Betrayer: (The Cursed Bloodstone Book 1)

Loud, obnoxious knocking wakes me from the throes of a rather enjoyable dream. I startle, sitting up in bed as the sound comes again—the pounding of a fist against wood.

I heave a sigh, throw my feet over the side of the bed and stand. A wave of dizziness assaults me as I gain my bearings. In quick movements, I yank on a nightdress, tie the belt, and grab the dagger Gabriel made for me from the table by the bed.

My fingers curl around the grip, and my heart eases to a slower rhythm. With the dagger clutched in my right hand, I angle toward the front door and call out.

“Who’s there?”

“Briley.”

The soft voice surprises me. I expected a man to be pounding at my door in the middle of the night.

“What do you want?”

“Praxis, my husband.”

My pulse throbs in my ears as I dart my gaze to the bedroom I left Praxis in. Gabriel said to not let anyone see him.

“He’s not here.”

“Liar. The butcher saw Luc and Gabriel carry him here. I demand to see my husband.”

I exhale and shift my weight from foot to foot. If he were my husband, I would want to see him.

“I’m sorry.” I continue in what I hope is a convincing tone. “But he’s not here.”

She pounds again, shaking the door with her fury. “I want to see my husband. Now!”

“He’s not here,” I repeat.

“I swear to all the gods,” she shouts. “If you don’t open this door, I will ram it down.”

Moonlight trickles through the windows as I step back and eye the sturdiness of the door. It won’t come down without a battering ram.

“Good night, Briley.” With determined hands, I tie my dressing gown tighter and turn toward my bedroom.

“Sol,” she calls out, her tone desperate. “Please, I cannot give birth without my husband.”

Oh, the sky above. I cannot do that to her.

With the dagger still secured in my hand, I unlock the door and ease it open. Torchlight bathes a petite woman in an orange glow. She holds it higher, revealing her rounded abdomen and the coat of sweat on her forehead.

Her long red hair streams out like ribbons behind her as she hurries into the cottage and jerks her gaze around. “Where is he?”

As I turn to face the bedroom door, it opens, and Praxis fills the opening. Briley rushes to where he stands and embraces him. They pull apart the moment she lets out a loud moan and bends in half.

The warrior’s eyes widen as he reaches for his wife. “Briley, are you all right?”

“No,” she says between pants. “I’m going to have this child tonight.”

“Sol, will hel—”

Briley throws up her hand and speaks in a rush of harsh words. “I don’t want Kyanite scum to touch me.”

Before I muster a reply, she lets out another loud moan. Uncertainty fills Praxis’ eyes as they dart to me. I push aside my frustration at having been awakened during the night and hurry to where they stand.

“You don’t have time to leave.” Without waiting for her reply, I take her by the arm and guide her to the spare bedroom.

Worry drums against my heart, not because I doubt my ability to help her. I have attended hundreds of births. Instead, I dread something bad happening and her blaming me simply because I’m a Kyanite.

She settles on the bed and curls her fingers around the bedcovers as she grunts and bears down.

Hades! She’s already pushing.

Forgetting my worries, and her hatred for me, I move into healer mode, yanking up her nightdress and dressing gown to prepare for the child.

“Grab cloth,” I say to Praxis.

He fetches a clean cloth and returns to Briley’s side, holding her hand and encouraging her.

On her fourth push, she delivers a tiny baby, and I bring him to her stomach.

Tears fill Briley’s eyes as she touches his red hair. “My baby.”

I work on cutting and tying the cord as Praxis reaches for a cloth and lays it over his son.

“Rub his back,” I say.

Praxis follows my order, rubbing the linen against the boy’s back. After a moment, the tiny infant’s wails pierce the small cottage.

“Oh, Praxis,” Briley says as she brings the child closer. “He’s perfect.”

Gauging the quickness of the birth, I wonder if she has more children. Most women push for a long time to deliver their first. I shove aside those thoughts as I take in the sight of mother, father, and child. It never gets old—welcoming a new life into the world.

“Praxis.” Happiness shines in Briley’s eyes as she raises her son’s arm. “He has the birthmark.”

Shock ripples through me as I stare at the same serpent mark as my own.

“It’s back.” A wide smile spreads across Praxis’ mouth. “I knew it would happen. I always said it would.”

“What’s back?” I ask.

The smile deepens on Praxis’ face. “Bloodstone magic.”

As he leans forward to kiss his wife, my veins freeze, turning to ice inside me. This cannot be. A mere child cannot bring so much evil.

It takes everything in me to not race from the room, gather my meager belongings, and flee. Instead, I take a deep breath and garner the strength to speak.

“What makes you think that?” Somehow my question comes out even, disguising the whirlwind building in my chest.

Praxis lays his hand against his child’s head, cradling the life he created with Briley. “The Seer predicted children born with serpent birthmarks, but only after magic returned to Bloodstone people.”

Ash thickens in my throat as I force myself to go through the motion of delivering the afterbirth, then cleaning and wrapping the baby.

After I finish, I move toward the door to give the couple privacy.

“Sol,” Praxis says, drawing my attention back to him. “Thank you.”

For what? Catching a child with Bloodstone magic? For ruining everything?

How those words scorch my tongue. I suppress them with a smile and nod. “Of course.”

I step from the room, shutting the door behind me. This cannot happen. I came here to right a wrong, to scourge the earth of an atrocity, to give Mother peace in the afterlife. Instead, I healed a warrior and caught a baby with Bloodstone magic.

Praxis could be lying, but nothing else makes sense. The birthmark was as vivid as the spot on my skin.

Moonlight bathes me as I step to the window and raise my wrist, displaying the hissing serpent placed there after Mother died.

Father said the gods cursed me.

Maybe they did.

I am cursed, and I have brought a plague upon this earth.

Or … I am the plague.