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)
“And you giving Bec the choice tonight to stay or go, do you have any idea what position you put her in?”
“What the hell are you talking about? I told her she could stay if she wanted to. She chose to leave.”
“Christ, you really are blind.” She turns to walk on but the path splits here, and she takes the one leading toward the cemetery.
“This way.” I pull her back.
“I’m serious, Azrael. Maybe take her to a different doctor.”
I look straight ahead, forehead furrowed. We have taken her to many doctors. She just doesn’t get better. My grandmother’s words play in my head. What I need to do to save Rébecca.
“I know someone. I can take her,” she offers.
I look down at her. “We have specialists. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“She’s been our family doctor for years. She delivered all of us and—”
“I said we have specialists. Drop it.”
“If you promise to think about it, I’ll drop it. For now.” I look down at her eager face. “You accused me of playing some game with her, but I’m not. I wouldn’t want to see her hurt. Just think about it, okay? I’ll drop it for now if you promise to think about it.”
“Fine. I’ll think about it.”
She nods and we fall into silence. It’s not uncomfortable though. In fact, I feel more at ease than I have in a while, and my headache’s staying away.
Benedict begins to bark which is unusual. I stop to listen. He’s close but off the trail. “Stay here,” I tell Willow.
“Where are you going?”
“He doesn’t usually bark. Stay on the trail. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Stay.” I head into the woods, calling for him. He doesn’t stop barking, though and when I get to him, he’s standing at the single gate near the back of the property that’s unused. The huge solid door was here when the property was purchased centuries ago. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it opened.
“What is it, boy?”
He whines, sits. I follow his gaze to the door, then look at the overgrown grass around it, the ivy creeping along it and up the twelve-foot wall. I test the chain. It’s locked tight, the ancient wooden door with iron fixtures undisturbed.
“There’s nothing here. Come on,” I say, petting him to reassure him, but he just whines. “Come, Benedict.” He lifts his nose in the air and bounds back toward the trail, disappearing from sight. I follow the path to where Willow should be waiting, but she’s gone.
I look up and down the path but don’t see any sign of her.
“Willow?” I call out but get nothing. Before I can decide which way to go, I hear a loud splash. Fuck. The lake? No. She wouldn’t have found it, would she? “Willow?” I call again, hurrying toward the back of the property where I hear Benedict. I can imagine him running along the bank in and out of the lake, making as big of a splash as he can.
I run faster, stopping only when I come to the clearing where the forest opens up and find them.
It is beautiful here, the most beautiful spot on the grounds, with a riot of colorful flowers blooming almost year-round and the water clear and crisp. Mom loved bringing us swimming here when we were younger.
When Grandmother came, she forbade it, of course, but Abacus, Emmanuel, and I would sneak out here anyway and swim on hot summer nights.
Benedict is paddling around in the small lake. Grandmother can apparently smell a wet dog a mile away so it’s rare that we bring him here, but it’s not him I’m worried about. It’s Willow. She’s standing at the foot of the tallest tree on the property set at the far end.
The tree.
I slow my steps as that familiar sadness, that immense sense of loss, overwhelms me.
Once I reach her, Willow glances up at me, her face paler than usual, one hand resting on the tree. She feels it too. I see it.
“What happened here?”
My head begins its pounding, and my throat closes up as I try to tamp down all the fucking emotions. One year. It’s been one year, but it feels like yesterday I came across his body. Yesterday when I stopped right here, in this spot, and cut down my brother’s dead body.
“What the hell happened here?” she demands.
“Nothing,” I say, not sounding remotely like myself.
“Not nothing.” She touches the tree. “Someone died here.”
“Let’s go back to the house. This was a bad idea.”
Willow shakes her head. “Did you hang a Wildblood witch from this tree?” Her question catches me off guard. It’s not what I’m expecting, not remotely. Her eyes are ablaze, shards of glass that would slice me through if they could. She spins to face me fully when I don’t respond. “Did you, you fucking psycho?”