Sacrifice (Ritual Sins #2)

9. Rose

9

Rose

Shock and disbelief washed over me, mingling with a stabbing pain in my chest. I wanted to deny my father’s claim about Miranda. Scream that it couldn’t possibly be true. But as I looked into his eyes, I saw the raw unfiltered truth. He genuinely meant the devastating words he’d spoken.

You killed her.

A lump formed in my throat, making it hard to breathe as tears blurred my vision. The physical impact of the revelation was overwhelming. A cold wave of numbness was spreading from my fingertips all the way down to my toes, and my heart was pounding in my ears so loudly I couldn’t hear my father’s next words. I could only see his mouth moving as I stared at him with my jaw hanging open.

No, no, no.

No!

My knees felt weak, barely able to support my weight as the kitchen seemed to close in around me. My whole life had been shaped by the belief that someone else had killed Miranda. Not me. Never me. It didn’t even seem possible. I was only a child at the time. So small, and so sick too.

It couldn’t be me.

And yet, now that my father had furiously blurted out those words, it was starting to make a sick, twisted sort of sense. It explained why I had all these strange, fragmented memories, buried so deep that they only rose to the surface for the most fleeting moments in the vaguest of flashes. Like the occasional hazy memory of my father shouting at me when I was a very young child, for example.

It’s your fault, Rosamund! This is all happening because of you!

I must have accidentally pushed Miranda while I was delirious from the fever, causing her to fall and break her neck or crack her skull. Or perhaps I accidentally fed her something poisonous. Afterwards, my father and Jean-Pierre covered my culpability by slitting her throat and carving symbols on her body post-mortem, to make it look like a ritualistic murder had taken place. They must have thought it was better for them to take the blame over me.

Every whispered conversation between Papa and Jean-Pierre in the years since, every pointed look in my direction, every refusal to speak of the incident to me as an adult… it was all a cover. They didn’t want to hurt me by letting me know the truth, so they chose to bear the weight of my guilt in silence instead, even when Alderwood was teeming with the outsider police and FBI agents. Even when the whole outside world judged us and called us crazy killers, cultists, and Satanists. All along, they remained silent, never giving in. Never giving me up.

My mind kept spinning, grappling with this horrifying new reality. I felt sick, and my breaths were coming in shallow gasps.

Sebastian.

I had to tell him. Had to let him know that his search for the truth began and ended with me all along. If he wanted justice, he needed to turn me in. If he wanted vengeance, he needed to punish me. I would take it all. I clearly deserved it.

I turned and stumbled over to the front door. Tears streamed down my face as I went, hot and relentless.

“Rosamund, wait!” my father shouted behind me. “This isn’t over! I need to explain!”

I didn’t stop. Didn’t listen to him. I had to go to Sebastian right now. Had to tell him the truth.

I flung the door open, expecting to see him standing right where I left him, but I was met with nothing but cool air instead. I blinked, confused, and then I dashed down the garden path and turned onto the main street, heading for the tavern. Sebastian must have gone there to get his bag, thinking that he’d have plenty of time to do so while I spoke to my father.

It was a strange decision for him to make, because he’d been so hellbent on staying as close to me as possible just a few minutes ago, but it was the only possibility that made sense to me right now.

“Rosamund, stop ! I shouldn’t have said it! Let me explain properly!”

My father’s voice carried in the wind behind me, but I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. Sebastian was more important to me in a moment like this. I needed him. Needed to tell him the truth even if it tore us apart. He deserved that.

Papa kept calling my name, growing more desperate with each step, but I kept running from him, darting down narrow alleys between houses as my breath came in short, panicked gasps. The familiar twists and turns of the village blurred as I fled, every shadow and corner a potential hiding spot.

When I reached the edge of the village, I glanced back over my shoulder and saw my father scanning the area, searching frantically. Clearly, he wasn’t going to stop looking for me, so there was no way I could get to Sebastian in the tavern right now.

I had to lose Papa first. Then I could double back and meet Sebastian in town.

I took a deep breath and plunged into the woods, letting the dense foliage swallow me whole. Branches scratched at my arms and face, but I pushed on, legs fueled by sheer determination. Finally, I found a dense thicket and crouched down, trying to steady my breathing as I listened for any signs of pursuit.

The woods around me were silent except for the hooting of owls and the faint skittering of nocturnal animals. I had finally lost Papa. For now, anyway.

I stayed in my spot for a few minutes just in case, my heartbeat gradually slowing as I inhaled and exhaled. Then, with my teeth gritted, I rose to my feet and made my way through the woods once more, heading for the closest path back to town.

When I emerged, I spotted a familiar sight on the other side of the stony path—a hulking tree marked with an X to denote the Covenant hunting grounds. That meant I’d run even deeper into the woods than I initially thought. It was all right, though. The path was a straight shot to the back end of Alderwood, and then all I had to do was—

My train of thought halted abruptly as a noise on the gravel sent me sinking back into the shadows of the tree line. Footsteps. Heavy and deliberate, growing closer with each passing second.

Oh, lord. Papa must have decided to come this way too. What terrible luck for me.

I slowly crouched behind the closest shrub, trying to make myself as small and silent as possible. Then I held my breath, straining to listen as the footsteps drew even closer. The sound of dead leaves crunching underfoot seemed unbearably loud in the stillness of the night, and I began to wonder if my racing heartbeat was equally loud.

A twig suddenly snapped under my father’s boots, making me jolt in my spot, but thankfully the sudden movement didn’t produce a sound beyond a faint rustling of leaves, indistinguishable from the scurrying of a small animal.

Papa’s footsteps kept coming, but now they were accompanied by a strange dragging sound. I frowned, wondering what on earth was making such a noise, but I couldn’t figure it out.

The dragging sound soon became more distinct—a rhythmic scrape against the gravel, interspersed with the occasional muffled thud. My heart raced as I realized it couldn’t possibly be my father making such a noise. He didn’t have anything on him when he followed me out of the house, and if he’d already made his way up to this path, then there was simply no way he would’ve had time to go back and get something. That meant the person heading up this path, dragging something behind or alongside them, was someone else entirely.

But who? And why? It was after three o’clock in the morning. No one in the village was ever awake at this hour.

I slowly raised my head above the shrub, straining to make out the person on the path through the dim moonlight filtering through the leaves. My heart began to race as I realized it was Jean-Pierre. The dragging sound came from the shoes of a limp person he was holding under one beefy arm.

For a second, I stupidly thought he was helping a drunk man home from the festivities. But then I remembered he was heading away from the village, along with the fact that most of the villagers had gone home hours ago. Also, he wasn’t even at the fertility ritual tonight, or the ensuing celebrations. I’d noticed his absence whenever I looked toward the elders, who always clustered together at such events.

I held my breath, my heart pounding painfully hard in my chest as Jean-Pierre came into clearer view. His face was set in grim determination, and his eyes were locked forward, unaware of my presence in the shadows. The person he was dragging alongside him was—

My eyes widened, and I clamped a hand over my mouth to muffle the scream that immediately threatened to burst out.

It was Sebastian. He was unconscious, and Jean-Pierre was dragging him along with slow, strained steps, leaving a trail on the path from the blood that dripped off his forehead.

What on earth was happening?

A cold sweat broke out across my skin as I watched in stunned silence. Each scrape and thud on the path made my stomach lurch, and my heart pounded, torn between fear and the urgent need to act.

Sebastian’s earlier words floated into my mind.

Of course I came, baby girl. I’ll always come for you. You don’t need to be scared anymore.

He was always there for me. Always willing to help me. Always ready to rescue me.

I sucked in a deep breath and rose from the bushes, fueled by a mixture of adrenaline and love. I had to seize the opportunity to help Sebastian. After all, he’d come here to save me from my fate at the Red Rocks, even though that action risked his own life, and he’d done it happily because he loved and cared for me so much.

Now, it was my turn to show him I felt the same.

It was my turn to save him.