Chapter 13 · The Man on the Altar

"Nia." Jonah's voice sounds like he's been screaming for hours. "Don't—don't touch it."

He's pinned flat against the altar, arms spread, wrists locked in silver cuffs that weren't there a second ago. The blood-grid's still wrapped around his chest, pulsing white every time he tries to move. His head turns toward me. His lips are cracked. There's dried blood under his nose.

I'm already moving.

My hands are shaking so hard I drop the bone key twice before I get it back in my pocket. The altar's maybe ten feet away. Between me and Jonah, the floor's covered in symbols I can't read, glowing faint red like someone painted them in blood and they never dried.

The hum gets louder. Not a sound. A pressure. Like the air's trying to fold in on itself.

Rafe grabs my shoulder. His grip's weak. When I look back, his face is gray. The wolf-mark on his chest is split open, leaking black instead of red, and his breathing's all wrong. Short. Shallow.

"She's watching," he says. "Celia. She wants you to go up there."

"I don't care what she wants."

I pull free and take another step.