Page 37 of Wild Devil

Colton eyes his raised fist and laughs as if he finds the violence amusing. Gradually, he resumes his polished persona, straightening his tie once again. Tilting his head toward the door, he says, “We’ll be down in a moment.”

The expression on his face isn’t what I expect a new husband to show to his wife. Icy, his narrowed gaze promises painful retribution next time we’re alone.

“Compose yourself,” he snaps while marching toward the door. I make a halfhearted attempt to tie back my hair, not that he seems to care. After smoothing a hand down the front of his suit, he pulls the door open to reveal a guard, nearly identical to the others I’d glimpsed skulking around the property. Dressed in black with a weapon at his hip, he waits patiently for Colton and me to exit the room. As we head toward the staircase, the guard follows, his steps echoing like a morbid countdown.

Tick.

Tock.

This is another glaring sign that, despite Colton’s pompous demeanor, he’s not as in control as he thinks. Taking in everything I can, I push the fear aside as we pass the same rooms adorned with faded luxury that I saw while with Catherine. After the sun sets behind the tall windows, the darkness doesn’t provide a better contrast to this place than the bright daylight did. In disrepair and dust, it appears more like a gothic vampire’s lair.

Or a prison.

A sense of déjà vu washes over me as we retreat down a vaguely familiar corridor that ends before a set of ornate black doors. Another guard opens them from the outside, revealing a shadowed courtyard enclosed by seemingly endless swaths of forest. Colton nudges me out before him as I strain my eyes to view a neglected lawn with overgrown hedges. Not far from the house is an empty fountain that’s been dry long enough for weeds to have grown up between cracks in the stone base. Looming above it, towering in the darkness, is a set of large, triangular buildings that must be the stables. Orange lanterns have been fixed to the outside of one, illuminating two large doors left open to the night air.

Apprehension floods my veins. It’s not the church venue I was expecting. The uneasy sensation of stage fright envelops me as hushed murmurs from within the imposing structure seep out to greet me. I feel as if I am the lead in a twisted production I never agreed to participate in.

I look over at Colton, whose eyes gleam with a smug air of superiority. As we approach the stables, he grasps my hand in a punishing grip, but I know better than to pull away.

Even though I cannot see him, I can feel my father watching me from the faceless crowd before us. God, there must be twenty… thirty people here. Can any of them be from the congregation in which I spent my entire life, now corrupted by the evil of my father? Only a torchlight illuminates the mostly-dark interior, causing my eyes to blink rapidly as Colton drags me inside.

I glance up at the “altar” ahead, and my heart sinks deeper into my chest. When I used to consider marriage, I envisioned a grand, beautiful ceremony, with my father there to guide me down the aisle and a crowd of swooning churchgoers dressed in their Sunday best.

I don’t recognize any of the shrouded figures assembled here. They seem formless, as if draped in black cloaks that shield their features from view. Faceless onlookers, they stand gathered around the sides of the stables, watching in an eerie coordinated silence as Colton and I traverse a long walkway lined in black carpet.

I don’t like this.

Especially when I finally see what lurks beyond the altar, emanating a sweltering heat. I don’t know how I missed it before—a stone basin containing a roaring fire that crackles at the air. A man in a black robe stands beside it, a hood drawn low over his face.

I can’t help it. I falter, forcing Colton to tug on my wrist sternly.

“Come on,” he hisses. “I swear I’ll drag you there if I have to.”

He might have to. What the hell is going on? I can’t see my father anywhere. At least until the hooded figure speaks, his voice low and gravelly but instantly familiar.

“Come forward, both of you, and allow yourself to be honored by the cleansing fire.”

Fire. My eyes widen at the word. Despite their terrible beauty, I can’t help but stare at the dancing flames. I must stop short a second time, because Colton nearly pulls me to the floor in his irritation to force me to keep up.

For a heartbeat, all the bravery I’ve amassed over the past few days goes out the window. I can’t breathe. Terror forms a stone ball in the pit of my throat, making it impossible to suck in air. My heart is a quivering mass in my chest, and my knees buckle.

Cleansing fire.

Cleansing fire.

Those two words form a ceaseless mantra that taunts me, drowning out any voice of reason in my mind that might argue with it. I can’t go through with this. I can’t!

My fingers are ready to pry the razor blade free.

Then I see them.

Initially, their location appears obscured from my vantage point. In this winding, echoing chamber, I can only hear their hushed whimpers, soft and fearful. My ears are captivated by the sound, and I turn my head just enough to make out shadows in a nearby stall. The place seems devoid of horses, but instead, there are three small figures huddled together on a heap of hay. Loose, dark hair tumbles down their shoulders and every one of them would make a more fitting bride than I do. They’re dressed in white shifts that expose their knees and hang on their slender frames as if no one bothered to size them properly.

Because they won’t be wearing them for very long, a voice in my head explains. You remember what Father said. That word—Sacrifice.

I shake my head, desperate to clear it of the paranoid whispers. Before I know it, Colton and I are standing before the hooded figure, facing the burning pyre.

This close, it’s easier to tell that the ebony-clad figure is my father. Or at least he used to be. As he throws back his hood, I can’t find any shred of Michael Heywood lurking within those empty eyes. Gone is any ounce of warmth or light. His very soul seems to reflect the darkness in this room, making even the fire reflecting off his irises seem cold and lifeless.

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