Chapter 30 · Mom Isn't the Hostage

"Take it." Mom shoves the vial into my hand before I can say no.

The glass is warm. Still warm from her pocket, or her palm, or wherever she's been hiding it this whole time. The liquid inside is dark red, almost black under the altar's pulsing light.

"What is this?"

"My blood." She doesn't blink. "The kind they wanted. The kind they tried to breed into you."

Behind us, Kael screams.

Not a human sound. His chains snap taut, iron screeching against stone, and the altar flares so bright I have to squint. The third line—the one that just burned up with his name and mine—splits open like a wound.

A new name crawls into the crack.

Mom's.

"No." I grab her wrist. "You're not doing this."

"I already did." She pulls free, calm, like we're having tea instead of standing in a blood circle while my husband turns into something that wants to rip my spine out.