Page 6 of The Lost Nation

He didn’t bother glancing up from his reports, continuing to make careful marks as his eyes steadily worked through the parchments scattered at his fingertips.

I glanced down at my own notes, which were a detailed diagram on the first blood magick ritual Benedict wanted me to perform. It was meant to channel magick faster through my bloodstream, which Benedict thought would help cleanse white magickfrom my system.

I stabbed cleanly through the parchment with my pen, scowling at it.My hand twinged with lingering aches and I sighed, trying to study the angle of the cuts I would need to make over my body. Until I managed a few rituals, anything more than a brisk walk would send me to my knees in pain.

My thoughts turned inwards, even as the dragon tato on my shoulder paced back and forth from my clavicle to the underside of my arm.

I didn’treallyhate Thad. I could admit that to myself. I felt humiliated and hurt by him, but I couldn’t hate him. I thought we'd shared something significant when I was a prisoner in the demon fortress, but Thad made it abundantly clear that he thought of me as hisvictim.

No wonder he didn’t want to be my mate.

I eyed the thin white strip of unblemished flesh on my wings, and tried to get back to work. Benedict wanted me to be ready to completethe ritual tonight, if possible.

Yet I couldn’t concentrate. The source of my frustration landed with a thump on the balcony outside, and strode into our cozy tree-home. Benedict took one look at the pile of booksand the angry pen marks I'd made, and tried to look sympathetic.

He failed, and a grin split his face.“Stop fidgeting.”He chastised instead.

I hissed at him, reaching my limit. “Makeme.”

My back hit the wall a moment later, his fangs at my throat and his hips thrusting against mine. His wings flared above me as I gripped his hair tightly in my fingers, forcing his head down to my level. I smirked, ignoring Ronan when he sighed and flipped a page in his ledger.

Ronan rolled his eyes.“You’re letting her win. She doesn’t want to study anymore.”

Benedict froze, and a low rumble of displeasure warbled from my throat as he shot me a questioning look. I pulled his lips down to mine and kissed him deeply, our lips and tongues dancing together as I put all thoughts ofbooksout of my mind. I knew how to read from Clarice at the breeding manor, but notwell. And certainly not those large, intimidating tomes that had been dumped on my table.

Benedict tried to pull away.“You need to finish your work.”Hisvoice was a dark purr against my ear, and I whined."Finishme,"I begged.

His purple eyes were serious, and large with emotion.“Wren...please. We need to do the ritual tonight.”

Urgh, it wasn'tfair. He knew I couldn’t resist him when he waspolite. With a dramatic sigh I fell back into my chair, hoping I didn’t blow myself up later.

???

Every joint in my body ached as I kneeled in the center of the elaborate markings, witches and my mates surrounding me. One blood witch who felt recovered enough to assist was on standby, watching my every move with sharp eyes. Her kindinventedmost of this magick, after all.

I took a deep breath, and breathed out as I made the first cut in my chest. My demon blade dagger flashed as it dug into my skin, and I didn’t think about what I was doing—I justcarved.

Careful to make sure the tip of the knife didn’t leave my skin, I trailed the knife across my shoulder and down my arm, marking a matching sigil on my hand. These cuts didn’t have to be as deep—just enough to bleed. I passed the knife lightly back along my chest, repeated the movements on my other arm, and connected the entire piece down my legs with sigils on the tops of my feet.

These markings would allow the excess white magick in my body to drain safely and symmetrically, without hurting myself or others.

In theory.

I felt everyone’s eyes on me, but I shut them out and focused only on myself. I needed to concentrate. If I fell over, I could die. If I dropped the knife, I could die. Making the wrong cut at an imprecise angle or incorrect depth couldcollapsethe ritual, and I could die.

The final pass over my chest sigil hurt, but I kept going. I only needed to trace a shallow path up to my forehead, connect it all, and then I was finished.

I paused for a moment, meditating inwardly until my breaths were slow and even. I breathed out, and pressed down on the knife. Ithurt, and my muscles quivered as I suppressed the urge to wince or move away. Blood trickled down into my eyes, but I couldn’t stop. I had to finish it.

I was hit by a sudden flashback of being chained to the ceiling as Severn beat me relentlessly. The knife paused on my skin, my hand shaking.

“Steady,” the blood witch cautioned, her eyes glued to the point of the knife on my skin.

I barely heard her. The pain and blood running down my body was too fresh, tooreal—

You survived. You’re here now.Not there.

“Continue in five seconds or I will take action to protect everyone present.”

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