Page 20 of Liar
I’m exactly like him before you took away his will to live. I keep my thoughts to myself as I come to a stand next to him. I don’t stop until Thorne’s in my blind spot, because I know if I look at him, if I see the expression on his face as Damion metes out the challenge, I may falter.
“And you, my dear Savannah?” Damion doesn’t acknowledge my close presence and stares down the platform. “You’ve been through such an ordeal. Do you wish to add to it in order to solidify your place with us?”
Savannah drifts forward in answer, the circle parting in a gentle, hushed way, the faces closest to her melting with pity. An angel in the midst of damned gods, and she owns every part of the role.
I can’t hate her. I can’t pity her, either. Her expression is so expertly still and serene, all I can do is admire her as she works to get her trauma under control.
She halts in front of me, holding out the last rose. I can’t discern what she’s feeling, which means no one else can, either. Smart girl.
“For you, my challenger,” she says, her voice as musical and light as ever.
I grasp the stem, choking back a gasp of shock when my pinky scrapes against the top of her hand. A warm slickness transfers from her skin to mine.
There were thorns on the roses. She’d gripped them so tightly she’d cut her palm open.
Mirroring her expression, I bring the flower to my chest, and reply calmly, “May the best challenger win.”
Savannah lowers her chin in acknowledgment.
“Very well,” Damion says, then lifts his head to address the crowd. I still can’t look at Thorne. “The two warring Virtues have agreed to a duel, of sorts. The girl who remains standing will prove herself the strongest, the most committed, and will persevere as an honored member. Thaddeus?” Damion turns his head to the left, at Jaxon’s father. “Bring him out.”
My forehead tightens. Glancing at Savannah doesn’t help. She’s just as confused as I am.
Mr. Murray springs forward and heads into the tunnel behind me, Savannah, and Damion. Headmistress Dupris watches his movements with grim acceptance.
As if pulled by an inner string of intuition, I finally look at Thorne.
His hardened jaw and intense gaze toward the same entrance Savannah and I used doesn’t give me any reassurance. Thorne’s lips thin as his eyes land on mine, leveled with acquiescence before he closes them slowly. I warned you…
Movement forces my attention to return to the archway.
Savannah’s hand flutters to her mouth.
I gasp.
Chapter 7
Thorne
Jaxon’s father disappears into Winthorpe’s catacomb tunnels for mere seconds before returning with something in his arms. His biceps strain against his suit jacket as he lifts one-half of a chair, the other half raised by Luke, a jock who is basically a sentient steroid.
There’s someone in it.
I can’t tell who, since his head is covered with a black sack, but it’s obvious he’s as angry as a cat getting pissed on, thrashing his head in all directions, his neck straining as he fights against the binds tying his wrists to the arms of the chair and his ankles to the thick wooden legs. He’s shirtless and barefoot, but thankfully, black slacks cover his lower half.
I keep my expression bland as Thaddeus and Luke lower the angry captive in the center of the circle. He’s close enough now that I hear the strangled grunts behind the fabric covering his face—likely gagged as well as bound.
“Ah. He’s awake.” Father grins, beckoning the gathered members. The human circle moves closer to center. Everyone’s too rapt with bloodlust, crowding as near as they can get, hoping for a front row seat.
I watch with wry amusement. Not just anyone can make it into the Societies. My father’s predatory selectiveness in membership has always been on point.
My relaxed stance doesn’t convey the rapid beats inside my chest, so loud they drum in my ears with incessant warning—this is bad, Ember won’t make it, Sav will collapse, fucking help them—that it’s nearly impossible to keep my expression carved in stone.
It’s out of my hands. All I can do now is watch Ember willingly fall headfirst into the last ring of Hell.
I scan the members in a rapid-fire count. All are accounted for, so the bound man can’t be any of them. I figured it’d be the most recent member to piss Father off, but honestly, the man wakes up angry. He probably rage-dreams long into the night.
Fuck, I don’t know who it is. I don’t specialize in man chest, so I can’t tell by the shape of his fucking nipples.