her kept fighting. Something in her spirit kept her holding on. “This is nothing to what awaits you in the eternal inferno.” Auguste brought his face closer to hers. “Witch.”
It took Noa all her remaining strength, but she stared him dead in the eyes and smiled, widely. She watched with joy in her heart as the smile seemed to hit him with as much force as a bullet to the chest. Auguste slowly lifted his chin, wickedness washing over his rigid stance.
Straightening to his full height, he looked over her shoulder at one of the twins. “Snap her fucking neck.”
Noa braced for her imminent death. She closed her eyes, ready for whatever came next. But suddenly, the sound of machine guns firing ricocheted off the cave walls around them.
Noa snapped her eyes open. Auguste stared at the door that led to the main body of the church. “Guard the door,” he said to the twins. She heard them move, and something ignited in her chest.
Wonder.
Excitement.
Hope.
They were coming for her. Diel and her sisters, the Fallen—Noa knew it was them. They were coming to save her. She felt it in the marrow in her bones.
Auguste turned and noticed the smile remaining on her bloodied and split-skinned face. “You won’t be smiling for long, witch.”
“They … are … here,” Noa whispered, voice almost ruined. “For me …”
Auguste’s brown eyes flamed with disgust, with pure unadulterated hatred. He reached for the back of the garrote. Noa stilled, closing her eyes, waiting for her neck to snap, waiting for the end to arrive. But then …
“Fuck!”
Noa opened her eyes, chest aching from tension. She could feel Auguste trying to turn the lever of the garrote tighter, to crush the bones in her neck. But nothing happened; the lever seemed to be stuck. It was stuck…
Auguste was breathing fast. Then, on a final furious curse, he released her from the garrote and dragged her numbed, weak body across the room to the iron maiden. Noa tried to fight, tried to push Auguste away from the fucked-up device staring her in the face, but her strength was too depleted. He opened the door to the iron maiden to reveal the mass of metal spikes.
Auguste pushed Noa in. She cried out in agony as the spikes instantly pierced holes all over her body. “We’ll meet again, witch,” he said, repeatedly checking over his shoulder. “Unless you die in here first, which, God willing, you will. You can die while you watch them search for you.”