Scapegoat Novels & Stories

one of them said, backhanding another on the shoulder. The other scowled back. “Yeah, on the stupid ones.” The first speaker, a heavyset man perhaps in his mid-thirties, scowled back at the other. But the third, the youngest of all of them, spoke. “It looks small… did we catch a kid?” “You mean a pup? They’re not kids. Kids are human,” the heavyset one said with an obvious look of disgust. “Actually,” the second said to the others. “Baby goats are called kids.”

My blades sink into the soft, crumbling stone, sending sharp vibrations down my tired arms. I grope for my footing while watching the goat, only twenty feet above me now, still munching on moss and oblivious to the threat directly below him. He’s large, a pure, soft white. He’s maybe a few years old judging by the horns that stretch in nearly straight lines from the top of his thick skull. I need him. I want him. I won’t leave without him, even if I have to chase him up the mountain. I send a quick prayer to the Goddess for Her blessing to take this life. I pray to the older, forgotten gods that She answers then make my move.

One which I know for a fact will make her come to me instead of me coming to her. For this plan, I'll need my father's help. I go to our floor and take a hidden passage to my well-hidden room. A place to go as a sanctuary that holds an altar for my father. I perform the ritual, sacrificing one of the goats locked down there and cutting off their head. After I drew father's signature pentagram in the goat's blood, I cut open my own wrists. The pain is nothing for me. I've done this many times before. As I let my blood flow out of me and into the pentagram, I feel a nagging presence in my head. I know it's not fathers. This was too pure. I smirked. I know this presence all too well.

This pronouncement held great significance for The Violet Moon, an affirmation of their beliefs and an opportunity to please their god. Sasha, a dedicated disciple, felt a surge of conflicting emotions within their being. On one hand, the prospect of a new life entering the cult's fold evoked a sense of celebration and purpose. It was a testament to the continuance of their sacred mission and a tangible manifestation of their devotion to Gada. On the other hand, Sasha couldn't ignore the flicker of doubt that danced within their soul.

The people start chanting and drums as the men drag me to the center and press me down on my knees. “You will be our humble sacrifice to the Mighty bear god.” This is not a humble sacrifice. This is murder. “Let the deed be done.” The man orders at the top of the voice and the screams from the people around heightens. My entire body goes into a frenzy as the man with the machete approaches me. I can see the grim reaper standing right in front of me, ready to take my soul. The muscular men press my head to the ground as the man approaches and since I have nothing else to do to save myself, I close my eyes and make a silent prayer to the moon goddess.

Instead, everyone revelled in my vulnerability, eager to partake in my humiliation. Guided by Elijah, I sat in a chair amidst the crowd. He declared, "This girl is to be cleansed. Bathe her in milk to purify her." Eyes fixated on me, the pack members proceeded to pour milk over my form. My tears mingled with the liquid, both serving as a bitter reminder of my plight. Elijah leaned in, his chilling words whispered, "You're cleansed for now, but in nine months, your suffering will truly begin."

I drop to my knees before him and bow my head. “And so it was that Lycaon roasted the flesh of his own child, Nyctimus, and served it unto Zeus, in a test of the God’s omniscience.” The Hierophant turns to an acolyte, who hands him a bowl. The scent of the blood inside makes my mouth water and the moonlight makes my skin feel impossibly tight. The creature inside me, the thing I’m meant to be, grows desperate to escape.

"These past few nights, I keep waking up at midnight..." Simon's voice cracked. "I dream of you covered in blood, asking why I betrayed you..." I looked away, but the memories hit like a wave. "Just give me one last chance..." Then—boom. He yanked out a folding knife and stabbed his own thigh before I could even blink. Blood spilled fast. He winced but managed a twisted smile. "This one's for the first lash." He raised the knife again, aiming for the other leg. "I'll pay back all ninety-nine lashes."

I said abruptly. Orion’s face darkened instantly. The warmth that had been radiating from him turned into a predatory chill. His jaw tightened, and for a second, the emerald fire in his eyes looked like it might burn the whole room down. Before he could protest, before he could tell me I was walking back into a lion’s den, I raised my chin. "I’m no longer their scapegoat daughter begging to be loved anymore, Orion," I said, my voice cold and final. I grabbed my phone from the drafting table and headed for the door. "I’m the virus they’re about to let back into their system."

“I meant leave the pack not leave this room. From today onwards, you’re forever banished from the Greymoon pack Lana.” It felt like the floor dropped out from under me. Banished? From the only home I have? No, this couldn’t be happening. “What? You can’t—” “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he said coldly. “You’re no longer welcome here. If I ever see you in this pack again, I’ll kill you myself.” I dropped to my knees, the cold fear gripping suffocating my heart. “Asher, please! You know I have nowhere to go! I have no money, no wolf to protect me—I’ll be killed by the rogues out there!”