Betrayer: (The Cursed Bloodstone Book 1)

I burst through the front door of my cottage, expecting to be alone, expecting to curl up in a dark corner and not think about what I just witnessed. Instead, I hurry through the opening and straight into Gabriel. As I lurch into his body, he brings his hands up, steadying me.

“Has something happened?” he asks, real fear in his voice. Fear for me.

The crowd roars in my ears. “Stone her. Stone her.”

They are Bloodstone.

This man is Bloodstone.

I stiffen and shove with all my strength, surprising Gabriel. He frees me, and I stumble away, searching for my escape, my freedom, my reprieve from that woman’s vacant eyes.

Olah, have mercy!

They continued stoning her even after she was dead. Continued yelling at her. Hating her.

I flee to our room and lie face first on the bed. Those leers keep coming. Those cheers. Those stones keep pounding the hot street.

“Are you all right?” Gabriel breaks through my fog as he sits on the bed, but he doesn’t touch me. Maybe he knows it’s better not to.

I bury my face against the bedcovers and clench them around my trembling fingers. Everything in me screeches, I want out. I need out.

I cannot speak. Mother would be disappointed. I would be disappointed.

“Please, I need to be alone,” the words choke out of me. I couldn’t have held them back if I wished it.

The bed creaks as he stands. “I’ll be in the other room.” His footfalls echo against the stone floor and fade.

Maybe he meant his words as an invitation to go to him if I want. Maybe I would care if I weren’t mourning the death of a stranger.

Anyone could be next with a crowd like that.

I could be next.

The sun fades on the horizon before the world returns. For a while, I remained where I was, lying face down on the bed. There were no tears. No sobs. Only a stark reality, stabbing me in the chest.

These Bloodstone people don’t care about me. They don’t care about outsiders. They will pick up rocks and throw them at anyone.

They will kill anyone.

Maybe that’s what Roland bred into them. Maybe hate is all they know.

Olah, help me.

I don’t want to be like that, so full of hate, I have lost my ability to love, to care, to comfort.

Like Kassandra. Sweet, kind, cheerful Kassandra. I always want to have room in my heart for someone like her. Her heritage doesn’t matter.

Her grandmother’s voice echoes in my ears. During our journey here, Darla rambled a lot of nonsense. Though, one statement rose above the rest. She declared Hector the rising sun, and she said he would bring magic back. He cannot. The Bloodstone used to cast dark, unthinkable magic. The kind capable of destroying thousands with a mere flick of their wrists. If they had magic again, their cruelty would not stop with the stoning of one single woman like today.

If Darla is right, and the Bloodstone people regain their magic, they would destroy every Kyanite in retaliation for what transpired decades ago. They would destroy my home. My people. Father. The women at the brothel.

I cannot allow that to happen.

If Roland’s son is the key, then Hector must die too.

I write the words on the walls of my heart.