Page 10 of The Sacrifice

Without looking back, I roll and scramble to my feet and break into a run. Tears trail down my cheeks. When you can’t feel tears, you rarely ever cry, so I know they aren’t sweat.

Against every rule and testimony, every bit of wisdom and advice from the Sisters, Brothers, and survivors of the Sacrifice, I stop running. I duck behind another gnarly, wailing tree, thicker and with full-bodied, tangled limbs. Then use its branches to haul myself higher and higher, until those branches hide my figure.

The dragon crashes to the earth, blood dripping from its throat. I wince from the sensation of burning claws ripping into my chest. My vym wars to get out, battling with my blood. Quaking and shaking more than ever, I hug my arms tight to my chest and try to deny, but I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

Even now, all I remember are those scales. Their soft armor and energy tingling against the tips of my fingers. My skin aches. Tremors overwhelm my limbs. I’d swear rich honey—warm and pure from the comb—drips down my spine.

And for the first time in my life, heated pleasure skitters into my core. All my body thrums. As the three other god monsters come, alerted by their leader’s mania, a madness takes over my heart with the understanding.

I could feel him.

And I might just die for another touch.

6

Is it possible to kill a god?

QUINTESSA

I cage my hands over my mouth to hide my gasps. The other monsters should still have the enhanced senses to smell me, especially the vampire beast. Bitter cold fear spears my belly like icicles at the sight of the god with bits of flesh dangling from his teeth and fangs, and mouth dripping with blood. Eyes pale and milky but not blind by any means. His long ears prick up as if straining to hear over the roaring howls of the dragon god.

When cold shadows embrace my form, I breathe a little sigh of relief. Qora is blanketing me with her shades, concealing my sight and scent.

Still, I can’t help but tense when the vampire jerks his head in my direction, curving his long, bony hands with their razor-sharp claws. He is grayer than me and bears countless scars. And despite the protruding ribs, the rest of him is solid, packed muscle. The god with the most torturous power.

The Fae is a different story with excruciatingly beautiful features: long hair like threads of crystal, skin of pure spun gold, and starless black eyes. Unlike the vampire’s deep gray and ripped demon wings, the Fae’s remind me of luna moths—iridescent golden brown with a pale green hue and an eye in the center of each base wing. Wings that face me with eyes seeming to spear right through Qora’s shadowy veil. When the ground shudders beneath his power, my skin crawls.

Last to arrive is the fallen angel on his tattered wings. Multiple black horns curve like thorny scimitars from the sides of the fallen angel’s face. He cocks his head, so similar to an owl, with his translucent, white orbs studying the wounded dragon. Canid limbs but with a neck and head more befitting a raptor.

Like me, the monsters are so raw but unfinished in their forms.

More blood trickles from the wound in the dragon’s throat. Growling and groaning, the other three surround him and raise him up, monstrous wings beating to carry him deeper into the forest—back to the Waste. Qora pulls her shades from me once they’re out of sight.

Confusion and excitement tangle within me. Adrenaline still pumps my blood from the memory of my fingers pressing upon those scales. I pause, glancing down at my fingertips because they’re still tingling.

Qora shifts to the south, shadows swelling as if urging me to hurry. I glance in her direction. From here, it’s probably no more than a half mile or so to the cemetery. In the other direction, miles of forests sprawl with more Waste creatures. Who knows what other horrors fill those woods? Narrowing my eyes, I stride forward, happening across splotches of blood. From the dragon.

Lowering myself to my knees, I dip my fingers into the blood and gasp at the wet warmth and the energy sparking to life, intensifying the tingles.

Qora drifts in front of me with a familiar hiss as if suspecting my thoughts. Regardless, I step forward, deeper into the Wailing Woods. Her claws capture my hair and halt me, causing me to nearly stumble back. “Ugh, Qora!” I groan, then stab a finger toward the trail of blood. “I’m going this way.”

When she advances, her dark substance bleeding red at the edges, I sigh and drop my arms to the side to explain, “If I go back, there’s nothing for me except the Convent. Nothing but cold, stone walls, and the only warmth I’ll ever have is whenever someone needs a blood binder. But if I go this way...”

I purse my lips and rub my fingers together before setting my jaw. “I can’t live like this anymore, Qora. In the Borderlands, I’m a ghost. But when I stabbed the dragon, it was the first time I truly felt real.” I won’t live numb any longer. “I’d rather die feeling something wondrous and sharp—even if it’s the points of claws and teeth—than go back and spend the rest of my life feeling nothing. Always used but untouched, unloved, un-bedded. Unalive. I’m going. With or without you.”

I march onward. A shrill shriek smites the air behind me, and icy fingers creep across the back of my neck, but I grin because Qora chooses to follow. Not that she’d get far on her own. In the past, we’ve tested how much she may stray, but I got as far as our town border before she appeared at my side.

“Who knows, Qora? Maybe this is the way for you to come to life!” I squeal, thread my fingers together, and do a little twirl, wincing when my feet step on a femur, cracking it. While Qora blows a raspberry at me, the tree roots tug at the bone as if protecting it from my careless treading. I can’t help it. Not with excitement bubbling in my veins at the thought of stepping through the Veil. No human has ever entered the Veil and returned. If I become the first, my name will be written in the history books! My mind buzzes at the possibilities.

Thankfully, Qora remains close at my side...as if she knows I’d most likely die without her. Whenever a lower monster prowls the area, Qora conceals me in her silky cold shadows. The irony isn’t lost on me. For an hour of straying through the woods, I keep my lips sealed tight, but the words are practically storming my teeth as if they’re fortress gates for the doorway of my mouth.

Finally, I pause, set my hands on my hips, and turn to my Shadow with a knowing simper. “Do you realize that in the past hour, you’ve saved my life more times than you ever tried to kill me? Aww, Qora, are we becoming friends?”

Shadows spit at my face. I raise my brows because I’ve never heard her make this particular noise. Something like a cross between a hiss and a gnashing of teeth mixed with a high-pitched snarl. For the first time, I’d swear more of her features peek through the dark figure before me. Two faint pricks of amber light wink at me from her head, reminding me of glowing eyes. It strengthens my resolve to keep going.

After another hour of wandering with the blood trail never fading, the vym in my veins rears again. The only way I have to describe it is an irresistible yearning. As if some creature is scratching at my chest, striving to get out. Blood calls to blood. The rawest and purest force on earth. Whatever else these monsters have done, it doesn’t matter. My vym is not jury, judge, or executioner. We are a healer.

I stroke a fingertip across my naked arm, where my calligraphy-like ink clothes the scars of my birthright. The spirits gave me my gift as they’ve blessed so many others. But the monster who pulled me from my mother’s birth canal is the one who cursed me.

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