Chapter 53 Elle
ELLE
Percy’s agonizing scream shreds my eardrums.
Or maybe that’s mine. It’s hard to tell because of how numb my entire body is.
Shock registers on his face in the seconds between our eyes meeting and when the knife slicks through him.
My sight swims, but I reach for him, attempting to crawl in his direction like the snake around my neck. My limbs are numb, but I try slithering toward him anyway, hissing when I make contact with the ground.
The beastly men grab me from behind, edging dangerously close to the space between my thighs. I feel sick, but if this is what I have to do to get Percy out of here, then I’ll have to endure.
It will probably be over quickly…I hope.
Blood gushes from the wound as Pythia retracts the knife. She dips her fingers into it, drawing a three-headed beast on Percy’s chest.
He blinks rapidly, still somehow conscious.
“What the hell?” I shout, my heart heavy on my tongue. “I’m doing what you fucking asked!”
Pythia looks at me for a moment, then turns back to Percy, pulling her elbow back before driving the knife into his stomach—over and over and over.
The repetitive motion makes me dizzy, and I let my head fall to the ground as a pitiful noise escapes Percy’s gag. Tears slip down my cheeks, burning as they drip onto the ground below.
“I’m afraid Perciville has seen far too much,” Pythia says, tossing the knife to the side with a shrug. “I’ll take your cooperation into consideration henceforth.”
A foot comes down on my back, flattening me onto the ground and violently stealing the breath from my lungs. The pair of masked beasts flanks me, one twisting my arm around while the other applies his weight to my spine.
My mouth falls open on a silent wheeze as I struggle for air. Just when I feel myself fading, they release me, chanting something in Latin to the crowd around us.
Rage boils up inside me, making my limbs tremble with its ferocity. I glare at Pythia, imagining how good it would feel to wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze.
I’ve never fully felt that urge until now. My fingers itch, quivering with the desire to end her life as cavalierly as she has my friend’s.
That was his only crime—being my friend.
I am the common denominator.
But I’m certain if I did attack Pythia, the rest of the Death’s Teeth members would put an end to me immediately. She clearly has their loyalty in a way I can’t comprehend.
Instead, I turn and stagger to my feet. My face smarts, and there’s blood in my mouth, but I don’t pay much attention to that.
Bracing myself, I launch at one of the beasts’ back, hooking my arms around his neck and holding tight. He stumbles, gripping the rope barrier, clawing at my forearms.
I grit my teeth and use every ounce of strength I can muster, imagining his head popping off like a bobblehead toy.
The other man stumbles as the one below me continues to struggle, trying to punch at my sides. He lands a couple of blows, but the mask must be more restricting than I thought, because he’s turning to panic quickly, as if losing consciousness already.
His arm slips from the rope, and the three of us go tumbling off the stage; the breath instantly expels from my lungs as the other beast lands on top of me, smacking my head into the ground.
A grunt is audible as I lose my hold on the man, and I lie there trying to squirm out from beneath him. Then I feel something warm seep in around me.
Turning my head, I meet the dead eyes of the beast whose mask dislodged in the fall. His stare is cold, vacant, as blood pours from an apparent wound in the back of his head—if the sharp rock next to it is any indication.
Adrenaline courses through my veins, but there’s no time to dwell on the moment because in the next, a strong, masculine voice cuts through the air, silencing everyone.
“Enough.”
My eyes pop open wide. The beast scrambles off me, and I push up on weak arms, instantly meeting the green eyes I’ve been in love with for weeks now.
Shit. Love. That’s what this is, isn’t it?
I wouldn’t have accepted this for anything less.
He’s wearing a gold skull mask that looks like it was forged from the actual metal and a thick crimson cloak. His gaze burns as he takes me in, and I imagine his nostrils flaring, anger heating his skin.
“Incarnate. Anathema,” Pythia says, appearing at his side. “You’re just in time. We were ensuring your pick was worthy of—”
She cuts off as his arm lashes out, his hand grabbing her throat. The mask lifts a little, revealing pale skin, and my nerves vibrate with anticipation, waiting to see if it falls all the way off.
“If she’s worthy?” Sutton spits, and she clutches at his fingers, trying to pry them off. “You kidnap her, threaten her with violence and death, and have the audacity to say you’re doing this for my benefit?”
“Since she’s an Anderson, we just had to be—”
The woman’s words get choked off, and she wheezes. No one rushes to her aid.
“I chose to spare her. Didn’t I?”
She nods.
“So what gives you the right to test her in any way? She’s mine, not yours.
My partner, the life to my death. My Maiden.
You do not touch her. You do not so much as look at her, or I swear on these cursed school grounds I’ll burn all the skin from your body and use your bones in my next sacrifice.
Under my authority as Incarnate, is that understood? ”
“E-elder—”
He shoves her to the ground, a noise of disgust puffing past his lips.
I glance around the room, noting how every masked figure seems stricken in place, like they physically can’t move.
Like whatever beliefs they hold actually keep them from retaliating against their chosen leader.
Sutton exits the stage, pulling a spare mask and cloak out from a pocket inside his. He shuffles closer to me, holding the mask out—it’s a pretty white one decorated in dozens of different flowers, the embodiment of springtime.
The Maiden’s mask.
“How did you know I was—”
He shakes his head, offering the mask. “Do you accept your role as Incarnate’s Maiden? His ultimate partner? His other half—in this life and the next?”
My heart skips a beat. This sounds an awful lot like a wedding proposal, but I’m not really lucid enough at the moment to decline. I know he’d mentioned something of the sort, but in truth, I hadn’t thought it was real.
It’s only now settling in that he meant it.
I nod, just barely, my vision swimming as his arms come around me. He fits the mask onto my face and lifts me while a small round of cheers erupts around us.
Sutton drapes the spare cloak over my shoulders and sets me on the stage edge. I avoid looking at Percy, pressing my palms into the ground to keep from falling over.
Behind his back, Sutton brandishes a shiny dagger, and the breath stalls in my throat. He crouches before Pythia, tilting her chin up with the dagger’s tip.
“Since you’ve injured my Maiden, I won’t be participating in the usual ceremonial practices.
But she dons the mask, so she is the Maiden.
Which means only one person can decide if she’s worthy—and if she gets to live.
” He taps her skin, his voice dark and low, unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. “I decide it all.”
With that, he angles his arm, driving the dagger through her stomach, and I lose consciousness.