““I woke from that disturbing vision—to find just as disturbing a sight. Jack was shirtless, kneeling before the fire, about to press his red-hot bowie knife over the wound on his chest. Sitting nearby, Aric looked on, as if this was cool or something. I shot upright. “What are you doing??” “Prend-lé aisé, bébé.” Take it easy? Was Jack buzzed? That bottle lay empty beside him. “I’d rather a knife mark than the twins’ brand. Can’t stand to see it, me. To feel it.” I turned to Aric. “And you think this is a good idea?” “Your squire entertains.” His accent was thick, his words slurred. Jack flipped him off with his free hand. “Reap. This.” I gaped. They’d gotten drunk together.””
