“Sacrifices…” I said for the third time, narrowing my eyes as I followed the curvy backroad in the new car Asher reluctantly loaned me.

“The red-haired witch, doesn’t she know how to do blood-magic?” Mason asked, refusing to let me stew in silence. “She really can’t think of a reason for these…sacrifices?”

“She doesn’t know much blood-magic. It runs in her family, but they don’t practice it themselves.” I explained. “I just wanted Holly to know where she comes from. As much as she can, anyway.”

I hated having control over Holly’s life. Making decisions for her, forcing her to see a therapist, it made me feel like she was a prisoner and not part of the pack. I didn’t want to make her feel how our father did, like pretty bird shoved into a cage, left to rot as it sang itself to death.

Only one other person truly knew how I felt, and it was Tristan.