Page 28 of Bonepetal
“I know what to do,” I tell her, voice dipping closer, like I’m letting her in on some secret. “Brother Malric used to talk about it. A rite. Said it could keep the devil from crawling inside you. Blood. Wax. Feather. Knife. Sounded like bullshit back then, campfire talk. But I listened.”
I let my laugh scrape against her ear. “And I learned plenty more in hell. Enough to finish what they only whispered about. You let me do this, and he won’t get near you again. No whispers. No claws under your skin. No fire waiting for you when you sleep.”
My grip on her throat tightens just enough to make her eyes widen. “All that noise gone. All that hunger burned out. And what’s left?” My mouth curves against her temple, sharp. “That’s mine.”
Her lips part, shaky but steady enough to cut. “I know how this works. Spells like that—black magic—it always comes with a price. So what is it, Finn? What’s the cost?”
I smirk behind the skull, leaning closer until the teeth graze her cheek. “Smart girl. Always did listen when the elders whispered warnings. But they never told you the truth, did they? That the cost doesn’t have to be yours.”
I let the words drop heavy between us, dragging slow and sharp. “You give me your blood, your breath, your yes, and I take the rest. Every curse, every chain, every shadow meant for you? It burns through me instead. I carry it.” My laugh cuts rough, humorless. “And you already know, bonepetal—I don’t burn easy. All you have to do, is give me everything, andneverfucking take it back.”
Her whole body trembles.
But it isn’t no. It’s never no with her.
I peel her hand off my scar, guide it down slow before letting her go. Then I step back, just far enough to give her room. To tempt her instincts. To make her bolt. Because I want her to. I want her to remember what it feels like to run with me at her back, my shadow filling every step.
And she does.
She heads off across the cemetery like a flame in the dark, boots stepping over cracked earth and stone, as she moves between the graves that bear names neither of us care to remember.
My choir.
My hounds.
I give her three breaths. Just three.
Then I follow.
The forest we grew up in carries her back like it remembers her bones.
She doesn’t fight it anymore. No frantic sprint, no headlong stumble, just steady steps, shoulders tight, breath hitching like she knows where this ends but can’t stop herself.
The hill waits, altar crouched between the oaks, wax scars still clinging where past rituals left them, and feathers scattered around. She slows at the clearing, eyes flicking once toward me, then back to the stone. Her pulse still thrums wild enough I can feel it in my teeth, but she doesn’t run.
She walks right up to it. Just like instinct meant her to.
I let her. I savor it.
She braces one hand on the slab, hair plastered damp to her cheeks, skirt clinging high from the night air. She looks at me like maybe this will keep the devil away, like this stone is still holy somehow.
I climb the hill slow, deliberate, until I’m close enough to catch her chin and tilt her face up. My thumb drags along her jaw, firm, claiming.
“Strip,” I murmur, voice low enough to scrape the dark. “Then get on the altar.”
Her breath stutters, lashes fluttering like she might protest, but she doesn’t. I release her chin and raise my arms. The night holds its breath. A rush of heat licks through the clearing, and one by one the candles scattered around the stone flare to life, hellfire blooming in obedient circles, flames catching without a single match.
She startles, eyes darting to the ring of sudden firelight, but I see the moment she remembers she’s not dealing with the boy she loved.
She’s standing in the glow of what crawled back for her.
The glow spills across her skin, painting her in gold and shadow, making her look holy when she’s anything but.
Desecration always did make her shine.
One boot hits the dirt. Then the other. She shrugs out of her jacket, yanks her shirt over her head, hair falling wild around her face. Skirt shoved down, panties peeled after, each piece hitting the ground in a trail between us. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’tcover herself, just keeps going until there’s nothing left but bare skin glowing in the firelight.
Naked, trembling, she climbs onto the stone slowly but steady, laying back across it like she was carved for this, like a sacrifice incarnate.
