Chapter 2 - The Taste of Blood
I did not stop walking. The shock in the room was palpable, a physical weight pressing down on the congregation, but my feet moved forward on their own accord. I approached the altar, stepping past the whispering crowds and the horrified stares of my own family members. When I finally reached him, I was close enough to smell the overwhelming, cloying scent of Vanessa’s designer perfume—a sharp contrast to the funeral lilies.
"Not here," I whispered, my voice trembling but desperately trying to hold its ground. "Please, Daniel. Let them have peace. Just for today."
His expression shifted the moment I was within striking distance. The theatrical sorrow vanished, replaced by a flash of raw, unfiltered malice. Before I could even register the movement of his shoulder, his palm struck my face.
The crack of skin against skin echoed through the vaulted ceilings of the chapel like a gunshot. Gasps ripped through the crowd. Someone in the second row screamed softly. The force of the blow snapped my head to the side, and a sharp, metallic tang flooded my mouth. I tasted blood where my teeth had cut into the soft tissue of my inner cheek.
But I did not fall. I planted my heels into the stone floor and forced myself to turn back and look him in the eye.
Daniel immediately leaned in close, his hand dropping to my shoulder. To the horrified crowd, it must have looked as though he were suddenly overcome with remorse, catching me as I stumbled, whispering a desperate apology into his grieving wife's ear.
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"Say another word," he whispered, his breath hot and venomous against my skin, "and you’ll die with them."
Beside him, Vanessa gave a low, satisfied laugh, her fingers tightening possessively on his sleeve.
