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“Perhaps,” Sorin replied. She met Red’s eyes. “Are you ready?”

Red stepped towards the circle without hesitation.

Keeping her father immobilized, the Wolf handed her the blade.

Her hands were steady as she took it, calmed by the strength of her Coven and the Wolf.

“You won’t do it.” Victor spat at his daughter, looking up from where he knelt at her feet.

Red spoke calmly, though her voice was laced with hatred. “How many meals did I miss, my stomach an empty pit? How many nights did I cry out? Desperate for a meal, to see Mama, to have a drink of water? How many times did my bones ache from your fists? My first memory is of your anger, your face bloated with rage. For what? What did I do that made you hate me so much?” She did not wait for an answer. “You deserve a death far more painful than the one you will receive, but know it comes from the bottom of my heart—there is not a shred of me that does not want you to die tonight.”

She stepped into the circle, feeling the power of the ancient earth that gave her energy. It shuddered down her spine.

“You will have nothing to return to; your mother won’t dare let you in when she discovers what you have done. Dabbling in witchcraft—she will be the first to light your pyre,” Victor growled.

“She never wanted you,” he added when he could not provoke a reaction from Red. “She was pleased when the opportunity to trade your life for power came up.”

“We shall see,” Red said with a smile. “But you won’t.”

She brought the blade to her father’s throat, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back. He hissed, baring his teeth with the ferocity she had seen in him more than once. But Red’s serenity remained, her face neutral and placid as a gentle lake. It was so easy to sever his flesh and arteries, his windpipe, as she dragged the blade to the right. It felt like slicing butter.

It was so easy. It was too easy.

The gagging and writhing came, and Red stepped back as his blood sprayed from the gaping wound in his neck. The Wolf released his grip on her father, and he slumped forward, choking out his last dying breaths as his blood seeped into the wood and dirt, spilling around him. The metallic scent soured the room as the light left Victor’s eyes.

Red exhaled deeply, any lingering resentment leaving her body. For the first time in her life, she felt peace.

37

OCLEAU

THE YEAR OF THE CURSE

MATTHIAS

A slap woke Matthias.

He jerked out of sleep to find himself face-to-face with Azalea. His unadjusted eyes observed a young child in a white nightgown standing behind her. He snapped fully awake when he realized who he was looking at—his daughter, Eliise.

A twist in his gut at the sight of her made him sit up, but his head spun—he realized that Azalea had drugged him. “W—” His words fell, his tongue numb. He tried again. “What did you do to me?”

“You needed rest after what you went through,” Azalea told him. “But now there is work to do.”

“Work? Why is… Why is she here?” Matthias lifted his head, but it weighed a thousand pounds.

“It is time to rid ourselves of loose ends. Ana dies tonight,” Azalea informed him, thrusting a cup of water into his hands. “You must prove your sincerity to your family. You must prove to me that you do not love that woman. You have to be purified of your past in order to create a future. Don’t you want that? A real future?” She didn’t allow him to answer.

“My end of the bargain was that you remain here. Now we must seal that promise.”

He drank with vigor, unable to contain himself. It was no wonder she was able to drug him so easily; he trusted her when she handed him something to drink. After he satisfied his thirst, he put down the cup and took a deep breath. His eyes raised to meet his daughter’s. She looked back shyly, clearly uncomfortable in this strange house filled with unusual smells and new people.

“You said only he would get hurt,” Matthias reminded Azalea.

“She will turn me in, Matthias, and your hands are just as filthy as mine. You had your hands deep in witchcraft this month, too. Now, to use Blaez, to make him do what we need done, you must sacrifice your child.”

How does she even know about Eliise? That damned crow. Matthias’s senses were coming back. He threw off his blankets. “Absolutely not.”

“I will not sacrifice Juniper,” Azalea said, her tone hinting at something more. “You will sacrifice the child you left behind. Remember, Matthias—you left her to grow up hungry, without parents. I know you never wanted her. Otherwise, you would have taken her with you.”