Novelas y relatos de The Ritual Shantel Tessier

Her lips began to move faster and her eyes which were glazed over stared into nothingness. She seemed different now, and looked a lot like the kind of witches I was used to. The type I’d seen in movies and read about in books. She looked Ethereal. At first a few minutes flew past with Shantel performing whatever ritual she was performing while I stared at her in confusion; but then the few minutes morphed into a few hours and before you knew it, we had been sitting here for three hours. Shantel was still mumbling something under her breath nonstop but I had gotten tired. Even my entire body was already beginning to ache.

"What you want to do—it's called a death and rebirth ritual. We're going to honor who you were while welcoming who you're becoming." Sera nodded, tears already forming again but gentler this time. As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, as Brittany's execution time approached, we performed the ritual. Sera wrote down everything she was releasing—fear, shame, the need to stay small—and burned the paper in the ceremonial fire Mom had prepared. "I release you," Sera whispered as the smoke rose. "I honor what you helped me survive. But I don't need you anymore." And as the last rays of sunlight painted the garden gold, as somewhere in the pack house a different kind of ending was taking

he asked, his voice careful as he waited for my answer. I stared at the page until the memory finally connected with what I had just read. The name belonged to someone I had always believed was responsible for only one part of my suffering. “It's not Elaine,” I said, my voice shaking as I looked up at Xander. “Her name isn't here.” Xander took the document from me and examined the writing himself, his expression becoming increasingly disturbed. “Then whose name is attached to the ritual?” he asked, looking back at me. I pointed toward the final line, unable to take my eyes away from the name written beneath it. “That person arranged the ritual,” I explained, my voice barely steady enough to

It was… knowing. When they took him away again, Edward kept a hand on my waist, steadying me until my breathing slowed. “I shouldn’t have let him out of that cell,” he muttered. “You didn’t have a choice,” I said. “There’s always a choice.” I wanted to argue, but something in his voice stopped me. He was scared—not of Aaron, but of what the bond might do to me once the ritual started. By afternoon, the priestess arrived to prepare the ritual items—silver bowls filled with saltwater, candles carved with runes, and a ceremonial dagger etched in gold. I watched her work in silence from the window of the great hall.

I guess this was the only way. I successfully acknowledged them with a nod. Following some thoughtful consideration, they took their positions beside me - the high priestess on my left and the shaman on my right. I had no doubt that the actual ritual was about to commence. In a matter of seconds, at the high priestess' command, I found myself writhing in unbearable pain once more. This time, I realized it was futile to resist slipping into unconsciousness; after all, it seemed to be their ultimate goal.

The farther we walked, the quieter the atmosphere became. Then I saw Shantel. The sight before me brought tears to my eyes almost instantly. She looked nothing like herself. Her face had grown pale, while beads of strange sweat covered every inch of her forehead and neck despite the cool temperature inside the tent. Her body trembled continuously beneath the blankets covering her, as though she were trapped between unbearable cold and scorching heat. Her lips moved endlessly as words escaped them, broken, and confused. None of them made any sense. "My Lady..."

I winced in pain, it stung but there was nothing I could do about it, all I could hope for is whatever the witch was doing I swallowed hard, feeling my stomach churning. She placed the knife on the table with her other things. "It's time for the ritual." She called out and Shantel came out with such a bright smile on her face. "Finally, she gets to die." Shantel said happily. The witch began saying something weird, it felt like there was a spell. My body shook, I could feel the pain in my insides already, my heart beat painfully as if trying to break free from my ribcage, I struggled against the rope tying my body to the stone I laid on.

A low groan escaped him, unbidden. Her fingers slid down, tracing the shell of his ear, the sensitive column of his neck. Each point of contact was a brand of pure feeling. "You hold such tension, Cassian," she breathed, her voice now a warm murmur beside his ear. Her breath fanned his skin, another wave of heat. "Centuries of holding yourself apart. Let go. For the ritual. Surrender." He shuddered violently. Surrender.

This is happening in my pack. These people are doing this in my pack! Who are they? A strange mumbling fills the air before stopping abruptly. One of them steps out. “Tonight brothers and sisters, under the moon and with the skies as our witness, we carry out a ritual. The power in our blood lies dormant, but we ask that with this offering, Tierel offers us his touch. We ask that he cuts us off from the shackles of weakness, and that he marks us so we can ascend.”

Then he sets her on her feet and the high priestess guides her into the shallow part of the water. Warriors surrounds the waterfalls as Kieran focuses on the high priestess and his mate. "I understand you're tired so I'll make this very quick", the high priestess says. She begins to chant in a native language, looking up at the sky. Annaliese feels the rush of the water before she feels the cold water rise to her knees. Throughout the whole ritual, Annaliese stays silent. The high priestess gets a knife and gently grabs a fistful of Annaliese's hair.