Fat wax dripped from candles flickering in the dark recesses behind the dais. Each glowing candle represented a God that had fallen, or, like Zrenyth, fell into the Great Slumber during the time of mist before our history was separated and hidden from the mortal masses of this world.

The Horned Gods didn't require litanies or chanting or even for us to worship them. We prayed to the old gods who had given us and the Horned Gods' life. We were their warlords, and more importantly, their thieves. We were bred to guard them, fight for them, keep them hidden from the mortals, and provide them with anything they wanted.

Right now, they didn't want to know what I wanted, what burned through my veins with bloodlust.

I wanted to fucking end them. Every last one.

I could barely breathe. A bluster of riotous emotions raged deep inside. A storm of guilt and fury in equal measure. My frantic heartbeat matched Nelle's. My fists trembled not with fear, but from the scant control I possessed to keep my need leashed.

When Urstlo had sensed her—Nelle's terror had consumed me, flayed me from the inside. As the Horned God approached, that thing that bound Nelle and I together, dug its claws into my mind and sang to me—an ancient and wild and wicked strain—Save her, save her, save her...

And violence erupted. Great gusts of savagery seared my throat and tasted like cinders on my tongue.

But it wasn't me who stepped out to protect Nelle, it was my brave, foolhardy, and stubborn sister. I'd have drawn my dagger from my jacket and plunged it into Urstlo's shadowy head if it had even touched a single strand of Nelle's moonlit hair—instead, my sister rose and stepped forward.

And I'd been cleaved in two with two opposing desires. To strike back at Lyressa or to save Nelle from Urstlo. To look upon my sister's sunrise eyes in that Frankenstein creature, when everything inside me was a whirlwind of conflict, screaming for revenge, screaming to save Nelle, nearly broke me, and very nearly severed that connection I had to my little bird.

I'd rarely seen Lyressa since she'd plucked my sister's eyes like grapes from her sockets.

Ferne had been a child, barely older than a baby. Her agonizing screams, the memory of them, fresh as newly-cut grass, had exploded in my mind the moment my gaze landed on that insidious Horned God.

I couldn't believe what Ferne had done—diverted Urstlo's attention from my little bird by confronting Lyressa. I wouldn't have done it the clever way she had. I'd have slid my blade beneath the dried sinew and slit, unpicking the Frankenstein limbs like stitching needing to be reworked, and reveled in that creature tumbling to ancient stone in flailing bodily pieces.

I drew in a deep breath through my nose, blew it out, and with it my rage and guilt for my sister, my fear for Nelle. Purposefully clearing my mind, I gathered my near-shattered control. I had to be calm. Careful. Controlled.

Something tinkled, drawing my attention downward.

Glass...no, not glass but adamere was scattered over the ancient floor, powdering Nelle's dirty shoes.

And not just a bead or two. Those small orbs had been shattered.

No one human could shatter adamere. But there it was between us both in chunks and shards and dust.

My gaze flicked up. Dim light glanced off Nelle's deathly pale skin glistening with sweat. She remained focused dead ahead—not seeing, not blinking—as if she warred with something internally. She clutched the loops of the necklace that graced her wrist between trembling fingers which were bone-white, grinding the beads with force, as if she was pouring every inch of herself into that motion. Shards of adamere slipped between her knuckles and fell like flakes of fine snow.

I quickly scanned the nearest faces, scouting the Houses who hunted—the Văduvas, Estlores, and Lyons—had they noticed? Had the Horned Gods?

Lyressa and Urstlo stood side by side on the raised platform, high enough that they could see every single one of us. Thankfully, both their gazes were fixed on the arched entranceway, but—

Sirro's attention was honed in our direction. His head was tilted, eyes narrowed in curiosity, and he flashed a small smile that showed his teeth.

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

His power slunk through the gathered Houses like tendrils of mist, searching for her.

I went to reach for Nelle, to move her behind me and out of sight, when a noise distracted him, distracted us all, and had Sirro's power recoiling back to him.

The tithes.

All the stolen souls the Houses gave in offering for the blessing, entered the temple one by one.

Our own, Gaptooth, that sick motherfucker who strangled young women to death, stepped into view first, his unblinking blue eyes vacant as he drifted through the clearing between Upper and Lower Houses toward the dais and the Horned Gods.

A girl followed behind him with a slow dreamy gait. Her red hair fell in long waves halfway down her back.

Her. Red. Hair.

Red!

Jett's whoosh of breath filled my ears.

Horror shot through my body, swifter than an arrow.

The girl we'd saved from our own tithe, Red, an Unbroken Shard, headed toward the dais.

But...fuck, that night Jett had taken her far away so no one could find her. Not a soul from another House. Nor a Horned God. At least that was what we'd both thought.

My hands fisted. There was no other answer since her presence here proved it. Someone from another House had discovered Red, stole her, and now offered her up to the Horned Gods.

Had they been fucking tracking us or was this merely a coincidence?

It could have been one of Byron's men who I'd allowed to trail me that night to ambush me for the fucking fun of annihilating them all, and shoving a Fuck-You Byron's way...but I didn't think so. It had to be another House, but which one?

Jett glanced over his shoulder at me. Fury lit his eyes a bright amethyst and his jaw was clenched tight. Dread twisted in my stomach.

Fuck, this was the last thing we all needed right now—Jett exploding in wrath.

I could see what was going through his mind. He wanted to unleash.

I shook my head—No.

Reaching forward, I grabbed his upper shoulder hard. He understood what was written across my expression—There's nothing we can do for Red.

He wrenched himself free, lips curling back from his teeth in a silent snarl. But there was something else there too, a sliver of terror shadowing his fierce glare.

Caidan caught what was transpiring between us and half-twisted around. A frown creased his brow as he mouthed—What's going on?

Keep him from doing anything stupid—I mouthed back.

We had enough going on and couldn't deal with Red as well. And Jett could be fucking unpredictable, especially if he had a score to settle. Not exactly an unusual quality for my brothers and me. Even Ferne.

The tithes silently arranged themselves before the dais, spreading out in a double row. They were a mix of men and women of all ages. Some were stolen for their beauty, while others, like Red, had unique souls that glowed in the inky gloom of the temple. A few, like our tithe, had more interesting qualities.

Lyressa followed Sirro as he stepped down from the raised platform, casually strolling in front of the line of tithes. He halted in front of Red, his eyes glittering in delight. Lazily stroking his forefinger down Red's cheek, his mouth curled up on one side. "This one's mine," he informed his companions without turning their way. But his gaze did glide to one person in particular. His Familiar. She stood on the outskirts of the tithes. Her hunched spine stiffened, and her faded eyes widened with foreboding just as Sirro apologized. "Sorry, my sweet."

Fuck, she'd just been replaced by Red.

Almost reluctantly, Sirro shifted to Gaptooth. His silver-threaded power, twisted and coiled, slinking over our tithe. Closing his eyes, thick eyebrows drew together as if he were analyzing the information his dark might gathered. Short black lashes flicked wide and his eyes cut to my father, the golden hue darkened to bronze. "Interesting, Varen," he murmured. A sly approving smile. "I want this one too."

Lyressa stood behind a woman, rubbing black strands of midnight hair between her thumb and forefinger as if she were measuring silk. I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly where this tithe was going to end up—a dried-up husk wrapped in cobwebs, her hair strewn amongst a nest. "The Orb-weever will like this one," she murmured softly.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Nelle sway, then buckle.

Twisting around, I grabbed hold of her just before her knees slammed into stone.

That intensity that brewed between us hit me full force as soon as I touched her, stronger than I'd ever felt before. It was as if I'd been struck by a lightning bolt. My blood charged and pulsed, and all the fine hair on my body prickled with the electricity skating all over my skin. I almost, almost, staggered against it.

I wound my arms around her waist, straightening, pulling her in front of me to support her tiny body sagging against my own. Her heart jackhammered in her chest and my heart matched hers beat for beat.

What the hells is wrong with her?

I bowed my head and whispered. "You haven't been to the woods today?"

She shook, sucking in wet rasps of breath. I felt pressure on the back of my hand and discovered she was drawing a letter with her finger. N. Then a second. O.

Fuck, fuck, fuuuck!

Shit, what the hells can I do?

Her whole body trembled in my arms and she could barely stand. Was it this place? The temple? Was it all that shit I'd put her through today and she hadn't the time or been in the right mind to do what she needed to hide herself?

She'd never been to an engagement blessing before.

Never seen a sacrifice.

Had been too young at the time to attend Annalise and Aldan's Blessing.

I rubbed her shivering shoulder with my hand, stunned at how ice-cold she felt. Cold sweat dampened my palm, and fear sliced through me. What was I going to do? How was she going to survive this? She was rapidly unraveling.

Caidan's worried gaze caught mine over the top of her head. He muttered quietly, "Get her out of here."

I shot him a look—How the hells can I?

It was too late. Even if we tried to slip away, someone would notice, the Horned Gods themselves perhaps, and with Sirro's unwanted curiosity—

Fuck, we were so fucking fucked!

My gaze went to the dais. The Wychthorns' tithe lay on the altar, calmly staring up at the stone vaulted ceiling.

Cupping Nelle's chin, I tilted her face toward mine to avert her gaze from the altar. Her eyes were clouded from whatever she was struggling with inside. "You don't want to see this, Wychthorn."

I gritted my teeth and glanced toward the altar.

The entranceway to the temple was Hazus, ruler of the Nine Hells. But the dais and altar were Skalki, mother of life. We entered through Hazuz to be rebirthed through Skalki.

Evvie, unlike my little bird who had been caged on this estate, was fully invested in our world. We knew no other way, no other life. It just was. We'd had our history lessons drummed into us through our childhood—where we came from, who we served, and we worshipped the old gods who birthed us. Mortals had long ago forgotten the Horned Gods. Now, the mortals only felt whispers of their presence if they were nearby, or if they'd, unfortunately, become the creatures' next meal. And to us, our way of life, there was a certain amount of entitlement. The mortals owed us their unique souls so we could live longer and be disease-free.

Still, sometimes it didn't fucking sit right.

Blessings such as this one in the temple were reserved for the highest-ranking family, Great House Wychthorn. We all received long life through marriage unions, but without the pomp and ceremony.

Sirro's voice rumbled through the temple. "Byron Wychthorn, Aldert Pelan, do you bestow your blessing that your children should unite?"

Both men answered, "I do."

Byron handed Evvie a silver dagger. Skalki's face was crafted into the pommel, her forked tongue twisting around the hilt. She hesitated a fraction before her fingers wrapped around the ceremonial dagger.

She took the tithe's left arm and sliced cleanly.

Evvie passed the bloodied dagger to Corné.

His hazel eyes gleamed with eagerness. He held the tithe's limp arm, pressed the sharp blade into her flesh, and slit the skin right down the length of her arm, splitting it like overly ripe fruit, hitting a vein. Blood poured from her arm into the channel dug into the stone, running down to drop from the altar into a golden urn below.

It took a good few minutes of waiting in silence until Evvie bent down to retrieve the urn.

Sirro's power flared around him like a wrathful silver storm. He spread his hand over the tithe's chest, squeezing his eyes shut, brow and face creased in concentration as he pulled his hand back, drawing out her soul. A dust cloud of golden filaments glittered and swirled above his open palm, pulsing like a heartbeat. The Everlasting Shard—her life essence, her spirit, her very soul. Without her soul, the tithe's complexion dulled like any other mortal, and the life behind her eyes went flat and lifeless.

Sirro pressed his palms together, enveloping the glittering dust cloud between his hands, and began to grind. Relaxing his motion, he sprinkled her soul like grains of sand, into the urn.

Evvie swirled the urn and poured the mixture into two goblets, held by Corné. He handed each goblet to Lyressa and Sirro.

Lyressa's throat worked as she greedily drank the blood, but Sirro sipped as if savoring an aged Bordeaux.

A cup was passed from Sirro to Evvie, from Lyressa to Corné. Blood stained Evvie's lips crimson as she fed from the goblet, her tongue darting out to lick it from her lips. After handing the goblet to a servant, she dabbed at the red-speckled corner of her mouth with a finger, and for one brief moment, she seemed to be glowing a little brighter.

This was the offering—the sacrifice.

The blood and soul from the Everlasting Shard would give fertility and long life. Happiness didn't concern the Horned Gods, nor mercy.

Blood continued to drain from the tithe, coursing across the altar in a river of red, to splatter on the stone floor. I could hear the tithe's fluttering pulse, how weak it became as her heartbeat slowed...slowed right down...her breath shallow—

Urstlo's gigantic figure exploded.

Like tearing off a cloak, the darkness ebbed away, revealing exactly what it was. A multitude of silvery fangs and claws, chattering and clacking in a whirling inky wind.

The tithe snapped out of her dreamlike state. Her brown eyes flared wide with terror at the monstrous nightmare that Urstlo had become.

Her mouth gaped, the warbling sound of a scream tore from her throat—

Urstlo struck—

A streak of black wind engulfed her. Lifted her high into the air. Only the flash of limbs, flailing brown locks, and a wide mouth could be seen amongst the rotating fangs and claws.

Her scream resounded in the temple. The hair-raising noise of sawing teeth, and talons ripping through tissue and bones, clashed against the walls, as that black wind whipped like a tornado.

The smell...gods, the smell of ruined flesh and blood...as that scream cut short. The taste of it on my tongue, the fevered excitement from the Houses, both exquisite and vile.

The black wind dispersed and bones fell in a clatter, raining down like hail on a tin roof. Just bones. That was all that was left of the tithe—flesh-picked bones.

Urstlo reappeared beside Lyressa, his enormous height once again made up of pitch-black darkness with the faintest sound of gnashing teeth and those four crimson eyes.

"Gray—"

I tore my gaze from Urstlo and that litter of bones to my little bird. One of her hands clutched her bracelet, the other gripped the lapels of my jacket as she sucked in ragged breaths. Tears glistened like dew drops on her eyelashes and tendrils of pale hair stuck to her clammy forehead. "Too much," she gasped, more breath than words. Her fisted hand twisted my jacket and her whole body shook violently in my arms. "It's too much." Something, alive, swirled in her eyes, like smoke caught in a glass bowl. Her pupils were slitted vertically like a cat's in bright light—gone the next blink.

Holy Zrenyth, what the hells is she?

And I felt it, a stirring in the temple—air being inhaled into one spot.

Ours.

Horror spiraled right through me.

Oh, fuck no...no, no, no...

As one, The Horned Gods froze.

As one, their gaze swung toward the Houses.

Our way—

Her way.