Page 48 of Gabriel (Legacy of Heathens #4)
Amara
F ire licked the night sky. Smoke choked the air. I coughed through grit and heat. Gabriel was on top of me, shielding me with that irritating, noble instinct of his.
The world was still ringing, but the shaking had stopped.
At first, I didn’t realize it. My ears were filled with a high, shrill whine that made it hard to tell what was silence and what was just the adrenaline crash.
It was like the house had taken a deep breath and was now holding it, waiting for another strike. But it never came.
Dust drifted through the air. Something hissed from deeper in the house—pipes, maybe, or the sound of something still breaking.
But the explosions had stopped.
I pushed myself up on shaking elbows, my body still curled beneath Gabriel’s. His breath was rough in my ear, labored and too shallow.
“Gabriel,” I whispered, reaching for his face. “I think it’s over. We’re okay.”
His arms didn’t move.
“Gabriel?” I pressed harder, pushing gently, trying to shift him. His weight tipped to the side, something warm and sticky dripping on my cheek. And that’s when I saw blood. Crimson was spreading fast, soaking through the fabric at his shoulder and dripping onto me. “Oh my God.” My voice cracked.
“Amara?”
He blinked, his eyes bloodshot and his face pale and tight with pain. His eyes moved, but they weren’t focusing on me, almost as if he wasn’t seeing me.
“Gabriel—hey, hey—look at me,” I said, grabbing his face between my hands. “I’m right here. We’re okay. Look at me, come on.”
His eyes shifted toward me, his head leaned closer, but his gaze stayed distant and unfocused.
He blinked, then blinked again.
“I can’t… I can’t see,” he rasped, blinking hard. “I feel your hands, but I can’t see you. Where are you?”
My heart dropped and it took several heartbeats for me to find my voice.
“I’m right here,” I whispered, panic rising in my throat like acid. “You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.”
I tore at the hem of my shirt, ripping it into a makeshift bandage, hands shaking as I pressed it hard against the wound in his shoulder. He flinched, his jaw clenched, but he didn’t cry out.
“You’re bleeding bad, but I can stop it,” I murmured, mostly to keep myself from spiraling.
I ripped his clothes, searching for the wound, and found an ugly slash on his shoulder.
I pressed down on the wound, ignoring the way his blood soaked through the cloth, while locked on the gush too close to his eye. “Stay awake, Gabriel. Stay with me.”
“Just need to rest,” he murmured, closing his eyes.
“You’re not dying on me, you hear me?”
His next words were slurred as he muttered, “So bossy.”
I glanced toward the hallway, searching for Anya and Jet.
They were gone.
The place where they’d fallen was empty, no sign of them anywhere. There was just a pair of shallow indentations in the dust and a swirl of plaster on the ground where they’d been.
“Jet?” I screamed. “Anya?”
My answer was silence, along with Gabriel’s harsh breaths and my thundering heart.
They were gone. Fuck!
They were gone, but my anger was very present. In fact, it grew by the second. I was infuriated at my brother for putting us in whatever danger this presented. I was beyond furious that due to his scheming, Gabriel lay in my arms bleeding. How could he leave? How could he not stay and help?
“When I get my hands on him, I’m going to murder him myself,” I muttered under my breath while I stared at the empty room for too long, trying to decide whether to scream or run or tear the house apart with my bare hands.
Gabriel groaned again, and I turned back to him, my priorities crystallizing. He was here. He needed me now.
“Don’t you dare pass out,” I told him. “I swear to God, Gabriel, stay awake. You better not die on me.”
His fingers twitched near mine.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he tried to tease, but I couldn’t find humor in it. “Is Anya okay?” I hesitated just enough to cause him to panic. “Amara, is Anya okay?”
I swallowed. “They’re gone.”
He opened his mouth to answer when footsteps echoed through the rubble, coming fast from the back of the house.
I twisted around just as a tall figure emerged. Broad shoulders. Dark clothes. A familiar silhouette that made my chest seize.
“Kian,” I gasped.
He took in the scene—Gabriel bleeding; me covered in dust and blood, crouched over him, and the wreckage of the house collapsing around us—before he moved toward us.
“What the hell happened?” He glanced around. “Where is Anya?”
“Jet and Anya disappeared. Please help me,” I begged. “He’s losing blood and his eyes… He can’t see.”
Something dark passed over Kian’s face, but he didn’t waste time asking questions.
He dropped beside me, and the two of us got Gabriel to his feet, then made our way out of the debris.
And just like that, our own survival began.