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Hammer down, cocked and loaded—now put the safety on, baby girl.

I always hated carrying my weapon like this, much preferring to take my time disengaging the safety before cocking it, but he’d been a firm believer that if I ever needed to use it, time would be limited. I got used to carrying it the way he preferred. I can only imagine what he’d think right now after watching me hesitate and miss my shot.

I miss him even though I’m so fucking angry with him, but I’d give a whole hell of a lot to yell at him in person.

I’m not sure if I’ve made a sound since Emile sliced Hale’s throat, but everything has gone still and quiet. I knew all of thiswas a risk. Hale and Sasha did too. But now that I’m faced with the consequences of our decisions, all I feel is numb. If I look at the crumpled body of my friend, I think I’ll break. I’ll collapse here and never get up again.

That’s all I want to do anyway.

Until I see the garage door slam shut. I’d heard Roman discuss Sasha being held in there, and now Emile has gone to kill the rest of my family. Taking a deep breath, I push away my nerves and my fear and put on the persona I’ve embraced since the moment Roman realized the depths of my betrayal. Blustering confidence is hard to fake, but it’s safer in this instance.

“You want me to kill both of your nephews in one day?” I shout as I place one hand on the balcony railing. A heartbeat later I’m standing on it, and then I’m landing on the deck below. “I see your hand has grown back. Would you like me to take it again?”

“He’s not dead, Gwyn,” Roman says, panic making his voice go breathy. “It’s okay, he’s not dead.”

“It sure as fuck looks like he’s dead,” I say as I approach the two of them on the ground. My heart keens for my friend, but I have to remain stoic and fearsome. This isn’t a situation in which I can show weakness. Not now.

Roman and Hale are in the middle of the small backyard, halfway between me and the garage that holds my sister and the ruthless vampire who has likely gone to kill her. Roman wasn’t trying to drink from Hale at all, like I’d imagined, but his hands are covered in my friend’s blood as he puts pressure on his neck. The blood is pouring so fast, I don’t know how Hale hasn’t passed out. His eyes are wide and wild, and I look away. Roman wasn’t lying, but I can’t stop. I can’t do anything for him while Sasha is in danger. And if I look at him too long…

Sometimes I wonder if my soul revolts at being contained, longing for death, because of the decisions I’ve made. Some choices, like this one, leave a stain. When I speak, my voice doesn’t belong to me, and I think that’s only fitting.

“Kneel on his collarbone,” I say, remembering my dad’s voice once more. I don’t know if he had been serious while drinking and shooting the shit with one of our many neighbors over the years. I’d been little, maybe ten, when I’d wanted to take ice skating lessons. The guy who lived above us, Todd or Tom or something with a T, had tried to scare me out of it by talking about sliced throats. But my dad told a story about a man who had survived the very injury Todd was warning of. By then, we’d already been attacked more than once by Bjorn’s coven, so I had tucked the information away for later. “Don’t let him bleed out.”

Can’t bleed out if you can’t breathe,he’d said. I refuse to think about how long it will take to finish things with Emile before I can get Hale to a hospital. Desperately, I wonder if Hale has taught Sasha enough to buy us some time. But I don’t even have Sasha by my side. I’m alone—again. I’m having a panic attack in the dark all over again, tossed in the trunk of my own car. I’m struggling to breathe, realizing I’ve missed time, and I don’t know what Roman has managed to command me to do. Even though it involved the storage unit which held a shit ton of my dad’s stuff, I’d had no memory of helping him get into it. I’m in over my head and alone, just like I was then. Just like I’ve been since I decided to move forward with our insane plan.

So I do as I did then. The days I’d been locked beneath the compound, forced to look through my father’s belongings and make up clues and hints from nothing, I’d spent every morning meditating. Slow, deep breaths in through my nose, out through my mouth. It was the only time I allowed myself to beme. Otherwise, I was a persona. I was sad, pathetic Gwyn who didn’t know shit about fuck.

Except for the dark, hushed nights with Roman after I Ascended. Those were naked moments I don’t dare allow myself to think about. Instead, I inhale slowly, then exhale. I give myself a chance to gather my shit and set it aside for later, and that’s all I can afford to do.

Roman is my only bargaining chip against Emile at this point since he clearly doesn’t give a fuck about Remy. I know I am going to have to choose. In order to save Sasha, I need to make Emile fear for Roman’s life. If I truly put him in danger, he might stop helping Hale—or he might not be able to at all.

My sister shouts in the garage, pained and low. Closing my eyes, I take one more breath. There were eight bullets in my gun, and one already made its way into Roman’s shoulder tonight. I have seven left.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Roman is gentle when he puts a knee on my friend’s collarbone. I refuse to watch as Hale’s body violently jerks, fighting against the lack of oxygen. I swear I hear Roman whisper his brother’s name, and I’m not surprised. If there’s one thing Roman is consistent about, it’s his brother. He knows I won’t hesitate to kill for my family, just as he wouldn’t hesitate for his own. If Hale dies, Remy won’t be far behind.

I wait on the deck, hoping the position will grant me leverage. There’s a sound behind me, something like footsteps, but when I turn around, I see nothing. Nico is still inside the house, but he’s bound to come running soon.

Swallowing, I try to detach myself from the welling feelings growing in my stomach. I can’t allow myself to think about my choice. The alternative is losing them both.

Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two.

One.

I point the gun toward Roman’s shoulder and pull the trigger.

He tips over, hands slamming to the ground as he catches himself. Hale coughs when some of Roman’s weight is lifted, but I breathe a sigh of relief when Roman adjusts and his knee continues applying pressure. I watch, waiting for him to ruin all of this. If he moves, if he stops helping Hale, if he attacks, my haphazardly created plan falls apart.

I’ve never had it all together, but in this, I am certain. One misstep, and I lose everything.

Roman groans, and the sharp tinge of his blood, the copper and earth and smoky scent of him hits me—hard. My mouth waters, but I keep myself under control. Raising my hand, I point my gun at him once more.

“Again?” he roars as he twists, but he notices my aim and stops himself from lunging to attack. He applies pressure to his shoulder and swears. “Didn’t manage to get it clean through this time, you sloppy bitch.”

“Stuck on your collarbone, isn’t it?” I taunt, not bothering to look at him as my eyes narrow on the back window of the garage.

“Feels like it, yeah,” Roman mumbles, and I ignore him.