Читати книгу - "Secrets of the Ancient Estate, Kyuriym"

Sam took a slow, measured breath, fighting the urge to collapse under the weight of his injuries. He had to stay focused. He had to see this through.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Sam said, his voice cold and steady. “Why go through with the ritual? If the curse isn’t real, why do any of this?”

Doyle’s eyes flickered, his expression darkening. “Because the blood moon gives power. Real power. Not to break some fictional curse, but to control the forces that bind us. The Coltons never understood that. But I do.”

Sam’s pulse quickened as he realized the full scope of Doyle’s plan. The blood moon wasn’t just symbolic to him—it was the key to seizing ultimate control over the village, to becoming the true master of the Colton estate and the power it represented.

“You’re insane,” Sam said, shaking his head. “You think you can control something like that? You’ll destroy everything.”

Doyle’s expression twisted into a sneer. “I’m not insane, Detective. I’m a visionary. And tonight, under the light of the blood moon, I’ll finish what I started.”

Before Sam could react, Doyle moved with startling speed, grabbing a long, ceremonial knife from the altar at the far end of the hall. His eyes gleamed with manic intensity as he approached, the blade glinting in the moonlight.

Sam’s heart pounded in his chest, but he refused to back down. This was it—the final confrontation. He had to stop Doyle, no matter what it took.

As Doyle lunged forward, Sam dodged to the side, the pain in his wounded side flaring with every movement. The knife slashed through the air, narrowly missing him. Sam gritted his teeth and swung his arm, knocking the blade from Doyle’s hand and sending it clattering across the floor.

Doyle snarled and charged at Sam, his hands closing around Sam’s throat in a vice-like grip. Sam gasped for air, struggling to free himself from Doyle’s hold. His vision blurred as he fought to stay conscious, the edges of the world darkening.

But just as he felt his strength fading, a memory surged to the surface—a memory of his own past, of the demons he had spent years trying to bury.

Years earlier, Sam had been a young detective in New York, hungry to prove himself. He had thrown himself into his work, taking on case after case, determined to make a difference. But one case had broken him—a murder investigation that had gone wrong, leading to the death of an innocent bystander. It had haunted him ever since, a constant reminder of his own failure, his inability to save the people who needed him most.

He had spent years running from that memory, burying it beneath layers of work and determination. But now, in the grand hall of the Colton estate, with Doyle’s hands tightening around his throat, that memory came rushing back with brutal clarity.

Sam had failed before. But he wouldn’t fail again.

With a surge of strength he didn’t know he had, Sam grabbed Doyle’s wrists and twisted them, breaking free of his grip. He shoved Doyle back, sending him crashing into the altar, his body slumping to the floor.

Sam staggered forward, gasping for air as he picked up the fallen knife. Doyle lay motionless for a moment, dazed and bleeding, but he wasn’t finished. He pushed himself to his feet, his eyes blazing with fury.

“You think you’ve won?” Doyle spat, his voice filled with venom. “You think you can stop this?”

Sam tightened his grip on the knife, his hand trembling from exhaustion and pain. “It’s over, Doyle. You’ve lost.”

Doyle let out a bitter laugh, blood dripping from his lips. “You’re wrong, McAlister. The blood moon is still rising. The power is still mine.”

Sam shook his head. “No. The only power here is the one you created—the one built on lies and blood. But it ends tonight.”

For a moment, Doyle’s expression faltered, doubt flickering in his eyes. But then his face twisted into a snarl, and he lunged at Sam once more, his hands outstretched in a final, desperate attempt to finish what he had started.

Sam didn’t hesitate. He drove the knife into Doyle’s chest, the blade sinking deep into flesh and bone. Doyle let out a choked gasp, his eyes widening in shock and disbelief. For a moment, he simply stood there, his body trembling.

And then, with a final, shuddering breath, he collapsed to the ground, his eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling.

Sam stood over Doyle’s body, his chest heaving as the weight of what had just happened settled over him. The blood moon hung low in the sky, its crimson light casting long, twisted shadows across the grand hall.

It was over.

Hours later, as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, Sam sat in the library of the Colton estate, staring down at the scattered papers and letters that had once seemed so full of mystery. The truth about the Colton family curse, the society, and the blood moon had come to light—but it hadn’t been the ancient forces that had destroyed the Coltons. It had been human greed, ambition, and betrayal.

As he sat there, exhausted and battered, Sam felt a strange sense of closure. He had uncovered the truth, not just about the Coltons, but about himself. The demons he had carried with him for so long—the guilt, the fear, the self-doubt—no longer seemed as overwhelming. He had faced them head-on, and in doing so, he had found the strength to move forward.