40. Selis #2
Blank stares. Trembling chins. I probably shouldn’t have cussed, but my skin is crawling and they’re looking at me like I’m a wolf pretending to be a saint.
Maybe I am.
It’s almost comical, really. Me—trying to play gentle. Trying not to scare the already-scared.
But saints don’t bleed like I do.
And I’m no Naera.
The first girl I ungagged—eight years old, soft cheeked, glowing just a little too bright—turns to the others.
“It’s her. I saw her,” she says, voice hushed like a secret passed in a chapel. “In my dream. That’s Selene.”
The words land like a stone tossed into still water.
The others flinch. Even the oldest stiffens. One of the littlest whimpers behind her gag.
Then, soft and full of awe, the ten-year- old breathes, “Siven…”
It clicks—the weird staring, the way she didn’t scream. Not fear. Not confusion. Worship. My stomach knots.
“I believe her,” the ten-year-old whispers to the others, like she’s saying a prayer.
I crouch again in front of the eight year old. “No. I’m not Selene.”
“But I saw you—”
“I’m not a goddess,” I snap, harsher than I mean to. “I bleed. I swear. I drink. I kill people when they give me a reason.”
She stares at me, wide-eyed. And worse… hopeful.
Before I can say another word—
The side door creaks open.
My whole body goes still.
A priest enters. Older. Robes too neat. Fangs just barely visible when he inhales. Vampire, clearly. He carries a shallow silver bowl, brimming with dried petals and pale powders.
He doesn’t scream. He just stops.
Sees me.
Sees the girls.
And we stare.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Then I move.
Fast.
The bowl hits the ground with a soft clang just before my blade slices across his throat. He stumbles back, slipping on the powders, fingers scrabbling at the wound, red blooming across white silk.
It should’ve ended there.
But he’s fast. Vampire-fast.
He snarls—guttural, ragged—and lunges .
I meet him head-on.
We crash to the floor, my knees slamming hard against stone as I wrest the blade free. He grabs for my wrist, nails like claws, inhuman strength thrumming beneath his skin.
But I’ve fought worse. I twist. Snarl through my teeth. And drive the dagger into his heart.
Hard. Deep. Straight through silk and sanctity and whatever cold god he prays to.
His whole body jerks once, a dying tremor. Then slumps.
I hold for a breath longer, just to be sure. The silence that follows rings louder than the noise.
Blood seeps across the stone. It stains my hands, my knees. It pools around the powders in crimson swirls.
I wipe the blade on the edge of his robes—methodical, breathing hard. Then I lift my head. The girls are still bound. Still silent. Still watching.
“Still think I’m a goddess?” I mutter.
The eight-year-old nods slowly.
Of course she does.
The others stare at the priest’s body like it might rise again. Like if they blink, it’ll vanish and everything will go back to the safe, silent horror they were expecting.
But it doesn’t vanish.
He’s still bleeding. Still crumpled in his perfect robes. Still dead .
One of the younger girls makes a choked sound behind her gag.
The six-year-old starts crying again—no noise, just shaking shoulders and wet cheeks. The oldest clenches her jaw like it’ll keep the fear from leaking out. But the fear is everywhere now. Thick as blood in the air .
Great.
I stare down at the mess I made, drag a palm across my mouth. Maybe they’ve never seen someone bleed before. Maybe I just traumatized every single one of them. As if growing up in this place hasn’t done enough trauma.
I stand again, soften my voice even though it grates against my throat. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Their eyes flick to the blade in my hand. Back to the priest’s body.
Yeah. Real convincing, Selis.
“I mean it,” I say, quieter now. “I’m here to stop them . To stop this. But I need to know where they took Naera… Please.”
No one moves.
Not a word.
Until—
“She’s in the Moon Room,” the ten-year-old says softly.
She doesn’t look at me. Just at the floor, at the blood, like if she stares too long it might swallow her.
“Where’s that?”
“It’s the big round room,” she murmurs, “with the glass top. You have to go through the hallway with all the silver lamps, past the garden with the star flowers. There’s a door behind the statue. It’s hidden, but I saw them use it.”
Her hands twist in her lap. “They said only the moonmother’s chosen go in.”
I nod, breath catching like it’s been waiting for those words. “Thank you.”
And maybe I mean it more than anything I’ve ever said.
I straighten, blood still drying tacky on my fingers as I stare at the six little bodies wrapped in moonlight and silence. My jaw ticks .
I can’t take them with me.
They’ll slow me down, draw eyes. And when the fire comes… when I let the lantern breathe… they may burn. I can’t shield them from that. I can barely shield myself.
They’re just kids.
Too bright. Too breakable.
But if I let them go now, will they make it past the wall?
Fuck.
I don’t know what waits for them out there in the dark. But here? Here, they’re already marked.
So I make the call. I hate it. But I make it anyway.
“Listen up. I’m going to get you out of this. But unless you want to end up like him ,” I say, jerking my chin toward the priest’s crumpled corpse, “you need to move quiet. You need to get past the wall without being seen. No screaming. No wandering. Just gone. It's not warded on the West side.”
My eyes flick from one pale, stunned face to the next. Wide eyes. Trembling mouths. They're too young for this—but so was I, once. If I survived, so can they.
“Naera and I will find you later. But right now?” I pause, hold their gaze, “You disappear. Can you do that?”
Silence.
Just for a beat, I think none of them will answer me.
Then the oldest—the one who’s been watching me with sharp, appraising eyes, the one who tried not to cry—nods once.
I nod back and kneel.
I start with her, fast and careful, slicing through the bindings. She doesn’t flinch. Just scoops up the smallest, the toddler, like she’s done it a thousand times before. The little one melts into her arms, sleepy and confused, clinging tight.
One by one, I cut them free. Ankles. Wrists. Gags .
They rub stiff joints, shake out trembling fingers. Some won’t meet my eyes, but none of them bolt or scream.
That’s good. That’s something.
I pull a slim dagger from my belt—one I stole off Kael’s corpse—and hand it to the ten-year-old.
“Stick to the shadows,” I murmur. “Don’t use it unless you have to. But don’t be afraid to, either.”
She wraps shaking fingers around the hilt and doesn’t say a word.
I take a step back. My throat’s tight, but I push it down. Swallow it whole.
“Go.”
And just like that, they vanish into the dark.
I exhale as the door swings shut behind the last child, swallowing their silhouettes into the dark. For a second, I don’t move. I just stare at the blood-slick floor and let the silence settle deep in my chest, heavy and final.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Time to move.
But then—a click.
The opposite door creaks open.
Not the one the kids left through. No. This one’s back near the altar. The one the priest came in from.
I drop without thinking, tucking behind the stone altar just as footsteps echo in.
“What in the moon’s hollow breath is taking so long?” someone snaps—sharp, irritated, adult. Boots grind against stone. Robes whisper like snakes.
A beat of stillness.
Then a gasp. Choked. Panicked.
“Ero?”
More footsteps, quick and frantic. Cloth shifting. A bowl clatters hard to the floor, ringing like a bell.
“He’s dead—he’s dead ! And the sacrifices—where are the sacrifices?!”
Another voice joins. Older. Icy calm.
“Forget them. Go. Check the offering. Now. We can't lose the vessel.”
Vessel.
Naera.
Perfect.
Come on. Lead me right to her, you bastards.
I press low to the ground, heart steady, breath caged in my ribs. The priests sweep past my hiding place, muttering curses and prayers. I wait. Count to five. Then ten.
I rise, slow and silent, every motion tight and controlled. Just about to follow when—
Crack.
Pain explodes behind my eyes, hot and blinding. My skull snaps forward. My vision reels.
A shadow at my back. Cold fingers. Inhuman speed.
Vampire…
My knees crumple. I try to twist, to grab my blade, but the ground surges up too fast.
Too late.
Everything tilts.
Then—
Darkness swallows me whole.