Page 1 of The Blood we Crave: Part Two

PROLOGUE

Unknown

I did all of this for her.

So that we could be together.

And yet, she mourns him.

I killed so many for her, will continue to kill them, and instead of seeking comfort in my arms, she mourns.

Soon, she will see how ungrateful she has been. Soon, Stephen will own this town, and the darkened sons of Ponderosa Springs will be the end of a baleful reign. So very soon, sweet Lyra will be mine and only mine, as it should have always been. Soon, she will see why I had to do this.

Why it’s only her that can love a man like me.

There will be no stopping us. Stopping me. The untouchable Hollow Boys will reap not only what they have sowed but the fruits of their legacy. Their thrones, built from treacherous demands and crowns forged from bones, are crumbling.

They are weak. Breakable. Love has exposed their humanity.

Here lies the thin line between gods and monsters. They will all see—Lyra will see—that those boys they mark with divinity are simply a false claim.

There is no divine right and no god to protect them.

They bleed, and when they do, they will flow red.

AN OATH TO THE DEAD

ONE

Lyra

The cemetery has always been a place of refuge for me. Solemn, forgotten ground that makes the world feel less desolate, only because it’s a reminder of how many souls still exist in the ether. It allows for a macabre sort of perspective no other living place can handle.

Today, the tombstones do not soothe me.

Today, they are a reminder of all that was lost. All the lives that met their conclusion. Cemeteries are a place of peace. Funerals are a bitter nudge towards a future without someone you love.

“It’s so terribly sad,” a woman next to me sobs into a tissue. “No one deserves to die like that.”

“I never thought I’d live to see the last of the Piersons,” her husband mutters, a thought I’m sure he didn’t mean to say out loud. Or maybe he did. Maybe he’s better than the rest, and instead of playing nice, he was tired of hiding his disdain.

This lady cries again, the wet sound making my ears burn. I whip my head from the fresh hole in the ground, where a black coffin remains motionless, and openly glare at the middle-aged woman, completely uncaring if she or her husband notice.

My grief is a tangible feeling, one that mingles with the current rage thrumming in my veins. The snow melts as it touches my skin, seeping into the fabric of my floor-length lace dress. How dare she sit here and cry for a family she openly talked shit about for years?

How dare they have a right to be here.

All these citizens with their fraudulent condolences, making this more of a social event than a goddamn mourning ceremony, only showing up to catch up on all the hot gossip.

Look at me! Look at me!they all say, showing up in their finest silks and pearls, armed with counterfeit tears and bullshit apologies.

“You didn’t even know—” I start, my tone laced with untamed venom, but I’m stopped by a large hand resting on my shoulder, tugging me backwards into their space.

I cut my eyes upward, staring into Alistair’s dark eyes as he gives me what I assume is a look of disapproval. A silent warning and a reassuring squeeze of his fingers.

“They aren’t worth it,” he mutters lowly. “Don’t let them win by making it about them. It’s what they want. This town will only eat you if you let them take the first bite.”

I try to jerk my arm from his hold, but he just holds tighter. “You’re not my keeper. I’m capable of handling myself.”

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