Page 34 of Hunted by the Headless Horseman (Roars and Romances #5)

“You have the power to break this cycle.”

JACK

Murderous rage consumes me at the sight of Belle passing out from the pain of the brand. A deep ache carves through my chest at how I’ve failed her.

It takes everything in me not to act now, not to charge into the clearing and attack. But in the wake of Mrs. Kravitson’s declaration, I restrain myself, respecting her for the desperate diversion she performs. I will only get one chance. Strike at the precise moment.

The fire casts long shadows over the circle, eclipsing half of Thaddeus’s face in shadow. My muscles tense, every fiber of my being poised to strike, but I wait, listening, watching.

Thaddeus narrows his eyes, his jaw clenched in barely contained fury as Mrs. Kravitson’s voice carries across the clearing with a power I hadn’t expected.

The Brothers stand by, silent, their dark robes rippling in the wind. They are in awe as Thaddeus, but unlike him, they are too stunned to speak much less act.

“You don’t know everything, Thaddeus,”

Mrs. Kravitson says firmly but with a hint of sorrow.

“I’ve watched you suffer from a distance, and I know what growing up without a mother did to you.”

Thaddeus growls, cutting her off with a snap of rage.

“No woman could ever hurt me!”

Bitterness from a lifetime of brainwashing poisons his voice and any hope of redemption. His hands ball into fists at his sides.

“Least of all you.”

But Mrs. Kravitson continues, undeterred.

“Your father raped me, Thaddeus. He forced himself on me, and when I became pregnant, I had a choice—one that no woman should ever have to make. I could have ended it as Belle justifiably and hopelessly did. But I kept you. I kept hoping, praying, that one day I could find you and get you out.”

A wave of emotion passes over her face.

Fury marks Thaddeus’s face, the muscles in his neck taut as he grinds his teeth. His silence confirms he hadn’t known. He never knew.

“I wanted to speak to you, to tell you the truth,”

she continues, her eyes softening with the weight of years of pain.

“But your father took you. He never allowed me near you because I was an outsider. He kept you from me because of his hatred, not because of you. I loved you, Thaddeus. I’ve always loved you.”

Thaddeus’s chest heaves, his biceps bulging with his wrath, but he simply glares at her, nostrils flaring.

“You have the choice now,”

she says, stepping closer to him.

“You have the power to break this cycle, to stop the torment your father created. I gave you life. So, give Belle back her own. Let her go. She’s not your possession—she’s your superior. You never deserved her, and she never belonged to you.”

A hush befalls the clearing. Even the Brothers seem to hold their breath as her words cut through the night. A muscle bounces in Thaddeus’s jaw as he gazes down at her, his pride warring with something deeper—something he tries to hide, even from himself.

Now, I understand why Mrs. Kravitson gave me deja vu beyond her ancestry with the diviner. She was yoked with the Covenant and with the Thorne bloodline from the moment Thaddeus’s father violated her.

Mrs. Kravitson steps closer, her voice softening.

“My ancestor bargained with Jack Moore and began this curse…Jack did it for vengeance and retribution, but you have the opportunity to end it now, Thaddeus. Atone for the sins of Edmund Thorne. Search deep within yourself. Let Belle go. Let her live. Let her love as she always has done.”

Nothing in her pronouncement shakes Thaddeus Thorne. Like his ancestor, like his wretched bloodline, he is beyond atonement. My chest hardens with absolution, and I ball my hands into fists, gripping my cane as I prepare to attack.

Thaddeus’s lip curls into a sneer, and he shakes his head.

“You think I’ll take pity on her? On you? All you’ve done is confirm that this curse—this hell I’ve lived in—was your fault!”

He spits at her, fury flashing in his eyes.

“Like all women, you reek of betrayal as old as Eve. Your ancestor’s curse, your curse took my father from me when I was too young. And you’ll pay for that, Mother. After Belle does.”

As Mrs. Kravitson, as Cassandra lowers her head in sorrow, every part of me burns with the need to strike him down, but I force myself to stay hidden. Because he’s still too aware of his surroundings.

Belle lies limp, bound to the stake, still unconscious, her skin pale and marked with his hideous brand. Thaddeus crouches beside her, pulling a small vial of smelling salts from his coat. He thrusts it under her nose, forcing her to stir, her body jerking as she comes to.

“Wake up, my love,”

Thaddeus leers with malice.

“We are not done yet.”

But the second he begins to undo his belt, I charge.

Dawn is close, and my ghostly form is attainable again. The fire parts for me, the smoke swirling around my body as I advance through it, a wraith of fury and vengeance. The silver handle of my cane gleams in the firelight, and I stalk toward Thaddeus, my steps heavy, deliberate.

Smoke unfurls all around me, making me appear like a haunting ghost, a near mirage.

The second I close in and crouch, his head snaps up at the sight of me, eyes widening as he beholds the impossible. “Jack…”

He bares his teeth in a furious snarl.

I say nothing.

“Jack!”

Belle gasps, her eyes watery, pained, but filled with an unconditional love I have never deserved.

I raise my cane and unleash the blade concealed within it. A blade in the shape of a punishing scythe of vengeance. The same blade I used to disembowel Edmund Thorne will pierce his damned descendant.

With a roar reverberating through the clearing, I charge for him—emerging from the very smoke of the fire.