Page 74 of Bloodgrove

Under Eric’s guidance, the castle became only that: another building, another collection of corridors, stairways, and halls. Before long, they reached the courtyard. The guests crowded tightly before the Red Hand’s dais at its center, and voices echoed from the walls, but Will could not understand what they were saying.

Tonight, the guests were dressed as a pack of wild animals from the northern forests. One even wore an entire bear across his shoulders, its empty eye sockets resting over his face like a mask, the legs dragging on the floor. The crowd roared, and alcohol hung heavily in the air between the bodies. Servants carried cups of spiced wine and dark beer through the courtyard, while the scent of cinnamon and cloves mingled with sweat and wet animal pelts.

Eric shouldered a path through and pulled Will with him toward the edge of the pack, which formed a semicircle before the Red Hand’s dais. Eric drew a sharp breath and caught Will just before he could rush forward.

Snow swept across the open space. At its center, Elodie knelt, bathed in moonlight breaking through the clouds, a dagger raised over her chest. Her body jerked, her fingers cramped, and the tendons in her throat tensed. Curses burned in her wide eyes, but she could not force them past her clenched jaw.

“What is happening?” Will tried to wrench himself free of Eric’s grip. “We need to help her!”

Eric nodded toward a man standing opposite her, one cut hand extended toward Elodie. But his blood did not fall to the ground. It rose slowly and vanished into the blowing snow. More figures had gathered behind him. They, too, fed blood into the night and murmured incomprehensible words.

“You will never become the Red Hand!” the man shouted. From the newspaper articles, Will recognized him as Duke Bohun. “Even when you were a little girl, I could see that your father was wrong! You do not possess the strength the position requires. Withdraw from the contest if you wish to live!”

Elodie’s eyes spat fire. Sweat stood upon her brow, and her body seemed no longer to obey her. Trembling, the blade sank another centimeter. Blood dripped from a cut on her throat, and Will pieced together what had happened: this foolish man believed he could control Elodie through her blood—even if he required the aid of his entire clan.

“Why is this allowed?” Will whispered, looking toward the Red Hand, who had straightened upon his throne. He watched the spectacle with vicious satisfaction, making no move to stop it. With the white lion’s pelt draped across his belly, he was king of the beasts tearing one another apart in the dirt before him, and he relished it.

“There are no rules on how you remove your opponents from the contest. It is a risky move, but a powerful one if successful—to force Elodie to withdraw in front of the Red Hand. Although the effect is weakened by the fact that he apparently cannot manage it alone.” A tendon jumped in Eric’s jaw. “But she is fighting. She is resisting him and his entire clan,” he added. “I did not know she was this strong.”

Elodie screamed with effort and forced the dagger several centimeters away from herself.

Will’s gaze darted toward Duke Wilkinson, who stood at the edge of the mob with his arms crossed. “If the clan is permitted to help, why doesn’t her fiancé intervene?”

“He could give her his blood. But I assume he wants to see her submit. Every day she insists on remaining in the contest humiliates his position. And it will reassure him that she will not poison him in their marriage bed.”

“He would rather watch his fiancée stab herself than save her?” Will glared furiously at the man.

“His first intelligent thought, though remarkably ill-timed.”

Will’s thoughts tumbled over one another as sweat ran down Elodie’s temples despite the freezing winter night. Again, she yielded by a fraction, the blade moving toward her throat.

“Can I give her my blood?” Will asked as the first threads of a plan took shape. He knew what it was to be helpless, and even if he hadn’t owed her his life, he would have intervened.

“Are you certain?”

Will nodded firmly.

Eric shrugged and released him. “Try it. For the moment, you are part of her household. The Red Hand will stop you if it displeases him.”

To anyone nearby who might have been listening, the words sounded casually spoken, but Eric’s eyes held gratitude. He drew a small dagger from a hidden sheath beneath his fur and handed it to Will. Their Elodie was in danger, fighting stubbornly alone as always, but that time was over. Will remembered the nightmares Eric had described—how he was always too late to save what belonged to him—but he no longer had to save her alone.

With a cold glance toward the Red Hand’s bloated face, Will stepped forward. Murmurs surged through the spectators. They hungered for entertainment, for an unexpected turn in the drama. No one expected Elodie to win. She was only a small woman on her knees—a duchess without a clan. The nobles nearly trembled with devilish delight each time a tormented, furious cry escaped her. They echoed it like a clan of hyenas waiting for the animal to die so they could descend upon its carcass.

But Will’s intervention offered an exciting twist in tonight’s performance as he crossed the stage in long strides. The prickling of their gazes reminded him of earlier days, when he had still enjoyed the spectacle, when the only stakes had been who would receive an invitation to the royal palace or earn a small headline in the morning paper. When pranks had still been harmless. When it had not been a matter of life and death, when the audience had not thirsted for blood.

And blood he gave them.

Only when he stopped behind her did Elodie notice him, and her eyes widened. The dagger lurched another fraction forward.

He pushed up his sleeve and cut into his forearm through the scars left by the vampire bites. It required more courage than he had expected, and when the pain finally came, Will tried to force it down. The vampires beside the Red Hand hissed and pulled against their chains, while the man on the throne grinned hungrily.

“Open your mouth for me,” Will commanded quietly, holding his wrist above her. He did not touch her. Red drops fell upon her lips, and moments later, she tipped back her head and forced her mouth open. “Drink.”

Will’s heart felt too large inside his chest and burned with pride as Elodie slowly opened her cramping fingers and extended her tongue to catch more of his blood.

The dagger fell to the ground with a clang.

But her eyes remained fixed upon him, tears shimmering in their silver depths. At that moment, something inside him clicked into place, something he had been searching for since the night in the harbor. It locked into position and found its home, and he saw the same realization reflected in Elodie’s eyes.