Page 10 of Hellbound

Ksenia’s jaw clenched, writhing fruitlessly in her binds. To what end, she wasn’t sure.

You certainly have fire if not sense… Vornaya traced the fissures with her nail.

So I’ll give you a choice: I can put you out of your misery, quickly. Her grip tightened on Ksenia’s stony heart once more.

Pressure climbed, and her being dimmed like a snuffed flame.

Or. Or.

Ksenia gritted her teeth.

You agree to a blood pact. You already pledged a little to me—what’s a little more? Her smile stretched as wide as the crescent moon overhead.

Ksenia stilled. Did she mean…the shrine?

I’ll lend you a piece of my soul and body to make you whole so you can kill the king and get your own soul back. Vornaya circled her captive slowly. In exchange for sacrifices to me, she whispered in Ksenia’s ear.

A shudder rippled through her.

Vornaya didn’t have animal sacrifices in mind.

It was common knowledge that only the old gods had called for sacrifices. Any god that required them now was barbaric and had few followers.

The old gods’ generosity had never come cheap. There were tales of scholars who’d begged for all the knowledge in the world, only to have their skulls burst at the seams. Generals granted unbeatable armies that turned on their masters with unquenchable bloodlust. Nobles cursed with eternal beauty that only they could see, appearing decrepit to all others.

And Ksenia knew this intimately. An ancient god called Old Hollow had struck a pact with the first of her kind over a century ago, infusing their blood with metal and the ability to forge weapons that no ordinary smith could fathom.

It made them a commodity to be courted or caged, depending on who wore the crown.

Her people were something the world would never stop wanting to use or destroy.

And now, another god was offering.

I give you power. You give me power. She reappeared on her opposite side, cooing. An even exchange, isn’t it?

She circled back in front of Ksenia, as if listening patiently.

Be destroyed, or do the destroying and be indebted to a god.

But if her grudge alone had called the God of Crossroads, then she would use the opportunity to burn Karsan’s kingdom to the ground.

She would strip him of everything he held dear.

She would make him pay, and then some.

Death was not a kindness she owed the butcher king.

She leveled her gaze on Vornaya and gave a single, resolute nod.

A cold wind cut between them.

The moon hung behind the god’s head, casting her face in shadow as she assessed her new apostle with clinical detachment. She stood gravely still before lifting the tortured heart.

The god held out her luminescent hand, and from behind the clearing, beckoned Ksenia’s lost dagger. She caught it with little effort and drew a slit across her palm, black ichor beading to the surface, smearing over the hardened heart.

Ksenia sensed the cold thread of Vornaya’s being weaving through the cracks of her like roots through stone.

She plunged it into Ksenia’s incorporeal self, back into the nest of broken ribs, shaking the forest floor.