Chapter 34 – Gabriella #2
The firelight took him apart piece by piece.
Skin gleamed, his pale left side contrasting the red, gnarled expanse of his right.
Firelight rolled over him, turning skin bronze and crimson, carving shadows into muscle and bone.
Whatever ritual was taking place, it stripped the man down to what the earth had a right to judge. Power with nothing to hide behind.
And Liam had power in spades.
The circle of stones was drenched with it.
Liam knelt and pressed both hands into the dirt at the edge of the fire.
Slow. Intentional. He dragged the earth up his chest, over his shoulders, smeared ash across his throat and jaw.
The soot streaked his skin unevenly, caught in the sweat already forming.
He breathed it in. Smoke clung to him, coiling close, like it recognized the rite of passage.
Then one of the soldiers stepped forward.
The doctor, the one who’d been at dinner the other night. His red beard matched the flames as he stopped beside Liam, extending his hand.
A blade caught in the light.
The knife was simple. No ornament. Bone handle.
Short blade darkened with age. The doctor didn’t hesitate.
He sliced across the boss’s palm, clean and deliberate.
Blood welled immediately, bright and shocking against the ash.
It dripped onto the dirt. A few beads hissed when tongues of flame licked them.
I wanted to scream.
This didn’t feel right. A good Roman Catholic girl shouldn’t condone the ancient, primal scene, but I was powerless to stop it. Interrupting felt more sacrilegious than cursing during mass. I bit my tongue and forced myself to stay put.
Liam lifted his bleeding hand and pressed it to his chest, smearing blood into the ash until it turned black and slick. He did it again, slower this time, dragging the wound across his sternum, his ribs, and his throat. Blood and earth. The twin elements sealed by the moonlight.
Words followed. Low. Rhythmic. Spoken in something older than any of us. The cadence made my skin crawl.
Liam repeated them without being prompted, voice rough, steady.
I didn’t have to know what they meant to feel the implication in my very bones.
An oath, though not the kind you broke without consequence.
He swore himself to the land, to the fire, to the bloodline he was about to lead.
He swore to carry violence when needed and judgment always.
He swore to accept what would come for him because he accepted the crown tonight.
When Liam finished, he stood.
Blood ran down his wrist. Ash streaked his body. His eyes lifted and locked on the fire, unblinking. There was no cheering or applause. Just the bonfire, which roared higher, as if satisfied.
I had the distinct, unwanted feeling that something old had just been fed.
Turning, Liam walked toward me.
My breath caught in my throat. I didn’t drop his gaze, didn’t let mine rove over his body. That would be utterly foolish. This was a predator. There was no stopping his advance.
Liam lifted his bloody palm. Plunging two fingers in the wound, he gathered the heathen ink. It had to hurt like a motherfucker, the skin stretching where he dug into the cut, but he didn’t wince. I wondered if he was even capable of feeling pain.
But conscious thought flitted from my brain a moment later. Liam stretched out his hand and brushed the tips of his fingers over my forehead.
That ancient language, fluid and mysterious, murmured around us as he spoke.
He repeated the gesture on my lips.
Then my chest.
Catching my fingers, he took a step and then another.
His scarred right hand bled over my left.
The dark, sticky mud stained my skin. While it would probably wash off easily, there was an essence I didn’t think I would ever escape.
Fixated on touching his broken body, something he never let me do, I didn’t realize we’d stopped before the stone seat.
As he sat, he held me there. A captive? A trophy? I was trapped for the throng to see.
“She should have bowed and kissed the ring like us,” someone muttered on the far side of the fire.
There was a low gust of air, a thunk, and then a muted groan.
But the Irish mobsters were already lining up, starting behind the doctor. Sean Ryan knelt before Liam, clasped his left hand in both of his, muttered five or six words, and then kissed the knuckles.
Liam was silent. Deadly silent.
He didn’t move or acknowledge the oath of fidelity.
The doctor rose and moved around to the far side of the fire, disappearing through the trees. Every other soul present repeated the process. A few flicked interested glances in my direction, but no one was bold enough to voice an opinion.
It wasn’t until the blood and earth was nearly dry between us that the last man, Connor of all people, knelt, swore his oath, and then left. Another timber fell onto the coals, sending sparks shooting in celebration. They danced to the starry sky, leaving me completely alone with the monster.