Page 188 of Remnants: Disruption
Portal at the Cradle, please :)
She doesn’t respond, but a red square materializes a few feet from us.
“Here we go,” I murmur, and wrap the werewolf in another band of shadows, drifting us both through the open portal.
Chapter 65
Ritual II
November 17th, 1030 A.D., Noon
We do not wish to partake in this foolish war against Remnants. It will only end in humanity’s annihilation when both sides consist of the metas. No, we will wait and bide our time. We still have our own war to win.
Father Paul Trey, Order of Columbus, November 17th, 1030 A.D.
Ireally should have explored Cass’ mansion when I’d been here watching her. It had felt like a violation of her privacy, though. Especially since this was her childhood home.
I stumble forward into what looks like an ancient catacomb. It’s like someone had taken what was an old tomb and spruced it up—making it look less like a zombie might pop out of the wall. The centerpiece of the room is a massive, raised stone tablet that looks a lot like what a historian might describe as a “ritualistic sacrifice table.”
The werewolf rolls, rather than stumbles, onto the ground. The shadowy binding dissolves along with my attention as I turn to look at the new location.
“Ah,” Cass’ voice comes from somewhere in the pitch black of the other half of the fire-lit room. “Xerxes, I had never taken you for a traitor.”
The man on the ground—Xerxes, apparently—begins to whine and whimper like a kicked puppy.
“He was the only one Azazel identified as being a Remnant as well,” I say hesitantly, still trying to parse the darkness. “The rest of Gareth’s group are dead.”
She hums softly and I finally see her outline. And, God, she’s glorious. Her eyes have the glow again. The soft orange red that haunted my nightmares and permeated my dreams.
“Dead?” she asks, and finally steps into the dim lighting, wearing her dark cloak. The rest of her face, though, still looks worn. Like it took her a lot of effort to get us here.
“I took care of them,” I say, nodding to the werewolf. “I told you I would.”
She glances at the bound man as well before returning to me. I see the way her face shifts. The way it had when I’d offered to bring someone to her the first time.
Guilt?
“Don’t,” I whisper, closing the space between us. She doesn’t move away, and I place my hands on her hips, feeling her warmth beneath my fingertips.
Her hardened exterior, that I assume was more of a show for Xerxes than for me, fragments. “It just is not like you to be so—”
“Callous?” I ask, giving her a small grin.
“Brutal,” she says softly, dipping her chin. “I also saw the reports from the mega-buildings. And from the altercations outside.”
I can tell where this is going before she says the next words, but I let her anyways.
“What happened?”
“Just ask the question you’re dodging,” I say, dropping my eyes to the struggling werewolf.
Cass lets out a slow breath as her hand comes up to cup my jaw. Her thumb brushes along my lower lip, leaving a tingle along my face that trails down my spine.
“Why are you killing so many people?”
I let out a short huff of air. I suppose I hadn’t expected the blunt question to hurt so badly. Especially since the person asking is Bloody Mary—a literal legend.
Her hand caresses my face, and I lean into its warmth. Into its stability.
