Page 7 of The Holly King's Sacrifice

“What is it?” I ask.

“You would not understand,” he grumbles.

“But—”

“Do as I say anddrink,” he interrupts.

I nod, lifting the jug to my lips and taking a sip. To my surprise, it tastes like hot chocolate, with a hint of something spicy. It smells slightly like whiskey, burning the same way as it goes down.

It’s undeniably delicious, even if it’s probably being used to fatten me up for the Holly King’s nefarious purposes.

“You are…obedient,” he observes.

I don’t correct him, even though he’s wrong. I’m not obedient; I just know how to survive. I’ve had to do it my whole life in Manistique. I drink until the jug is nearly empty, offering it back to him and curling my arms around my knees.

“What are you going to do with me?” I ask quietly.

The Holly King doesn’t look at me, staring into the fire.

“You will feast with us,” he says. “And then…you will either ascend, or you shall be forsaken.”

“Can you tell me what that means?” I ask.

He glares at me. “No.”

I wait for further elaboration on something—anything—but he stands and stalks to the other side of the room, back toward the door.

“Stay here,” he says. “Rest. We shall leave in the late morning.”

I frown. “For where?”

“The Holly Grove,” he says. “Where you shall meet your destiny.”

I remember the Celestial Convergence very clearly.

I was a child, but I remember all the same. How could I forget? Angels descended from the skies, assuring us that they were here to save us from the forces of hell: the Infernal Legion.

It was the end times, they said.

And unfortunately, we were the ones that had not been virtuous to be saved.

I dream of Angels, and of my traitorous family, as I nestle myself in the Holly King’s bed. His smell envelops me: not the brimstone I expect, but woodsmoke and pine. It makes me feel something strange in the pit of my stomach: a sense of safety and belonging that I haven’t felt in Manistique in a long, long time.

Not since before.

I open my eyes to meet his, knowing somehow that he’s been here with me. I regard him from where I lay on my side. Neither of us speak for a silent, taut moment as he leans forward on his knees, his silver gaze trained on my face.

“Do you know how to hunt, woman?” he asks.

It’s a complicated question. I knowhow, sure, but I don’t like it. When the Angels came, I was fifteen and a newly minted vegetarian. I’ve only killed one animal since the Convergence, and I cried for hours. Still, I can shoot, and I know how to survive in the woods alone.

Not when it’s this cold, but maybe this will give me a chance to escape.

I sit up and pull one of the furs around my shoulders. “I can hunt well enough.”

“Good,” he says. “Because you’re coming with our hunting party today—into the woods.”

I frown, glancing over at the fire. Does he realize I’ll die if they throw me back into the cold?

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