Altair had not spoken since he began weaving brush against canvas that spoke of the intricate madness of his psyche. Each kill he marked with his brush ebbing the pulse of lifeblood from those slain, encompassing shrill cries or torment, rippling the pooling blood of the soaked sand.
They were being cut down like weeds, butched like slabs of meat. The series of actions in which Alyssa killed seemed entirely predatory. She was the Alpha, and her sisters, the beta, ripe for the picking. Guided by the prescience of Foresight and Instinct that seemed to transcend mortal understanding. she blurred, weaving through bodies like a ribbon of death.
Silia had been made to watch. It was like a cool bath exposing the sadistic tendency of the woman behind her and the young man who allowed it.
