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My gaze drops to the red ribbon.

Then back to her face. “Good luck.”

Her mouth twitches. “Asshole.”

She goes upstairs.

I wait until she’s out of sight then I turn to Ezra. “A cold shower?”

“It might work.”

“It won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Malakai looks toward the ceiling. “It won’t.”

Ezra points at him. “Neither of you are helping.”

I lean against the counter. “She’s going to come back downstairs.”

Ezra looks at me. “Yes.”

“Still burning.”

His jaw tightens.

“Yes.”

“And then?”

Silence.

I smile. Not because it’s funny. Because after two hundred and thirty-five years, I finally understand the cruelest part of the punishment. The Harvest didn’t bind three men to protect its Bride.

It bound three men to desire her. And if Sage McBride chooses to want us back… God help us all.

8

The Dead Bride

Sage

Istand beneath water that’s cold enough to make my teeth hurt and somehow, I’m still burning. Not fever burning, that would be easier. This is beneath my skin, inside my stomach, between my ribs and… lower. It’s making every nerve ending feel turned up too high.

I shut off the water. “Fuck.”

The cold shower did exactly jack shit.

I sigh then grab a towel and wrap it around myself. For several seconds, I stare at my reflection. Same face, dark hair, only soaked now. Same woman who drove with her best friends onto this farm a few hours ago expecting overpriced cider and people dressed like serial killers. Except now, there’s a red ribbon around my wrist that apparently hasn’t existed since 1791 and three immortal men downstairs. One of whom I kissed. One of whom chased me through a cornfield, and one of whom seems determined to save me by being the most irritating man alive.

“Fantastic choices, Sage.”

My reflection offers nothing.

Bitch.

I pull on my clothes. The sweater stays off. I can’t tolerate it but I throw on the camisole, slide my skirt up over my thighs, pull on my stockings then slide back into my boots.