Back Blood Rites
Chapters (68)
  1. Cover
  2. Chapter 1
  3. Chapter 2
  4. Chapter 3
  5. Chapter 4
  6. Chapter 5
  7. Chapter 6
  8. Chapter 7
  9. Chapter 8
  10. Chapter 9
  11. Chapter 10
  12. Chapter 11
  13. Chapter 12
  14. Chapter 13
  15. Chapter 14
  16. Chapter 15
  17. Chapter 16
  18. Chapter 17
  19. Chapter 18
  20. Chapter 19
  21. Chapter 20
  22. Chapter 21
  23. Chapter 22
  24. Chapter 23
  25. Chapter 24
  26. Chapter 25
  27. Chapter 26
  28. Chapter 27
  29. Chapter 28
  30. Chapter 29
  31. Chapter 30
  32. Chapter 31
  33. Chapter 32
  34. Chapter 33
  35. Chapter 34
  36. Chapter 35
  37. Chapter 36
  38. Chapter 37
  39. Chapter 38
  40. Chapter 39
  41. Chapter 40
  42. Chapter 41
  43. Chapter 42
  44. Chapter 43
  45. Chapter 44
  46. Chapter 45
  47. Chapter 46
  48. Chapter 47
  49. Chapter 48
  50. Chapter 49
  51. Chapter 50
  52. Chapter 51
  53. Chapter 52
  54. Chapter 53
  55. Chapter 54
  56. Chapter 55
  57. Chapter 56
  58. Chapter 57
  59. Chapter 58
  60. Chapter 59
  61. Chapter 60
  62. Chapter 61
  63. Chapter 62
  64. Chapter 63
  65. Acknowledgements
  66. Canelo Crime
  67. About the Author
  68. Also by Rachel Lynch

She looked at her parents, sat stern and upright in cold, heartless silence, staring straight ahead. They could be asleep and Daphne wanted to shake them and scream into their faces. To reason with them and plead. But they never listened. Their expressionless faces refused to look at her and she felt more alone than ever.

Daphne considered love, and thought of the boy from the stone circle. She’d read about passion, and hate, and all the emotions that could possibly swim through her body at one time. She knew loathing, and she knew revenge, as well as fear, dread, sorrow and despair. But she didn’t know love. She didn’t see it, so she couldn’t define it. But ever since meeting Callum at the circle, her foundations, and what she’d built them on, had begun to shake.

There were plenty of opportunities for her to vanish from the life Father had created for them. They’d existed on the fringes of society, like gypsies and travellers, in forests, in caravans and tents, for so long now that her disappearance would be irrelevant.

Had that been what she was doing the night she’d found herself naked and wandering around the huge stones? Disappearing? She couldn’t remember.

Neither could she remember what brought her back. It was as if some force took her hand and opened the hospital window, made her feet climb out and her legs jump to the electric box and then to the ground, running for her life, towards the old farm. As soon as she’d opened the door, she knew why she’d come back. She saw it now, in her parents, erect and vacant at the same time.

She wanted to shake them and scream. But the house was silent, except for the flies. Father liked it that way. She left them and went to her room to watch TV on her laptop, with the volume on silent. She viewed the characters on screen with odd fascination, and she considered herself lucky to be protected from it. The behaviour of the actors was puzzling. They were all so animated and loud. She could tell this even with no sound. It was a dangerous world out there, that’s what her parents told her, and maybe that’s why she’d come back.