Page 15
Story: Thorns from the Fall
The ache in my chest grows sharper, and I nearly groan. “I can’t help you with your insane plan if I’m dead,” I say. Though I’m hopeful Nico is able to follow through with what we’ddiscussed, and none of this will be an issue for much longer, it would be a lot easier if Gwyn would just let me leave.
“Good thing I don’t plan to kill you,” she says, turning and crossing her arms over her chest. I don’t have a chance to explain before the pain becomes excruciating, and I stagger backward. Gwyn doesn’t move as I double over and slam my hands against my sternum. Nico is taking too fucking long, and Emile’s command is going to rip me apart from the inside. One by one, each nerve ending will burn to ash and my bones will break from his persistent call.
“Roman?” Gwyn asks, refusing to move closer. If I wasn’t about to claw my heart out with my bare hands, I’d laugh. She learned a lesson in getting too close.
And so had I.
“Emile,” I say, by way of explanation. It’s all I can get out before my chest constricts once more. I imagine this is what a heart attack feels like. I can’t move as the pain radiates through my body. My lungs won’t expand, and I can’t catch my breath.
“Your vow,” she breathes, frowning. “You shouldn’t have sworn yourself to him.”
“Oh,fuckyou,” I grit out. She’s the reason I’m sworn to Emile at all. A fool—that’s what she’s made of me. Pathetic. Stupid. Useless. She has me bent over, thoroughly and unrelentingly fucked, and Nico is my only hope of leveling the playing field.
I can’t control the sound that tears from my throat. I rise to my full height for only a second before I collapse inward once more.
“I gave him my oathfor you,” I snap. “It’s going to kill me, and it’s your fault.”
I can barely hear her when she speaks. “Sasha told me you resisted him in the dungeon. There’s footage—Hale found some footage. You got around his command. To…to…”
To save her. To punch my way through a stone fucking floor. To risk waking an ancient vampire—just to get to her.
I’m going to vomit. Between Emile’s insistent vacuous pull on each empty space in my body, enough alcohol to kill a basketball team, and the thought that I would have gladly died for Gwyn just a few days ago, I taste bile.
“Sasha thinks it was my blood. Since I can resist compulsions, maybe my blood…maybe that’s why you could too.”
Now she’s moving toward me, and I force myself to turn away. My father’s wine cooler is in view, the built-in wet bar on the other side of the living area my only chance at resistance. I barely catch myself as I slam into the counter. The overhead cabinets are empty, save for one unopened bottle of Icelandic liquor. Probably given to him as a gift, it’s sat unopened on this shelf.
It’ll have to do.
I pull down the Brennivín and drink half the bottle without hesitation. I don’t know if alcohol helps or if it just dulls the pain, but maybe it will allow me to escape this new fucking world I’m forced to live in. Gwyn’s taste still lingers on my lips, turning sour on my tongue over her betrayal, and I long for the liquor to cleanse my fucking palate.
I decide that when I kill her, I’ll take my time. She will feel just as powerless when I take everything from her. And when I slit her throat, I’ll drink every drop of her traitorous blood as she begs for the forgiveness I’ll never give her.
Anger seems to be the best way to distract from the pain in my chest, even better than the liquor. Beside the wet bar is a conversation parlor, and I stumble toward it, collapsing into the soft embrace of an expensive lounge chair. My body doesn’t fit very well, and one of my legs swings over the arm. My hair falls across my face, and sweat beads on my brow. My hands rest onmy chest, the pressure a placebo for the pain. I tilt my head back, groaning as I close my eyes.
“Let me help you,” she says.
“Fuck you. Let me leave the compound. That’s what he wants.”
“No can do,” she says, and my body tenses when her footsteps move closer. “I’m not letting him interfere with my plan.”
“Your plan is stupid,” I say, inhaling. I have to focus on each breath.
“My plan gives you control of a huge portion of the world’s oldest and strongest vampires. The ones I didn’t already kill, anyway.”
I grit my teeth. Not only would it be a gift drenched in blood, tainted by the death of half my coven, I don’t want it. I’ve already proven myself as someone unfit to lead. Besides, I don’t know what the fuck she expects me to do with them. Those who aren’t already living at the compound don’t want to be ruled over—they’ve made that clear.
“Yeah, Gwyn. That’s fucking stupid.”
“Would you rather I choose Margot?”
“What makes you so confident I won’t use them to kill you? To kill Sasha and Hale? What makes you think I won’t launch a war against you just like my father would have done?”
She shrugs. “I’m not confident about any of it. But Hale and Sasha can take care of themselves. If they’re prepared enough, they’ll be safe from your kind forever. You only found us once they allowed it.”
“They?” I ask, wanting to know more about her step-sister. Margot and I hadn’t found anything special in our research into Sasha’s mother, but maybe we’d missed something. There were plenty of witches who never went to the Institute. If Angela was awitch with no formal training, it would make sense her daughter might be the same.
Gwyn smiles—soft and secret.You almost got me, that smile says, and I want to rip her lips from her face. The ache in my chest twists, and I imagine the ghost of Emile’s missing hand. Phantom fingertips dig deep, and I can’t help it when I grunt.
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