Page 251

His eyes close.

And the field erupts.

The ground bucks hard enough to knock me sideways. Roots punch through the dirt around my boots as the corn bows toward the clearing, and the wall of fire surges so violently the heat slams into me.

I throw an arm over my face.

The Harvest screams through every mouth it has.

The red mark around my wrist answers.

Pain tears up my arm.

I cry out and grab it, but the burning only gets worse, symbols blazing beneath my skin like the Harvest is trying to remind me who it thinks I belong to.

Bride.

Its choice.

Its fucking property.

No.

Wanting Ezra isn’t the choice.

Wanting him is mine.

What I do with that want is mine too.

“But wanting isn’t choosing!” My voice tears across the clearing.

Everything stops.

The roots.

The corn.

Even the flames seem to hesitate.

I lower my arm.

“You taught me that.”

The Harvest goes silent.

I step toward the fire. “You spent this entire fucking night teaching me that.”

A root lashes around my ankle.

I hit the ground.

Pain shoots through my knee, but I claw my fingers into the dirt and kick until my boot tears free.

Then I get back up.

“The cup.”

The flames sink.