Page 132 of Claimed By Blood

“Already doing it,” Draven grunts, tucking the slim device back into his pocket. “Focus on finding the damned humans. If they want to live, they need to leave. Now.”

I wish he was being overly cautious, but he’s not.

Cain will kill everyone here. Probably anyone within a ten-mile radius just to make certain.

Fucking Immy. She must have known this would happen.

“Knocking on doors it is, then,” Draven grumbles, marching up to the first home and slamming his hand against it.

No answer.

He waits a second, then bashes the wood again before shrugging and kicking the door down.

I expect screams—or at the very least, some kind of objection.

Nothing.

“No one’s home,” Draven confirms after disappearing inside for a second.

The same is true for the next house we try. Then the next. A slow drizzle starts as we waste time searching for the villagers, and I glance up at the heavy clouds in grim panic.

“Damn it, did they all leave already?” Gideon asks.

A scratching sound breaks the silence, and I tilt my head, trying to get a fix on it. “Quiet,” I hiss.

It’s coming from farther up the street. From the ramshackle stone church just off the main road. I follow it until I’m at the main door of the small building where a mongrel is whining and pawing at the wood, asking to be let in.

“It’s just a dog,” Draven sighs.

“So where’s his master?” I reply, tugging at the iron handle.

It gives way easily enough beneath my strength, though the snapping of metal tells me it was locked. The second I step inside, I realise why.

The entire town must be here, sitting in the pews. Atop the pulpit is the man I spoke with earlier. Is he a priest? He doesn’t look like the type.

“You need to leave,” I announce, cutting through whatever’s being said as I stride down the aisle with Draven and Gideon close behind me. “Cain is coming, and he’s going to wipe this place off the map. If you want to live, then you need to get out and go. Now.”

A heartbeat passes. Two. Then the first people process what I’ve said. One man stands and leaves, then another, dragging his spouse and child by their hands. But about half of them remain stubbornly in place.

“How do we know you’re not lying?” the man in the pulpit demands. “We have survived Cain’s purges before. Where is your proof that this will be different?”

I let out an aggravated groan. “I don’t have any proof. But we know about the witches. We know that this is the last place they existed before he wiped them out, and we know that he’s coming.”

At my words, more people leave. So when an old woman with long grey hair at the front stands, I expect her to do the same. Instead, she pins me with a set of ice blue eyes that look eerily familiar.

“And you, Evonnia? What will you do?” she asks, but she’s speaking Romanian, not English.

And she used my old name.

I swallow and respond in the same language, cursing myself for not thinking about the language difference before my original outburst. “I’m going to try to save as many people as I can, and then I’m going to protect my pack.”

And maybe hunt down and kill my traitorous sister.

Not going to think about that right now.

Immy is probably miles away. Gloating. My fists clench, but I can’t let my anger show and risk scaring the humans.

The older woman nods. “Andrei, get the book.”

---