Chapter 11: Out of the Circle

I stared at my father in horror. Had he forgotten William’s warning?

He leapt from the circle, grabbed one wild woman by the hair, and smashed her head to the ground. She whimpered, bleeding, just like my mother had.

Heart aching, I ran after him, grabbed his leg, begged: "Please, don’t hurt her! She’s just like Mom!"

He kicked me hard in the ribs. Pain shot through me, sharp and cold. I flew into the tombstone, landing hard.

"Money-losing goods! Interfere again, and I’ll let them have you too! You’re old enough!"

The blacksmith jeered, "We don’t want her yet—give it a few years!"

Seeing my father and the men leave the circle, the others followed. They forgot about the ritual, lost in their own pleasure, grabbing and pawing, filling the night with grunts and moans.

I clung to the red marker, refusing to look back.

"Enjoy it while you can," I whispered. "You’ll pay for this."

Somewhere out in the dark, something answered—a howl that didn’t belong to any coyote I’d ever heard.