Page 51 of Chasing Eternity (Stealing Infinity #3)

Killian stares at me, eyes wide with shock. “Damn, Shiv,” he manages to say. “Look what you’ve done.” His fingers fumble at his chest; when they come away, they’re dripping with blood.

I lift my dagger once more. Like a replay of what happened with the duke back in 1745 Versailles, I’m more than willing to see this thing through. My resolve to finish this, finish him, is ironclad. Nothing Killian can say or do that will stop me this time.

“Natasha, don’t,” Braxton’s father urges. “This isn’t the way.” He hovers close by, his neck badly bleeding; he warns me against the very deed I’m poised to commit.

“Stay out of it, old man,” Killian rasps. “This here’s between Shiv and me.” His dagger is loosely clutched in his hand, the vibrancy fading from his eyes as blood steadily seeps from the wound in his chest. He looks at me and says, “Remember what I told you about this sort of thing?”

“Yeah,” I reply, my blade steady, ready to deliver as many blows as it takes to silence him.

One for taking my father’s life.

Another for attempting to end Braxton’s father.

And a third for each life he’s claimed over the years.

“You said I can never go back.”

Killian nods, his voice a gurgling whisper, “Trust me, it’s true.”

“Thing is, Killian,” I say, determination hardening my tone, “I think I’m okay with that.”

Overcome by a sudden surge of rage I hadn’t anticipated, I drive my blade toward him, seconds away from striking once more, when a sudden cry slices through the tension.

“Dad!”

The voice is undeniably that of a child.

But how can that be? Children are never present at these parties.

Whirling around, I can’t help but gasp at the sight.

There, a young boy with dark wavy hair and striking ocean-blue eyes is desperately trying to reach the man now sprawled on the ground, barely clinging to life.

Though he’s so much younger than the version I know, my heart recognizes him in an instant.

A second later, my mind catches up.

Braxton!

My gaze darts from him to the person tightly grasping his arm.

This cannot be happening.

“Drop the blade, Natasha,” Arthur commands.