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He calls out two names. A man I don’t know. And then a name that sends a shiver through my arms.
Ned Miller.
Officer Ned Miller. The man who took my statement and promised to help me.
“It’s your turn to feast from the Mother. Please step forward and accept the offer of life.”
Barely breathing, I watch as he rises from a pew and goes to her with the other man. They approach the altar like this is a privilege they’ve been waiting for.
Evelyn lifts her head, but her eyes remain closed, resigning herself to be used like this as they stand on either side of her. Their mouths touch her, licking the blood from her skin. Most attention is paid to her breasts and between her legs, but they rub the blood into her skin across her body, getting it all over their faces. It blends into the red of their robes.
One of Evelyn’s hands leaves its place behind her back and settles on Officer Miller’s head, holding him to her breast like a suckling baby.
She was never tied. She’s holding the position because she’s been conditioned to.
My jaw hangs open as I witness this ritual with panic. Who do I call if the police are in on it?
My phone buzzes in my pocket with an incoming call. The sound nearly stops my heart. I yank it out, my fingers slipping as I silence it. A tiny sound escapes my throat. Barely anything, yet deafening in the hush between Frank’s sentences.
In the back row, a man turns.
Patrick Connelly.
He sits beside Bridget, both of them composed as if this is merely another obligation on the calendar. His gaze finds me with immediate precision.
Our eyes lock.
His expression doesn’t change, but the recognition in his eyes is unmistakable. He knows I’m here.
My chest is tight, but my body finally obeys. I move.
I slip back through the door and down the stairs, hurrying through the basement to the kitchen. Then something on the floor makes me freeze.
Dark drops of blood speckle across the linoleum near the fridge.
My brain screams at me to keep running, to get out. But I step closer. My hand trembles as I grip the fridge handle and pull it open.
And my stomach turns.
Blood bags. Neatly arranged with the labels facing forward. One with Calista’s name. One with mine.
I slam the door shut and step back. I’m not just an outsider looking in. I’m inventory. I’m part of this.
Panic gnaws at my brain, and I run. I’m out the back door and into the evening air, legs pumping as I cross through the cemetery and into the woods. I find the beaten path in the waning light and take it back to Highstone Manor, eyes tearing at the sight of Evelyn covered in blood, waiting for someone to save her.
CHAPTER 43
EDWIN
My phone goes dark in my hand. No answer.
The dot marking Zaiya’s location was at the church. If she warns Evelyn, and Evelyn warns her shit husband, it might take more effort to kill him.
But if Zaiya sticks her nose where it shouldn’t be and Frank comes for her, then fuck the vote. Fuck the Order. I’ll strangle him and leave his body on the front steps of the church to rot.
Her safety takes precedence over everything. Even my own life, which has never been especially precious to me until she became part of it.
The library gives me and my brothers a place to gather. The only brothers that count, since blood has proven itself embarrassingly unreliable.
