The Sacrifice (Seven Sins MC 1)

I moved over toward the windows, drawing back the drapes, seeing the damage of my swirling emotions all around the sprawling grounds—pools of water, broken tree branches, sad-looking rose bushes.

The sun was peeking through the clouds now, though, as the thick blanket of sadness seemed lifted.

I was still uncomfortable, unsure, completely in the dark about what was going to happen to me here.

But if the demon was going to rape me, wouldn't he have done it already? If they were going to murder me, wouldn't that have taken place?

I was starting to wonder if all those scary stories told around a fire were nothing more than tall tales from imaginative minds than actual possibilities.

Though, it might have been too soon to write much of anything off.

These were demons, after all.

Evil through and through.

When Ly didn't return several moments later, I made my way toward the door, pressing my ear to it, trying to hear if anyone was approaching, if he was nearby.

Hearing nothing, I hung up my gown in the bathroom and stood around waiting, figuring there was no way they wanted me walking freely around the home without express permission to do so.

After what seemed like hours passed, my stomach grumbling, my eyelids getting heavy, I slowly lowered myself down on the floor beneath the window, feeling the warmth on my face even as the hardwood cooled my back as I closed my eyes, eventually allowing the previously elusive sleep to claim me.

I dreamed of Samhain—the Summer's end solstice I would be missing this year, along with every other sabbat until the end of my time.

We would honor the dead, the generations of mothers before us. We would set their places at the table while we feasted. Then Marianne would hold a seance, seeing if any of the crossed over wanted to speak to us, guide us.

We would end the night by breaking away for private moments alone under moonlight with our cards in our hands, rolling them out in the Wheel of the Year spread, taking the guidance for the coming year that the universe, the mother, the father, had for us.

It was a happy dream as I saw myself spread in my black gown, my black cloak, my familiar, well-loved cards spread out before me.

It was the message that alarmed me, though.

Because it was a message of love.

We didn't fall in love, witches.

We met men, we grew heavy with daughters from them, and we devoted our lives to our beliefs, taking whatever love was within us, and pouring it into our daughters.

We didn't fall in love.

The cards never spoke to us about it.

But there it was, undeniable.

Ace of Cups, symbolizing new love. Two of cups, repressing learning to open up to another. Queen of Cups, a card speaking of sexuality. The Sun, a happily-ever-after sort of card. The Empress, suggesting children.

All happy.

All pointing toward love.

Until my eyes landed on the final card.

The Devil.

"What the fuck are you doing?" A growling voice startled me from my dream.

My eyes flew open, struggling to focus with the fogginess of sleep still blanketing my mind.

Several things came to me at once.

The sun was down in the windows to my side.

I was freezing because my cloak had fallen open down the middle exposing me completely.

And Ly looked even more intimidating and primal standing over me.

"I... resting," I said, voice thick with sleep.

"On the floor? There's a bed right there," he said, waving toward it.

"You own that bed. And the bedding. And the pillows," I spat, throwing his earlier words at him.

"And I don't own the floor?" he shot back, rolling those entrancing eyes of his. "Being a stubborn ass isn't going to get you far now that you're here," he declared, squatting down, slipping his hands under my body, and lifting me off the floor.

Surprise flooded my system. I hadn't been lifted since I was a little girl. I hadn't been carried since I was a babe. And this, well, this was decidedly different than that.

I felt oddly... small.

And strangely safe.

Which was absurd.

I was in the arms of a demon.

A creature of hell.

Safe was the last thing I was.

But he picked me up. And he carried me as though I weighed nothing more than a dried leaf before stopping at the side of the bed and tossing me onto it.

"Sleep there," he demanded in that grumbly voice of his.

I was starting to miss the basement. The certainty of the days there. Footsteps on the floorboards above, a sink and toilet, halfway edible food on a tray at least once a day, brought down by a man who didn't look for me, didn't notice me, didn't seem interested in harming me in any way.

Here, in this room, on this bed, with this demon prowling around, I had no idea what to expect.

Would he touch me like he'd done in the tub?