Jegudiel (Deadly Virtues 2)

She didn’t recognize any of them, but her eyes fixed on the man at the back. He looked like he was only his in late teens, and had long brown hair, half of which was tied back off his face. He had done nothing but walk toward them, but the way his eyes focused on her family around the fire, her family who hadn’t even noticed the men, too busy chanting and blessing the Goddess, made the hairs on her arms stand on end.

The men leading the group stopped, and Noa saw them pull knives from the hidden pockets of their robes. Her voice became trapped in her throat, fear rendering her motionless, squeezing as tightly as if hands were wrapping around her neck.

The men at the front glanced to the man at the back. With a snarl of disgust on his face, the man with the dark hair—their leader—nodded his head, and the other priests cut across the clearing.

Noa opened her mouth to offer warning to her grandma, but her scream was too late, and too weak—it was carried away on a gust of wind. Instead, Noa watched, rooted to the spot, as the men charged at her family and plunged their knives into their chests. White robes became sodden with red.

Noa’s eyes sought out her grandma. One of the men had her in his arms. Her grandma’s frantic gaze found Noa. “Run,” she mouthed, and Noa’s heart sliced in two at the stark fear in her grandma’s eyes.

“Grandma …” Noa whispered, lips trembling, her voice breaking along with her heart and her soul. Her grandma managed to rip free from the man’s hold, only for another man—identical to the first, Noa realized—to catch her by her hair as she tried to run for her granddaughter, tried to get to Noa.

Noa’s heart pounded an ominous song, a dirge, as one twin held her grandmother, her arms locked behind her back, and the other stood directly before her. Noa’s knees were weak. One of them spat, “Heretic witch” in her grandma’s face, then plunged his knife into her chest.

This time the scream that came from Noa’s mouth was loud and savage and carried all of the hurt, the sorrow and the pain that came with seeing her grandma slump in the priest’s arms, but not before her eyes had found Noa, telling her with one simple stare how much she loved her, how much she cherished her … and to run.

Noa’s breath was as choppy as a rough sea as she fled into the woods. She didn’t feel her legs as she pushed them to their maximum ability. Low-hanging branches slapped her in the face like wooden whips. But she ran. She ran and ran, searching for a way out of the dense forest. But before she had even made it close to a hiking trail, a hand grabbed her hair, yanking her back. Her scalp felt like it was on fire as she fell to the ground. A strong hand wrapped around her arm and dragged her to her feet. Noa was spun around, and she came face to face with the leader of the priests, the young one with long dark hair. His dark eyes searched her face.

Tears streamed down Noa’s cheeks; they blurred her sight. She was terrified. In that moment, Noa knew she was going to die. She closed her eyes, but all she could see in her mind’s eye was blood. All she could see was her family splayed on the ground, white robes dyed a bloody crimson. And her grandma … her grandma, the person she loved most in the entire world, slain, a knife through her chest.

A slice of pain slammed across her cheek, and Noa opened her eyes with a gasp. He had slapped her. The priest had slapped her. Without saying a word, he dragged her back the way she came, toward the clearing, by her hair. Noa stumbled, her fingernails snapping as she reached out for purchase on the trees, but the priest didn’t stop. He didn’t stop until they reentered the clearing. A sob ripped from Noa’s throat at the sight that greeted her.

Bodies … her family’s bodies were everywhere. But she couldn’t see her grandma. Where was her grandma?

Then Noa smelled smoke, its tendrils drifting up her nose like plumes of acid. As if she were a puppet and the priest her master, Noa was spun around by the priest’s unyielding hold, and something inside her instantly died. Her soul broke, shattered, splintered apart, as she saw her grandma’s body tied to a makeshift stake, fire raging at her feet.

Hot breath danced near Noa’s ear, and she felt the priest’s mouth lower to her lobe and say, “Watch.” She tried to pull away as the flames crawled higher up the stake, tearing the flesh from her grandma’s legs. But the priest held her head captive in his hands and forced her to watch as the fire began to devour her grandma. Noa was glad her grandma had already died. She could at least take solace in that—