Page 143 of Price of Angels

He drove the knife down through the back of Abraham’s neck.

A fountain of blood sprayed down on the snow.

A gurgling, choking sound.

Then he collapsed.

Michael stood. Steam rose from the blood on the knife, the blood on the snow, the sweat evaporating off the bodies as they cooled.

Holly.

Michael reached her in four long strides, struggling through the snow. He dropped to his knees beside her, gathered her up against his legs.

“Holly. Holly!”

Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her skin waxed.

He touched the rend in her coat, felt the sticky drying blood. He lowered his ear to her mouth, felt only the faintest rustle of breath.

“Holly.” He cradled her, lifted her up so he held her in his lap like a sleeping child. “Holly.Holly.”

She was dying.

“Wynn!” Michael called, voice echoing through the trees, coming back to him in strange ripples. “Wynn! Where are you!”

The dogs crowded around him, nosing at his shoulders, whining.

“Wynn!”

He couldn’t wait. There wasn’t time.

She was dying.

He staggered to his feet, holding her still. He shifted her, so her limp head rested against his shoulder. “Holly,” he said one more time, and then he ran.

Twenty-Five

“Do you miss drinking?” Maggie asked, and Ava snorted.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A legitimate one, I’m thinking, considering how much damn drama we’ve had around here,” her mom countered.

They were at the clubhouse bar, having water with lemon squeezed into it. The boys were attending to things at the various Dartmoor shops, back from their business run. Mercy had said he’d escort her home before he settled in for work, and though she’d rolled her eyes, she’d waited on him. Here she sat.

“Not really,” she answered, running a fingertip through the condensation on her glass. “I mean, I do in a general sense. Sometimes I think ‘I’m gonna have a glass of wine,’ and then remember that I can’t. But mostly I’m too worried to worry about the drinking, you know?”

Maggie nodded. “I was a wreck when I was carrying you.”

“You were?”

“Oh, yeah. Once, I had Braxton Hicks while your dad was on a run. It scared me, and it scared Aidan worse. He was crying.”

Ava smiled at the idea of her swaggering big brother in tears.

“He put his hands on my stomach,” Maggie said, doing so herself, “and said, ‘Is the baby hurting you?’ It was precious.”

Ava snorted. “I’m so using that against him at some point.”

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