Page 35 of Revenant

Why am I the only one whose skin is crawling? The only one trying to map out potential escape routes?

Eryx said they’d all been expecting this honor.

What fucking honor? They’ve just told a group of girls that monsters are real, and somehow, I’m the unreasonable one for wanting to bolt. This is madness.

I’m standing in a basement, dripping wet, wearing nothing but Koen’s shirt—and it doesn’t even reach my knees. Bastian didn’t even try to cover me. Asshole. I pull the shirt tighter around me, like the thin fabric could do absolutely anything to shield me from their scrutiny. It smells like him—floral notes as if I stumbled upon the freshest roses, along with a citrusy undertone I can only describe as bergamot. It’s completely unexpected…a few days ago I’d have called it pleasant.

Now all I can think is I’m wrapped in the scent of something that drinks blood to survive, with no shoes, no phone and no idea how to get the fuck out of here.

“Now that we have the formalities out of the way,” Eryx continues, but just the sound of his voice makes my stomach recoil. “I believe it’s time to solidify this arrangement.” He walks behind the dais in front of the room, reaching beneath it and pulling out a knife and a white candle.

The flame grows brighter than any I’ve ever seen, seemingly made of wax, but there are distinct, red drips solidified on the sides—ones I can only assume are blood.

Eryx faces us once again, only his eyes land on everyone else except me. “This relic was one forged many centuries ago, the flame never dulls, never dies. An enchantment that stays lit, no matter the circumstance. Ensuring our bargain is upheld, no matter your fate.” The last part feels loaded, ominous in a way that causes pressure to build in my chest.

The other girls whisper to each other, acting as though they know exactly what this candle means. I, on the other hand, have no fucking clue. And if this motherfucker thinks he’s coming anywhere near me with that knife, he’s sorely mistaken.

“We offer you knowledge, and with it comes power—for your magic and for the covens whose names you carry. Should death find you while in our service, that power will remain, as an oath to your sacrifice.”

“What about her?” I finally speak up, pointing at the poor lifeless girl on the ground whose death I can’t help but feel responsible for.

Eryx flicks his gaze to the floor, the only acknowledgement I get before a girl cuts in, dark curls bouncing as she turns to me, the warm honey of her skin catching the low light.

“If you would’ve kept your mouth shut, Sage would’ve been given the same honor.” She points at the drained girl on the ground, and for some reason, it hits harder, more personable now that there’s a name to go with the face.

I gape at her, shocked that she would come to Eryx’s defense. “Honor? What’s so honorable about murder?”

“Enough!” Eryx’s voice booms over the room, silencing everyone. Including me.

He positions himself in front of the curly haired girl, cutting off whatever she was about to fire back at me.

She grabs the knife from his hand eagerly. In one clean pull, she slices her palm open, the wound running from one side to the other. She holds her hand over the candle’s flame and squeezes until a stream of blood makes its mark. The flame pulses brightly in response, its tip licking at her flesh, sealing the oath.

“Della Batista, welcome to The Hollowed.”

He doesn’t even blink an eye at the blood pooling on her upturned hand, as if it doesn’t faze him at all. He continues down the line, a look of boredom smeared across his face.

Finally he gets to me, and I cross my arms in defiance.

“Look at that, a Calder being difficult.” The corner of his mouth pulls down, the faintest curl of contempt he doesn’t bother hiding. “How novel.”

A Calder? I have my mom’s last name, sure. She always told me that I came from a history of women who mattered. I always assumed it was just the kind of thing a mother says. Maybe it wasn’t.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I tilt my head, defiance bleeding through every word.

“It means you’re predictable. Exactly like the witches who came before you.” Eryx says it like it’s a fact and not an opinion. He pretends as if he knows me, but underneath all that self-righteous attitude is someone who desperately wants to appear certain—and not like they’re grasping at straws.

“Right. My mistake.” I uncross my arms and wave a hand at the candle. “Forgive me for not slicing my palm open for a room full of strangers who haven’t told me a single useful thing. You mentioned a favor. What favor? What is it that you actually want from me? Because from where I’m standing, you’ve explained exactly nothing.”

“You’re right, it is your mistake. You’re under the impression we owe you an explanation.” He crosses what little space is left between us slowly, until the cold amber of his eyes is the only thing I can focus on. “Let me correct you. You’re here because of your blood. Bringing you to Veilcrest was the last move the five of us had left on the board your family set centuries ago. You’re here to help pay a debt.”

“I don’t—”

“You think one dead witch is a tragedy?” He tilts his head toward the body dismissively. “How very small of you. Your line has put more bodies in the ground than you could count in a lifetime, little wraith. Ours included. You’re simply the first in countless generations with the gall to stand among the consequences.”

My stare holds defiance, unwavering as he attempts to intimidate me. He acts as though this is all my fault, like any deaths my ancestors caused is a direct correlation to me. I didn’t even know this world existed until five minutes ago. “You think since I share a last name that automatically puts me in the same category as the rest of them. News flash, Eryx, I don’t have to do anything you say. I’m not a puppet on strings you can pull to make dance.”

Eryx bares his fangs at me. “Are you always this disagreeable?”