Page 33 of Her Wicked Knights (Their Hallowed Queen #3)

The girl that Audrey called Brooke moans in pain, and I focus my attention on her blistered skin, raw and red and still fucking sizzling.

Another wave of vomit sends me back to the ground, and I don't see who stands and comes to us.

I just hear footsteps, the soft snick of a blade cutting through air, and then a guttural scream as someone plunges the knife into Brooke's back.

"There we go!" Whit calls over the sound of her desperate wailing. "That's what I'm talking about, guys. Did everyone see Carson? He's not afraid to get shit done!"

I look up in time to see Carso0n wrench the knife free from Brooke's back, sending blood flying across the room. "Nick? Your turn."

Nick's a follower, but I think, when he looks hesitantly at the blade his best friend passes to him, that he will have some compassion.

That's a pipe dream, though, because his hesitation passes quicker than the blade changed hands.

And then he stabs her, bending over her body and plunging it deep as she tries to drag herself away from them, from us.

The howl of pain is cut short with a gasp and then a wheeze, and I have to wonder if he got her in the lung.

"The triangle can withstand pressure from all sides because each side is equal. That's why we all must participate in this killing. Last time, we didn't, and the magic stayed contained to me. If you want to share the power, you must share the burden."

"I'm not fucking killing anyone." Mark snaps.

"Don't send a man to do a woman's job." Audrey huffs, and before I know it, she's plunging the knife into Brooke's back with a grunt.

"I can't..." I say, watching Brooke's body give up. She's a stranger, no one to me. I don't know how they lured her here, or whether she'd have done this to any of us if she had a chance, but none of that matters. She doesn't deserve this.

"Shh." Tripp shakes his head as I move toward the body that Audrey puts a foot on. She braces the bottom of her shoe on the girl's shoulder and uses the leverage to wrench the blade free.

"Come on, Jake. Get it over with."

Brooke's fingers twitch, and I decide I can't sit here any longer. I fall onto my stomach at her side, reaching for the fingers that are twitching against the ground. Her green eyes are open, but I don't think they're seeing anything, even as her lashes flutter.

"Close your eyes." I tell her, squeezing her fingers beneath mine. When she doesn't move, I brush my fingertips over her eyelids, guiding them into place. "And imagine somewhere better. Imagine the beach, with big waves coming in off the water."

The blade plunges into her; I know because I see her body move out of the corner of my eye. The only sound to escape her is a faint wheeze.

"See how many different seashells there are? They're all different colors..."

Brooke gasps, and I wrap her tighter in my grip. "It's pretty, isn't it? Look at the different sizes, too."

I don't actually know what I'm saying. I'm babbling, because I can't let this girl die encompassed by the nightmare going on around us... the roar of the flames, the screaming and arguing. I hear Tripp and Colton, but I can't tell what they're saying either.

"Look at the seagulls flying. There's so many of them up there."

Words fall from my tongue, and I don't even know what they are. I lose track of what I'm talking about.

When someone drags me to standing, it's like my brain has glitched.

It's like I fell asleep, because I don't know what happened, but I know I wasn't conscious for all of it.

Colton supports my body weight until I can feel my legs under me, and I turn to see Tripp staring at me.

But I don't think he's really seeing me; his gaze is unfocused and far away.

"It's on you now, Rev." Colton says. "Do it."

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do... until I realize Tripp is holding the blade out toward me. The entire thing is saturated in blood. Some of it drips onto the floor between us as he waits for me to take it.

"Nine souls are binding together." Whit says. "The ritual is almost complete. It's your turn."

I don't want to be bound to these psychopaths. Murderers. Monsters.

"This isn't optional, Rev." Colton's voice is hard, edged with desperation. "They won't let you leave if you don't do this."

"She's already dead, anyway." Mark says, and I guess that must have been how he justified it, because when I turn to look at him, he looks like he's going to be sick.

"I c-can't. I-"

Colton grips my wrist and twists, wrenching it so that my hand is out for Tripp to pass the blade. He does, and his gaze doesn't leave mine.

The metal hilt is heavy as the weight transfers to me, and I want to drop it.

I try to drop it, but my fingers wrap around it instead and Whit watches victoriously as I clench my fist, trying to fight with my fingers to open.

It's like I have no control over my body anymore.

My brain is screaming at me to stop, but my body doesn't listen.

I don't know how, but Whit's controlling me. I realize as much when he flings his hand toward the girl on the ground—the corpse. I think they're right that she has to be dead by now. But that doesn't make it any easier as my body follows Whit's motion.

"Stop!" I beg, grunting to get the word out through my clenched teeth. My stomach is burning, like there's a fire in the pit of it that's going to open and swallow me up. I don't know if it's from vomiting or the guilt of what's about to happen or whatever the fuck hold Whit's got on me.

He wriggles his fingers a minute, enjoying watching me squirm, before he brings them down through the air.

The blade cuts into her easily at first, sinking inch by inch as I try with everything in me to pull back. It's useless, because I only end up driving the blade deeper until I feel resistance, and a sound that makes me shudder.

"Carving her bones, are we, Rev?" Whit chuckles. "I like the enthusiasm, but let's carve the flesh instead. We need the blood."

I want to be relieved when I pull the knife from her back, but it's not over yet. I still can't control my body.

I don't know what he wants, but it doesn't matter. He just takes what he wants, flipping the body over so that she lies on her mutilated back.

I've seen plenty of girls in less than a bra but seeing her like this feels like a violation. The front of her body is unmarred, her stomach smooth and flat and definitely not moving.

Nine of us.

Nine stabs.

Is that all it took to kill her? Was she dead before number nine? Who delivered the fatal blow?

I don't get to linger over these questions, because Whit directs my hand, which still hasn't dropped the blade, poising it over her unmarred skin.

Whit draws patterns in the air that appear in her skin, which splits beneath the tip of the knife as I drag it over her flesh, my entire body trembling as I try to break whatever the fuck he did to me.

This spell or curse or whatever the fuck it is, is incomprehensible.

Not just because it's making me do something so vile, but because I have no control over my own body.

My choice is gone, and no fighting or resistance is going to help.

And when he finally decides that's enough and lifts the blade from the wounds, I can't even feel relief that it's over. I can't feel anything as the knife clatters to the ground, making an echoing sound against the floor.

I feel nothing, because I am nothing.

Or maybe I am one thing... a fucking killer.