Page 29 of Eternal Obsession

“Jadeon!” My father redirected my attention to the girl again. He ordered me to stand with him and instructed me how to proceed. With grand authority, the hypnotic chanting began.

Athena had lost so much blood my mind could not fathom how she still breathed.

“It is with thanks that I, Master of the Stones, take nourishment from this evildoer, in order that her transgressions be absolved and taken into me.”

To my horror, my father lifted the cup to his lips and drank the very blood he had just drained from Athena.

Stunned, I questioned what my eyes insisted was real—as if some cruel illusion had been cast, because surely, he wasn’t drinking . . . her blood? My throat clenched, thick with dread and disbelief.

He then appeared to enter a blissful trance-like state, dazed and in obvious pleasure. Studying the faces of the other men, I saw that their eyes fixed on my father, as if hoping they too would get a taste. Lord Theron took a knife from the table and proceeded to cut off the woman’s lush red hair, quickly retrieving it from the ground and placing it at her feet.

Emotion surged that it had come to this, that she had to endure it. I ached for another way, some chance to bargain, to rewrite this with mercy instead of sacrifice.

Lord Artimas recovered.

Shifting my feet, my gait felt unsteady.

“Take your rightful place here at the center of the stones and drink,” my father commanded again. “Now, son, accept your birthright and partake of your first drink, for on this night and with this act, you are one with the stones, such an honor only bestowed upon the Master and his apprentice.”

Lord Hawke cut deep into her flesh again. I obediently held the cup under her and turned my head away, only to feel my father’s hand at the back of my head, redirecting me toward the blood pouring into the cup and overflowing onto my hands.

I peered down at the silver chalice and wondered if I had staggered into a nightmare. The men watched in reverence. Lips pursed, my head arched back, subtly avoiding the ridge of the cup.

This was diabolical.

My father placed one hand on my shoulder while his other forced the base of the cup to my lips. I gulped it down, hoping such speed would prevent me from tasting, but both aroma and flavor were surprisingly pleasant. Astonished by the sudden warm flush which was similar to the epicurean effect of wine, I swooned, swept away by the delirious sensations. My head fell back and someone assisted me onto the ground. Spellbound, I struggled with the loss of control. Wave after wave of a strange carnal rapture enveloped me, transporting me to a time before, when I was Master of Ceremony myself.

This was madness. Having entered it, my mind sought a way out. The stones now spoke to me, a clear and familiar language. Panic-stricken, I was painfully self-conscious and so embarrassed but this drunkenness was impossible to shake off.

A blinding white, the connection my father had spoken of. My mind continued to play tricks and I felt myself ascend. Looking down, I clearly viewed this gathering of ancient rocks, designed and set in perfect fashion. Despite the ecstasy, I struggled against the desire, descending with speed now, falling rapidly toward the earth. I lay again upon the floor, enraptured by the stones’ power, sensing a merging. I became the stones.

If any trace of the boy I’d been still lingered, it vanished in that moment, as if he’d never existed at all. In his place surged a new force through my veins, electric with purpose, with knowing. Life as I’d understood it before felt pale, false, an illusion I’d finally awakened from.

It was the laughter and cheering in celebration that roused me from my trance. My father’s voice instructed me to stand and complete the work. Lord Hawke pulled me to my feet, and I opened my eyes, staggering toward the girl. My cheeks were red, my pulse racing. I was utterly humiliated. The admiring stares of the men and my father’s proud smile softened the moment. Dizzy and still reeling with pleasure, I wished this entire spectacle was over. Lord Artimas handed the knife over to me, instructing me to pierce Athena’s heart.

My stare pleaded with him.

“Take the knife and stab her heart. Forgive her for her trespasses. Remember, it is within your power to do so,” my father instructed. “Make it slow, so that she feels the full force of her punishment.”

I hovered over Athena and stared down at her.

“Do it!” my father ordered.

I raised the knife high up above her, unsettled to see that her eyes were focused upon mine.

“He knows who you are, Jadeon,” she said, “and he promises revenge.” Athena turned her gaze toward my father. “Lord Artimas, Orpheus is coming for you.”

I wanted to hear more. “Who is⁠—”

“Jadeon,” my father said. “Finish it.”

I clutched the blade’s handle and lifted it high into the air. I paused. My father wrapped his fingers around mine, and with full force, he brought the knife down into her chest, piercing her heart.

Athena’s scream was deafening. My father pried my fingers off the knife, leaving it in place. I staggered back, nauseous, fixated by the blood that poured from the wound. A death rattle rose from the girl, and she became quiet. A bright prism of light descended, seemingly emanating from the very stones.

Dawn arose, flooded the area, and danced around us.

As the first light of the solstice breached the horizon, it didn’t merely rise—it pierced. The sun’s rays slanted through the ancient trilithons with precision, as if obeying a command older than time itself. The stones seemed to breathe, to shimmer with something not quite seen, not quite here. It wasn’t just dawn. It was a banishing of darkness.