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I fell to her side in an instant. My knees hit the concrete with enough force to crack it. Her heart wasn’t beating. I couldn’t hear the sound I loved beyond no other.

“Morgan.” I whispered. My hands hovered over her, afraid to touch her and cause more damage. Her beautiful face was mostly intact, though blood trickled from her nose, her ears, and the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were closed.

Every bone in her body must be broken. Her spine, her legs, her arms had to have all shattered from the impact. No human could survive this fall.

A light flicked on in a window above me. Someone had heard the commotion. Soon there would be people, law enforcement, and questions with no answers. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let some morbid asshole whip out a cell phone and record her in this state.

I made my decision instantly. I slid my arms beneath Morgan’s broken body and gently lifted her from the concrete. Her blood soaked into my shirt. Her head and crimson streaked hair lolled against my shoulder.

I hurried into the underground garage. I went directly to the Jeep parked nearby, cradling Morgan against my chest like someone that was fragile.

The back door of the Jeep opened under my touch. I laid Morgan across the backseat with care that seemed absurd, given the catastrophic damage already done to her body. Her blood immediately soaked into the leather seat.

I slid behind the wheel, trying to keep my anger and grief at bay. My hands left bloody prints on everything I touched. The engine roared to life. I drove out of the garage. I was mindless of direction, mindless of everything, except the fact that Morgan was no more.

The town turned into a rural countryside as I drove further away from the water. I drove too fast, daring any state police to stop me. My mind raced faster than the speedometer, calculations and possibilities colliding.

My time with her had run out. I wished we would’ve defied Zand and went to Minnesota. Maybe I could’ve convinced her to go back to L.A. with me. The what ifs were dancing around in my brain and suffocating me.

I turned onto a dark country road. There were no houses, no lights, no witnesses. When I could no longer bear it, I pulled over on the dirt and grass that laid before the tree line. I cut the Jeep's headlights and settled into complete darkness.

“Fuckkkk!” The scream tore from my throat.

I got out of the driver’s seat and opened the back door. Morgan was where I placed her. Her blood had dried on her face.

I gathered her in my arms. Her body weighed nothing to me. I carried her away from the road, into the trees where the darkness was complete except for a few patches of moonlight filtering in on us.

The forest floor felt soft under my feet. I didn’t think to look in the trunk for a shovel. I kneeled, sitting Morgan down as if she might still feel pain.

Her face looked peaceful despite the trauma. The fierce, vibrant, independent woman who wasn’t afraid to fuck a vampire was broken beyond repair. I brushed a strand of her sandy blonde hair from her face.

I thought of Zand, of Chanel, of my promise to keep Morgan safe. My mind thought of Teresa’s cruel smile as Morgan plummeted to her death. I thought of all the mistakes I’d made, all the betrayals and failures that had defined my vampire existence.

I looked down at Morgan’s face, memorizing the way she looked. There was warmth in my chest. It was something Ihadn’t felt in decades. It was the feeling I had when I played music with the Rock It Boys. I felt a connection I never expected to feel again.

I gathered Morgan closer to me. I cradled her head in the crook of my arm. My face hovered above hers, looking down at the woman I wanted.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered, but I knew she couldn’t hear me. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

If only I had made different choices. Morgan could go back to Minnesota with her mother, father and brother. I wasn’t the only one that loved her. The somber thought was like a dagger to my heart.

CHAPTER FOUR

ZAND

Ichecked my phone for the hundredth time today. No calls. No texts. No word. Nothing for three long days. Suddenly, the loft felt too small. The high ceilings and open floor plan were shrinking in around me.

My chronic pacing in the living room led me into the kitchen, where Chanel was standing at the sink. Donté was sitting at the island staring down into his cell phone.

“Anything?” Chanel’s worried voice called out to me.

I shook my head, not trusting my voice. My jaw ached from clenching it so hard. Three days of silence. Three days of imagining every possible catastrophe. Why would he do this?

Chanel was in a panic. “Something has got to be wrong. Morgan won’t answer me. I’m afraid to call her family. I don’t want to worry them. Zand, did your brother do something to her? You said he was safe.”

I couldn’t respond because I didn’t have anything to say. What I knew, Chanel knew, and that was nothing at all.

My walled windows showed the beauty of the city. The late afternoon sun glinted off the glass, warming the loft. The viewwas normally enjoyable, but today it was a nuisance. Somewhere out there, Teresa and Marisol were plotting their next move, but all I could think about was the one-sided silence from my brother.