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)
“I’m not going to do it, Willow. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“But you’re going to. We’re both here, aren’t we? You’re going to. Salomé wants—”
“Salomé can want whatever the hell she wants,” I try to maintain control of my tone, which is raised. “She can say what she wants. But I decide.”
“Tell me why, at least. Explain to me why your ancestors and you, now, in this modern time, still come for the chosen Wildblood. Explain to me why we’re still doing this centuries after Elizabeth’s death.”
I shake my head, then push a hand into my hair because she’s right. It is outrageous that I believe in this curse, but I do. So does her family. So does she. It’s why we’re here. Exactly why she and I are both here.
“My parents' yacht disappeared years ago; their bodies were never found. No crew was found. It’s like they were never there at all. Abacus? Abacus went insane. I found him. I found him, and do you know what he’d done before hanging himself? He’d tried to cut out the birthmarks. He’d butchered himself. That’s how badly he’d wanted to escape the Wildblood curse.”
“A curse you don’t think you deserve for what your ancestors did to us?” She turns to walk away.
I go after her, grabbing her by the arm and turning her back to me. “My ancestors, maybe, but Abacus? My mom and dad? Do you think they deserved to be punished? Do you think Rébecca does?”
She tries to shrug free, but I don’t let her go. “No, I don’t, but do you really think taking me, offering that thing a lock of my hair, do you really think it will heal Rébecca? Will it bring your parents or Abacus back?”
“It won’t bring anyone back from the dead.” I loosen my hold and she takes two steps backward, tilting her head as she studies me like she’s trying to make sense of something nonsensical.
“But you think it will heal Rébecca?” she asks, sounding astonished.
I hear what she’s saying, how unbelievable it sounds. How fucking ridiculous. I shake my head.
“And what about you?” she continues, yelling now over thunder and sheets of rain, wiping away the hair that’s sticking to her face. “What happens to you after some accident befalls me and I’m off your hands and all your problems are solved? Your sister is miraculously healed. Hell, maybe your parents are found and your brother rises from the dead. What about you, Azrael? Because historically, no Penitent has lasted more than a few months after the Wildblood witch is dead. You’re not going to walk away from this, either.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
She shakes her head, a deep line between her eyebrows. “Are you willing to throw away your life along with mine?”
“I’d happily give up my life if it would save Rébecca’s,” I say over the pounding rain.
“What about taking her to a different doctor then for starters? What about modern medicine instead of—”
A blinding blast of lightning makes her stop mid-sentence as it strikes the center of the lake.
Willow stares, mouth agape.
“Fuck!” Without waiting for her to say another word, I bend to lift her, haul her over my shoulder and run for the chapel because it’s closer than the house.
She bounces on my back, clutching the waistband of my pants for balance.
I turn to watch the storm that seems to be chasing us. When we get to the churchyard, I weave through the path, not slowing when I have to pass Shemhazai’s altar. Only when we reach the stairs to the chapel do I slow down, setting Willow on her feet beneath the overhang. Her eyes are locked on the demon-angel.
“Willow,” I say, taking her small face in my hands and turning her to look at me, wiping away water, seeing something I haven’t seen in her eyes yet, not really.
Fear.
“That thing is evil, Azrael.”
She looks up at me, shivers. I hug her close.
“I’m not him,” I tell her. “And I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I swear it.”
Her forehead creased, she opens her mouth to answer. Before she can utter a sound, a bolt of lightning strikes the very altar at the angel’s feet, and for a moment, the night is electric. A sound like nothing I’ve heard before rumbles louder than the thunder that follows, and as I push Willow through the door into the church, I look back over my shoulder at the thing. At the altar now split down the center, the malevolent angel wearing his hood, carrying his sword and watching us. As if he heard every word we just said.
23
WILLOW
Tension lingers between us as Azrael leads me back to the house, settling me into bed alone. He has no intention of staying, and I don’t know if that’s better or worse. We waited out the storm together in silence after I’d shrugged him off, the howling wind and thunderous booms shaking the chapel as if to prove we’ve angered the heavens.