When Nelle Wychthorn was forced to sign herself away in marriage, she should have read the contract's fine print. Because she signs not with ink, but with blood. And that changes everything.
Season 1 'Of Crows and Thorns'
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Fiery Nelle, the isolat...
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I released Gaptooth's throat only to snap my hands around his wrists. "Every body part you possess. Starting with those hands of yours." He was a big guy, almost as big as me, and though he was probably putting up a fight, I barely felt it. I simply flexed my wrists, twisting his around until his knees buckled and he whimpered in pain. "Hands that have killed...how many?"
He knew what I was talking about. "I-I don't know."
"Sure you do." All serial killers knew their kill count.
"Seventeen. I've killed seventeen."
Ah, the cops had only found nine of those bodies. More of his victims lay decomposing in shallow graves, and maybe they'd never be found.
Overhearing his kill count, Red drew in a startled, raw gasp. Jett held her tightly with an arm around her waist. Either she or maybe even Jett had tied the two pieces of her muddied t-shirt together
"I bet someone will want these hands just because of that." I squinted at his irises, a rather bright cobalt blue. "And those pretty eyes too. Someone will want them because of what you've seen. Your heart, too, because it pulses for death."
Red wisely chose silence, but I could feel her terrified gaze darting between Jett and me, processing what I'd said. Her mind came up with the right assumption—we might be worse than Gaptooth.
"These things are valuable," I continued smoothly. "They'll harvest every body part that'll be of interest. The rest discarded."
Gaptooth sucked in a breath, going even paler, and shook his head a little as if convincing himself that this was some kind of nightmare from which he could simply wake up. I let go of him suddenly, only to shove a leg forward to kick his feet from under him and he slammed sideways onto the ground with an oomph. Another kick to the head left him with a split lip, dazed and acquiescent.
Jett murmured, "Changeling?"
We both shared a look—utter revulsion. Neither of us was keen to touch the creature that lurked in the back of Jett's car.
"Knuckles, parchment, blades," Jett proposed.
I clicked my tongue, rolling my eyes skyward. Gods, he was such a child. But sometimes so was I. And this was the way my brothers and I usually sorted out matters. Fuck tossing a coin. This was much more fun.
We shared a grin and shook our hands to Jett's count. "Parchment... Blades... Knuckles..."
I drew a fist. Jett—two split fingers.
"Knuckles beats blades every time, motherfucker," I crowed, thumping him hard in the arm.
He winced, snarling. "Fuck you, Gray," and left Red with me to storm back through the swaying corn.
I stabbed a finger in her face and warned, "Don't dare move."
She froze in place, her muddy arms wrapped around her middle, watching me warily.
