Page 80 of The Secrets of Roan Island

“Noah!” I jerk against Hammish’s grip, then whirl to face him. “Stop!”

On Hammish’s other side, Zarah keeps her head bowed, clearly afraid of her father’s power.

“He’s fine.” Jafeth’s voice grabs my attention. “Nothing to worry about.”

I turn to find Noah’s youngest brother standing off to the side of the dias, four wide-eyed and open-mouthed women between him and Shemaiah. They’re dressed like Zarah and me, living ghosts in white gowns. My heart twists at the realization I can’t save them. Even if Noah does love me and manages to bite me before his father, it won’t stop Hammish. He’ll just take one of the other girls. He’ll just force them to be bitten. And they’ll die.

Tears fill my eyes. “Please.” So much grief and longing carried in that one word.

Shemaiah gives me a look I can’t decipher, his brows shifting as if he’s trying to communicate something, but I don’t know him well enough to interpret it.

Unable to meet their gaze, I follow Zarah’s lead and bow my head, tears of rage spilling from my eyes.I will not be afraid,I promise myself.I will end this.

Hammish must release Noah, to my relief, because the sound of him getting to his feet pulls my eyes up from the stone to meet his gaze. His expression is pained as his eyes lock with mine.

Bite me, I mouth, trying to tell him what he needs to know. If there’s any chance of me surviving this, it has to be him.

His brows knit and he shakes his head. My heart sinks.

“By the altar, pet.” Hammish smiles and pushes me forward. When I freeze, Zarah takes my hand and leads me up the steps onto the platform, then around to the other side of the stone altar. Jafeth and Shemaiah direct the other women to join us, and they do so holding hands. I wonder how much they know about what’s about to happen.

Hammish comes to stand in front of us. He tracks the movement of his sons until they’re lined up across from him, the goddess’s altar between them. I try to get Noah’s attention, but he won’t meet my gaze. His focus is on his father, as if waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

He won’t get one. Not when Hammish can stop him before he even makes a move. This will be up to me. I just have to watch for an opportunity and take it.

“We must appease the goddess.” Hammish steps up to the altar. Three cups and several knives rest atop the stone. He draws the first glass toward him, then selects a knife, lifting it up to the sky as he says, “Willing blood of the patriarch.” He slices his arm without a sound, and blood pulses from his wound into the empty cup. “Zarah.” He turns toward her. She steps up andslices a finger with her fang before touching it to her father’s wound.

As the cut heals, Hammish raises the partially filled cup. “In order to appease the moons.” He pours the thick red liquid over the altar, and it slides between the grooves, covering the stone and draining into a small moat at the floor.

Noah, his brothers, and Zarah recite something in Mavarri.

Noah’s eyes lift to mine, his look filled with guilt and regret. And maybe something else. A fragile determination.

Hammish lifts the second cup, this one filled with a clear liquid. “For the Goddess.” He pours the second glass out on the stone. “To cleanse us for her arrival.” The astringent scent of alcohol hits my senses. The liquid sluices through the rock and crevices, mixing with the blood below.

The Roans recite another incantation, and this time when Noah’s eyes meet mine, I again mouth,bite me, hoping he can understand.

His eyebrows scrunch together.

Heaviness crushes the hope inside me as Hammish lifts the third cup. “A sip for the Mavarri to imbue us with blessings.” He brings it to his lips, but before he drinks, his nostrils flare, and with a wild yell, he flings the glass across the room. It explodes against the stone.

The brothers drop to the floor, twisting in pain.

I lunge toward Noah, but Zarah lurches toward me, holding me back.

“Did you really think that would work?” Hammish yells, his back to us. “Did you think you would win so easily?”

From the corner of my eye, I notice movement, but my focus is on the tortured expression on Noah’s beautiful face. I need to do something! My gaze drops to the altar, to the knives, but before I take a step, the four women beside me pull blades from their skirts and rush Hammish, stabbing him in the back.

He roars, arching, reaching for the four blades stuck in his flesh. With a wild jolt, he flings out his other hand, his claws slashing a deep gash across one girl’s throat. Blood splatters the floor as the other three rush to her in a chorus of cries, hands pressed against her to staunch the bleeding, clearly too late.

I go for the knife on the altar. Their attack wasn’t enough to kill him, just enough to cause him pain. But if I can stab him again, I might be able to do exactly what Zarah suggested. I’ve never killed anyone, but I know I can kill Hammish.

I won’t even regret it.

Gripped by pain, Hammish staggers, and the brothers stand, lunging as one over the altar toward their father.

This was planned. This is what Shemaiah and Noah were trying to tell me with those looks I couldn’t interpret. The poison was a diversion. Hammish would smell it and be distracted enough for the women to attack, because he’d never suspect them. The knives weren’t meant to kill, only maim him enough to release his sons so they could finish the job.

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