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Once. Twice. Three times.
He inhales roughly. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He grits as blood runs from his nose.
“Rhett, you’re bleeding.” I tell him, and he lifts his arm, wipes the blood away with his fingers then looks down at the red coating his skin.
He laughs, not because it’s funny, but because it’s blood—his blood—living blood.
The Harvest extends another hand with a knife resting in its palm.
Rhett looks at it. “No.”
The hand remains.
REAPER.
Rhett looks at me, then at the knife. “I think it wants blood.”
“Don’t.” I warn.
His mouth twitches. “Wasn’t planning on slitting my throat.”
He takes the knife, Ezra swears as Rhett turns it over and looks at it. Old iron with symbols carved along the blade. Then he drags it across his palm.
“Rhett!”
“Relax.”
“You just cut yourself with a demon knife!”
“Fair criticism.” He says as the blood wells bright red. His expression changes when he sees it. Excitement because he’s alive, the realization of that makes my heart skip a beat.
The Harvest lowers its hand toward the table but Rhett shakes his head in understanding. “No.”
Malakai rises. “What?”
Rhett looks at his blood. “It doesn’t want death.” He walks to the table.
“Rhett.” Ezra calls out but he ignores him and presses his bleeding palm into the wood. The second his blood touches it, every candle ignites and the crowd inhales as one.
Rhett jerks his hand away.
The table drinks the blood—the red disappears into the grain and the Harvest speaks.
LIFE RETURNED.
Rhett’s mark burns.
LIVING.
He stares at the words and smiles. “No.”
The Harvest goes still.
“I’ll give you blood.” his voice carries. “But you don’t get the life attached to it.”
The creature shudders.
Rhett steps away and his mark remains. He looks at me. “Still here.”
