Blood splutters out of his mouth, drops splattering my face as he releases a cough in shock, his hands coming straight to his face, I withdraw the knife, and staring hard into his eyes, I bring the weapon back. This time, hitting my mark, I slam it with all of my strength into the side of his neck, twisting as I rip it back out, tearing flesh and veins.
I haul myself back, squeaking as my bare skin sticks to the polished floor. Tossing the knife away, I scrabble to my feet, slipping and falling in the pool of blood quickly spreading as my attacker drops forward, thudding against the floor at the same time I’m stumbling my way back to my feet.
Without waiting, I spin around, rushing forward with my bloody, soaked arms outstretched, I keep moving, wet feet skidding until my fingers collide with solid wood. I skirt my way along the panelled wall until soft orange light warms the space and I’m bursting my way back into the hall, jumping two steps at a time as I take the curling staircase down.
Chapter 8
BILLY
“I'm surprised you left that pretty little thi-”
“Shut the fuck up, Rune,” I snarl, cutting him off mid-sentence, still focussing on the cold toast in front of me, my fist curling tighter around my butter knife.
The room is dim, large circular chandelier overhead, bulbs on the lowest setting. My brothers, both blood and not, sit evenly spaced out around the oval table, all of us able to see each other easily.
Gore at the opposite end to me, his inked fingers pushing back through his flop of dark brown curls before joining his other hand resting atop the wooden table. Fingers folding together, knuckles cracking as he flicks his gaze up, dark green eyes piercing my pale blue ones.
“You know the first trial will happen any day now,” Gore’s voice is a low rumble, like thunder in the far distance before you’ve even heard the first drops of rain.
I hold his eye, our gazes locked, and it’s as though we are the only two in the room. My oldest brother, ten years my senior, theone I respect the most, not because of that fact, but because of… everything else.
“I know.” It’s all I say, my response could be more,shouldbe more, but there’s just nothing.
I think of her.
Penelope.
My Nellie.
Upstairs.
Alone.
Vulnerable.
It makes my skin itch, my fingers twitching, nails wanting to claw away my own flesh.
I’ve waited twelve very long years to have her back.
By my side.
Despite The Obsidian believing women are nothing more than something to breed.
I feel differently.
Gorefeels differently.
Something he’s already suffered for at the hands of Milus, something Dolly, his wife, has already suffered for.
I don’t take his words lightly. Knowing what they, as a couple, have already had to endure. It’s why Dolly’s just not quite…herself, anymore.
Bile sits high in my throat as I think about Milus having access to Nellie. His disciples having access.
How many hands I shall find myself removing in the coming months. How many throats I shall cut. How many bodies I shall have to dissect and dispose of under the cover of night.
How I likely won’t be able to do any of those things to keep her safe at all.
Just dream.
