Page 56 of Goldrage (The Chrysophilist Trilogy #3)

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

DANTE

B AM!

Time stops. My heart stops. Everything stops.

Except Julian.

Blood pours from the hole in his temple. It spills out his nose. His eyes are already glass, crying a sea of red.

His body crumbles and falls over Lady Harrow.

Aurelia is screaming. I’m screaming.

Then I’m with my brother, cradling him to my chest. Sounds I’ve never heard are tearing from my throat and I’ve lost all ability to think rationally.

“Julian.” I shake him. “Julian.”

Nothing.

“Take a fucking breath! Breathe, Julian! Speak!” I clutch him tighter and rock back and forth like I’m trying to shake him back to life. “Please. Please. Please, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Just speak to me…”

But sorry doesn’t bring back the dead. Sorry doesn’t erase the years of rivalry, the bitter words, the wasted time. The distance. The lack of actions. Sorry doesn’t fill the Julian-shaped hole where my heart should be.

I press my face into his neck and weep. My brother. My rival. My family.

Gone.

Aurelia drops to her knees beside me and screams again. She takes Julian’s limp hand and cups it against her cheek and sobs out words that are unintelligible.

I had a lifetime to save him, to save us, and I waited too long.

Why did I wait so long?

Why didn’t I take his hand as a child and just run away?

Aurelia, Julian, me—we could’ve all run away. Regardless of any love triangle, we would’ve been alive. Breathing.

“Just fucking breathe,” I croak out. “Julian, why would you do this? You can’t… leave me…”

I feel Aurelia’s palm on my shoulder, but I don’t look up. I cradle my brother and cry for an eternity.

When my throat is finally too raw and my head is pounding, I gaze into Julian’s empty eyes and smooth hair along his forehead. My brother’s body is now cold, and all I can think is that I’ve become exactly what I always feared: a man who destroys everything he touches. Even love. Especially love.

I failed him.

The floor beneath us is an ocean of red, and I’m drowning in it. Drowning in the terrible truth that I’ll carry this weight forever.

My brother is dead, and I’m the one who has to live with that.