Two girls. Two secrets.
Only one can survive.
Years before Nelle Wychthorn plans her escape, Tabitha Catt may unearth something in a Horned God's lair that is the key to freedom.
Desperate to save her beloved aunt from a dark curse, Tabitha is out t...
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Tabitha leaned her shoulder against the wall, and with her trembling free hand grasped my shoulder. She gasped, trying to say something, and finally pushed it out. "Please...say it's a s-scratch...j-just a scratch..." she whispered, begging me, terrified not because of the scissors buried in her stomach but because of something else. Something my mind couldn't fathom nor wrap itself around at that moment.
Because all I saw was her dying in front of me.
And all I heard was her begging me to hide it.
It made no fucking sense.
"Don't s-say anything, p-please..." she begged.
Tabitha's body tensed and she gritted her teeth as she braced herself, briefly squeezing her eyes shut. I had no idea what she intended to do. It happened so fast, I couldn't anticipate its madness. She pulled the scissors from her stomach. Blood coated the dull silver blades and spider-webbed from the wound, soaking the frayed split fabric of her dress even further.
My hands shot to her stomach, pressing down, as sticky warmth flowed between my fingers.
Oh my gods... What has she done... What has she done...
I froze with indecision. It paralyzed me as a laugh burbled from Tabitha's throat. Loud and breathy, tinged with mania and relief and astonishment. "Oh m-my g-gods," she cried out, through a fit of laughter. "I'm okay!"
I watched, mute with bewilderment, as Tabitha wiped the scissors across her chest, cleaning the blades free from blood. She straightened her spine, pasted a brilliant smile upon her bloodless lips, and vanquished the pain that had darkened her eyes to a mossy green. She turned around, holding the scissors aloft triumphantly, and all I could do was stare up at her like a stupid, gawking idiot.
We all were like that. Staring. Stupid fools.
Tabitha grinned, slumping a shoulder, and pressed her hand holding the scissors to her body, hiding the wound and evidence as her upper body swayed backward then forwards again as she rocked on her heels. With her free hand, she gestured to the scarf that was wrapped around her waist. "I'm f-fine," said stammered, pulling a dramatic astonished face at Byron. "She m-missed. Just a sc-scratch is all!"
Liar.
She was fucking lying through her chattering teeth.
She was trembling with the energy it required to keep standing and make it seem effortless. Her pallid skin glistened with sweat, and there was an unhinged edge to her gaze, but that could easily be interpreted as shock. Not what it really was—Tabitha, bleeding out.
What the hells is she doing? Thinking?
"The scissors h-hit this, instead." She didn't elaborate, just gestured to the thing that she'd wrapped up and tucked inside the scarf around her waist. She tapped it with her finger. A solid, dull ring.
