Page 217 of The Harbinger

“Sacha.”

The words barely left my numbed lips, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He saw me, his dark gaze glinting in the fire sconces lighting our path through the woods like fingers of fire sprites dancing in the air.

My chest rose and fell in steady, even breaths, my body dying before it lay on the altar as my thoughts took off with fear.

The trees began to twist and contort, taking on a sinister appearance. Branches turned into gnarled claws, reaching out to grab me while the ground beneath my feet writhed with slimy tentacles. Demons with white masks emerged from the shadows, their bodies solid black while their eyes glowed like molten lava.

“What did youuuu give meeeee?” I slurred.

This isn’t real.

“Euphrazin. Do you like it?” Ruslan placed the twisted, blackened-horned skull over his own head. The antlers reached out like grasping fingers, and his beady eyes glinted through the dark, hollow eye sockets. “I had it specially made.”

The guards standing by his side seemed to morph and shift, their faces contorting in a grotesque dance as though they were part of a surreal painting I had seen in my youth. It was as though they didn’t know where their noses and eyes were supposed to be.

Ruslan issued a command, and his guards marched me forward, his hood drawn up to the horns, not allowing for a single strand of hair to be visible. The horses kicked in behind us, following me, their chosen entertainment for the night.

Initiates lined the ill-beaten path, their hoods drawn up, concealing every part of their bodies.

My bare feet tripped and stumbled over the rocks and roots, crossing the path until we broke through the grasping trees and entered the sacred circle.

Memories of Sacha flooded my mind like a hurricane, threatening to drown me in a sea of emotions. I could see him now, his hands gripping my hips with a possessive fervor, his mouth on my neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I remembered the day when he had smeared his blood on me in a dark, ancient ritual, binding us together in a beautiful and terrifying way.

But now, as the men lifted me and placed me on the altar, those memories were nothing more than a distant dream.

My limbs were like stones, heavy and unmoving.

A fire pit burned along the edge of the circle, and hooded figures marched towards it. Their hands outstretched before them with a square bundle. Each one took turns dumping their offering into the fire, then found their place along the inside of the circle.

My breath billowed above me, the cloud turning into invisible hands gripping me by the throat.

Ruslan’s sinister chant shook my body, rattling my bones as the crowd of initiates circled the trees behind the hooded figures. The white masks of the initiates glowed in the dim light, their features twisted and distorted.

His voice drifted in the background when Sacha, dressed in black robes, came to stand beside me.

My stomach leaped, my heart fluttered, but I could only stare at his wounded neck. He’d survived. Something inside me warmed as I struggled to glimpse a single feature beneath his hood.

“Sssasssssssha.” My tongue sat heavy in my mouth. My arms and legs became one with the altar, and their receptors froze with Ruslan’s personalized cocktail. My heart leaped through the foggy haze and began beating at a rapid pace.

“I’m… sssssorry.” I let those forbidden words slip, even though I felt them will all of my soul. “I didn’t knnnnow…” I swallowed the saliva pooling in my mouth.

Sacha’s fingers brushed against my ankles, and then cool air touched my calves, knees, then thighs as if I’d plunged into a frozen lake. He smeared a wet substance along my legs and shivers broke out, pulling my skin taut as it pebbled. He swirled the designs up my legs, moving from one to the other, then circled my knees. Tears fell down my temples, soaking into the altar as my own personal offering.

I licked my chapped lips. “Please ddddon’t…” My chin trembled and my teeth chattered.

But still, he continued without pause or hesitation, moving my robe higher still until it rested just above my bare center.

He dipped his white bone-handled brush in a stone bowl, then continued painting my legs, the excess dribbling down my inner thighs.

Ruslan’s chanting filled my ears like a death knell. The others continued burning their offerings while my stuttering pleas went unanswered. He mercilessly ignored me, never sparing me a glance, never wavering in his duty. He didn’t show a shred of mercy as I begged and pleaded for my life. It was as if he’d absolved himself of me and was content to let his father’s ritual play out. He’d damn me to the depths of Hell with indifference staining his face.

I sucked in a wet breath through my lips, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth as my sob bathed the air above me.

The chanting grew louder, overpowering my thoughts. His brush touched my hand, each finger painted with whatever substance he used, including the finger still wrapped by my gala dress.

“In nomine Domini nostri Tenebri benedicat nos. Tuas in inferno desideria poscimus, et has hostias a Domino diabolo tributarias offerimus.”

The wind blew across my wet legs, causing my whole body to shake in a massive tremor, and a smirk stretched his lips.

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