Page 28 of First (After the End #1)

THE FIRST

Sofia

For the second time today, I wake up in Gabriel’s bed.

For the first, he’s all I can see when I open my eyes.

It’s too lovely a sight to question. I wait for the bleariness to melt away and take in the straight line of his nose, his white-blond hair, the little scars that cluster at the base of his jaw.

“Hey,” I say, wondering if everything that came before was just a dream.

My smile is quick, effortless, little more than a reflex.

It’s just that I’m so happy. Happy that he’s here, with his scent that always holds me.

Even happier that he’s sitting on the edge of the mattress and looking down at me like I’m pretty and made of sea pearls.

He runs his fingers down my hair with the same attention and precision a soldier would give to sharpening his sword, biceps flexing with every tiny movement.

I can’t remember ever feeling this at peace.

And yet, there is a small furrow between his brows. “Are you okay?” I ask.

The question makes him laugh. “Are you okay, Sofia?”

“Of course. I just slept for…” How long did I sleep for? A lot, since it’s night. I must have, because we’re back to a regular High, and vicious currents swirl outside the window of his quarters. Not even a speckle of sunlight filters in, which means that—

Everything returns to me at once.

The letter.

Lady Larsen.

The sirens.

“Shit.” I drag myself up to my elbows, heart going from nothing to a million beats per minute. “What happened? The filtration system, is it—”

“Everything’s okay,” he says calmly, one large hand drifting to comb through the hair at my nape. “More importantly, you are okay.”

“But what happened? The lights went off, and—”

“Lord Larsen tried to sabotage some of the life support systems. He planned to pump poisonous gasses through the air ducts, and we stopped his guards right as they started tampering with the filters. It’s all over, though. There’s nothing for you to worry about anymore.”

My eyes widen. Even soothed by his Alpha scent, I’m alarmingly awake. “Where is he? Lord Larsen, I mean.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Did he escape? Are you looking for him in the stronghold?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Gabriel’s smile widens. “My interest in him is null, at the moment. And I consider our matters settled.”

“Settled? How do you…?” Shit. Shit. I can’t believe how slow I am sometimes. “Is he dead?”

A simple satisfied nod.

“Did you kill him?”

“Slowly and painfully. His eldest son, too.”

I close my eyes. Cover my mouth with my palm. Find the courage to ask, “Where is Lennart? Did you…?”

“Kill him?” He chews on the inside of his cheek and gently pushes my hand away, finding my lower lip with his thumb. It’s clear that he’s having an excellent time. “No. Not yet, at least. I’m still debating what to do with him. Of course, you’ll have the final say.”

Thank the All-father, I think. But it hits me that I’m not experiencing the overwhelming relief I would have imagined. “Where do you have him?”

“Sofia.” He clucks his tongue. “Where did you leave those outstanding observational skills of yours?”

“What do you mean? I don’t understand what— Oh.”

The problem is, I like staring at Gabriel a little too much.

That’s why I didn’t notice Lennart—who, obviously, is right there.

Pale, frazzled, but not looking too bad for someone whose family was just stripped of centuries of power.

He’s sitting calmly in the same chair Gabriel used last night, less than ten feet from us.

Except that the chair has changed colors. The upholstery used to be a solid blue-gray, and it has now darkened to a deeper purple.

Because it’s soaked in blood.

My stomach drops. I gasp as it dawns on me that Lennart is not sitting—he is pinned.

Two very long, thin blades, both looking remarkably like the one Gabriel usually carries at his hip, travel through Lennart’s flesh.

One is in his right thigh, the other in the left shoulder, and blood seeps from each wound, slow and steady.

Paradoxically, it’s the swords that stave off blood loss: if they were to be removed, he’d need immediate medical attention or risk exsanguination.

And something tells me that Gabriel would not allow me to offer my healing services. Not tonight.

“Help.” Lennart’s voice is a trembling rattle. He breathes fast and shallow, pleading at me with bloodshot eyes. “Sof, you have to—”

“Sofia doesn’t have to do anything, especially not to help a pathetic piece of shit who’s been hurting her for years.” Gabriel’s eyebrow lifts. “And what did we say about you talking without first being spoken to?”

Lennart closes his eyes in desperation, a soft whimper leaving his lips.

I turn to Gabriel. Despite everything I’ve heard about the general, I have never been afraid of him, not really.

I’m not sure that fear is the right name for what I’m feeling now either.

All I know is that something is happening, and I cannot comprehend it.

“Gabriel,” I whisper, “what are you doing?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Gently, lovingly, he pushes a few locks back from my forehead. I feel clammy and uneasy, but when I take a calming breath, his scent is like a narcotic, instantly comforting.

Mine must do the same for him because he inhales deeply against my hairline, then says, “Perfect.” He presses a lingering kiss against my temple. “Everything about you is perfect. And that son of a bitch took it away from me. You see now why I’m considering killing him?”

“Gabriel, I—”

“I know. You’re a healer. Do no harm, and all that.

” His cheek, scratchy with his stubble, rubs against mine.

Dips down to my neck and catches against one of my glands, making me shudder.

Lara must have been on to something, because the itch is becoming hard to ignore.

“But you agree with me that he has to pay for what he’s done? ”

I swallow. “If I say yes, you’re going to kill him.”

He seems to ponder the matter. “Not necessarily, no. Let me ask again: should he pay for what he has done to you?”

“Promise me that you won’t—”

“Answer the question, Sofia.”

I glance at Lennart. His entire body is quaking. He’s looking at me like I’m the only thing standing between him and death, and…

Rage surges through me, blinding, brutal.

For years, I thought I would never have what I wanted.

For years, he stole from me. Voice shaking, I say, “Yes. Yes, he deserves to pay for what did to me. I hate him. He’s a monster, and I want to watch him suffer as much as I have, and I want him to feel like he’s lost everything.

” A pause. “But I don’t want him to die. ”

Gabriel makes a disappointed face, something that on anyone but him I would call a pout, something that in any other situation would make me laugh.

So his plan was to slaughter Lennart, here and now.

Good to know. And good to know that he seems to be willing to recalibrate.

“If I don’t kill him, I’ll have to punish him in other ways. You understand?”

My “yes” is full of breathless relief. I feel victorious—until Gabriel tugs me to my feet and forces me to stand in front of him, between his parted legs. I’m giving my back to Lennart, and that’s when I realize my mistake.

If Gabriel intended to kill Lennart, he would have gotten it done long before I woke up. Which means that what he really planned is something else, and…

“You are stunning in this dress,” he murmurs.

“Then again, you look beautiful in anything. But it pleases me that he’s going to have to watch me take your mating dress off you.

” His smile is predatory. What he’s implying, what he means to do, starts sinking in, and my heart pounds in my chest. In my ears.

In my lower belly.

“Have you ever taken your clothes off for him?” he asks me.

I hesitate. When I open my mouth, my lips are trembling, and no sound comes out.

“Sofia. Have you ever taken your clothes off for him?” he repeats.

“No,” I say, low. So low, it’s nearly drowned out by the obscenities Lennart is screaming.

“Don’t you fucking dare! Let her go!”

“I’m sorry, love,” Gabriel tells me with a soft kiss to my cheek.

“I need just a minute.” Gently, he moves me aside.

Then he walks to the chair and violently jostles the blade in Lennart’s shoulder until he wails with what must be a breathtaking kind of pain.

Once Gabriel has forced Lennart to repeat his lesson—“Only s-speak when—fuck, fuck—spoken t-to—ah!”—he reclaims his seat on the bed and pulls me close again.

“Where were we?”

“Gabriel,” I whisper, closing one hand around his wrist and forcing his gaze to meet mine.

I find nothing more than determined, relaxed anticipation in his eyes.

When I’m sure that what he’s doing to me is not just fueled by hatred or violence, I let my arm fall to my side and watch him take off my dress.

He’s good at it, nearly as good as I am at unlatching an armor.

And even now, in this fucked-up situation, my stomach squeezes with insecurity when I think about who could have taught him.

I don’t fully comprehend this bond thrumming and straining between us, but it might allow Gabriel to read my mind. And vice versa. “I’ve had a lot of Omegas, Sofia,” he says against my ear. “Some of them, very lovely.”

The words stab through me just as the bodice pools at my hips, leaving my upper half bare. “Why are you telling me this?” I ask between clenched teeth.