Page 1 of King of Praise
Chapter 1
Blood on Her Hands
Naomi
Blood has a very distinct and nauseating smell.
I never thought about that before. Never noticed until now.
How the coppery scent fills every corner of a room.
How it clings to your nostrils until you can taste it on the back of your tongue.
How it becomes the only thing you can focus on when the pool at your feet grows larger and larger.
Blood seeps through my floral dress, staining the delicate fabric a deep crimson. My hands tremble as I stare at them, coated in thick red that’s already beginning to dry and crack around my fingernails.
I can’t look at him. Iwon’tlook at him.
But my eyes betray me, drawn inexorably to Lucas’s still form sprawled across Micah’s floor. The knife handle protrudes from his chest at an awkward angle, blood spilling from the wound. His eyes stare vacantly upward, lips parted in eternal surprise.
I killed him. Oh God, I killed him.
The thought loops endlessly, each repetition sending fresh waves of horror coursing through my body. My breath comes in shallow gasps that are too loud in the oppressive silence of theapartment. I pull my knees tighter to my chest, trying to make myself smaller, to disappear entirely.
A soft padding of feet draws my attention. Powder, Micah’s mostly white ragdoll cat, emerges from wherever she’d hidden during the chaos. She moves cautiously around the edges of the room, her blue eyes fixed warily on Lucas’s body. When she reaches me, she bumps her head against my arm, demanding attention.
The normalcy of her gesture breaks something inside me. A laugh bubbles up—high-pitched and hysterical. I clap my bloodied hands over my mouth to stifle it, leaving crimson smears across my lips and chin. I tug at the collar of my dress and frantically scrub it across my mouth to wipe off the blood. For all I know, I’m smearing it worse, but that doesn’t stop me from trying.
What do I do now?
My gaze darts around the apartment, taking in details I’d been too shocked to process before. The splintered door frame where Lucas had forced his way in. The overturned chair from our struggle. The cheerful yellow bowl of cookie batter still sitting on the counter, a wooden spoon handle protruding from it like some grotesque echo of the knife in Lucas’s chest.
I’d been baking cookies. Just minutes ago—or was it hours? Time feels fluid, disconnected. I’d been humming to myself, measuring vanilla extract with careful precision when the knocking started. Such an ordinary afternoon transformed into this nightmare with terrifying speed.
Powder settles next to me, her warm body pressing against my leg. Her soft purr fills the silence, somehow making everything feel simultaneously more real and more surreal.
This can’t be happening.
But the evidence is everywhere—in the cooling body before me, in the blood drying on my skin, in the metallic tang that coats my tongue with every shuddering breath.
My fingers find their way to my throat where Lucas’s hands had wrapped around it, squeezing until black spots danced in my vision. The skin there feels tender, and I know without looking that bruises are already forming. More bruises to add to the collection he’s left on my body over the years. Except these will be the last ones. He’ll never hurt me again.
The thought should bring relief, but all I feel is numb horror. I squeeze my eyes shut. The image of Lucas’s face is burned into my mind forever. From the moment of impact to the shock in his eyes as the blade slid home, and the way his expression went slack as he fell. I’ll never forget it.
I never wanted to hurt anyone. Even after everything he’d done to me, I just wanted to get away, to be safe. But when he broke down the door, when he punched me, when his hands closed around my throat …
Instinct took over. My body chose survival when my mind froze in terror.
I had no choice.He would have killed me.
But that doesn’t stop the guilt from crushing my chest, making each breath a struggle.
I open my eyes, forcing myself to look at him again. In death, his face has softened, lost the hard edges of rage that had twisted his features in those final moments. He looks younger somehow, almost like the boy I’d fallen in love with years ago—before the charming mask cracked to reveal the monster beneath.
A sob catches in my throat as memories flash unbidden through my mind.
Lucas bringing me flowers on our first date, his smile bright and genuine.
