Page 126 of Shattered Jewel

Sasha.

The Scourge Sovereign approves of this new development with a corrosive chuckle. The Silent Sovereign applauds with his gloved hands.

Axe’s pallor turns bone-white.

“That should be enough to lure the Wraithwood girl here, don’t you think?” the High Sovereign muses to the Scourge.

He then turns to the two initiates who’d pushed Sasha into the chamber. “You did well, men. So much better than our top boys. And in a shorter time-frame. Expect to be rewarded with member positions that will soon be vacated.”

Sasha straightens, summoning enough courage to spit, “You half-chub twat repellents, if you think Elara will go anywhere near you, you’re deluded as fuck?—”

The Silent Sovereign slaps her across the face.

Axe shoots forward, his bare hands going for Silent’s throat, but the Scourge intercepts him, landing a crushing blow to his midsection. Axe doubles over with a grunt of pain, but he doesn’t stay down. With an enraged roar, he launches himself at the Scourge again.

“This isn’t what we agreed on,” Axe snarls. “You fucking bastards?—”

The chamber explodes into anarchy as Sasha screams and the two titans clash. They are equally matched in size and strength, their bodies colliding with brutal force that reverberates through the room. The High Sovereign watches on, and I imagine a mockery of mirth twisting his lips as he pries the ruby shard from Elara’ necklace and cradles the jewel in his hand.

With each guttural grunt and savage cry from Axe, my restraint frays at the edges. To rip into this scene of utter barbarity, to do something—anything—to stop Axe from wrecking himself against the Sovereigns would be a memory I’d treasure. Training gets the better of me and I stay put, with the full understanding that Axe would never want me to intervene if there was a chance that my staying hidden could save Elara, first.

Wilder better ensure Elara doesn’t fucking come near the altar room, but there’s always that deadly sliver of a chance she’ll be shoved in here, too.

My hand itches for the small firearm at my hip, but it’s too risky to use it in such close quarters. I could hit Sasha or Axe, the bullet could ricochet or its sound draw the attention of the party upstairs. The Sovereigns would rather kill everyone in this house than let their secret occult practices be leaked to the public. It’s why we were trained predominantly with ancient weapons, like knives and other silent killers. More successful—and efficient—that way.

I don’t feel too efficient now.

FUCK.

“Such a futile attempt,” the High Sovereign comments leisurely. “Considering the bloodline you come from, Axton, I expected more.” He looks to the Scourge. “I’m afraid he is a lost cause as well. You may begin.”

“You promised!” Axe roars. “You promised to give me my sister!”

The High Sovereign’s laugh spreads like a poisoned fog, seeping into every corner of the room. “And you swore your undying loyalty. Yet, here we are, ending your mortal life.”

The Scourge gives a sharp whistle that has me baring my teeth in my efforts to control lunging into the fray. I’m excellent at what I do, but I’m vastly outnumbered, and Cav will be here soon.

I check my phone to see if there’s anything from him. Any of them.

No signal.

Of fucking course.

A metallic ring snaps my head up as the same two initiates who dragged Sasha in here bend at Axe’s feet, while the Scourge has him in a headlock, Axe’s face turning beet red. Through sheer will, he’s keeping conscious.

The initiates unlock two of the sturdy iron rings embedded in the stone floor, archaic remnants of the witch trials that occurred here centuries ago. They force Axe’s strong, scarred legs towards the cold metal, securing them at the knees with manacles strong enough to hold a centaur.

Sasha’s screams fill the room as the two initiates go to her next, but my focus is on Axe.

Bound again.

Prepared to be put to death this time.

The Scourge releases his headlock, retreating only to be replaced by the Silent, who takes hold of Axe’s wrists, crosses them behind him, and locks him in place with another set of chains.

Axe is restrained, on his knees, his shoulders pulled back, his neck straining to hold his head up, but my boy keeps that defiance on his face, his turbulent breaths and snarling expression a testament to his indomitable will. The new laceration on his face turns him into that mythical beast. His veins pulse beneath his mutilated skin as if chiding him for the turncoat he’d been forced to become.

Axe’s resistance is met with another punch to the gut by the Scourge that has him struggling for air.

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