Page 67 of Immortal Consequences (The Souls of Blackwood Academy #1)

Olivier

He was so heavy.

For as small as Emilio appeared to be, the full weight of his limp body was enough to knock the breath out of Olivier’s lungs. But Olivier would carry him through hell and back if it meant finding a way to save him.

They hurtled into his room like a blood-soaked tornado. Olivier gently placed Emilio on his bed and instantly began ransacking his room for something to heal him. A sewing needle. A pin. Christ, he’d use a stapler if it would work.

He was elbow-deep in his closet when he heard Emilio make a noise behind him. A whispered word muffled by a soft whimper.

Olivier whirled around, frantic. “What is it? Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“Just—” Emilio strained to look at him. His face was so pale. “Come lie with me.”

“I have to keep looking. There has to be something—”

“The cut is too deep. You can’t fix it.”

“Shut up.” Olivier kept looking. His hands trembled. His tears blurred his vision. “I’m going to fix you.”

“Please.”

No. He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t just let Emilio fade away. He couldn’t. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. Emilio was the best of them, the only one worth a damn in this godforsaken place. If anybody needed to make it, it was him. Olivier would make sure of it.

He just needed more time.

“Hold on. Please. Just give me a second.” Olivier wasn’t sure who he was speaking to anymore. Emilio. The universe. God. Anybody who was listening. Anybody who could help. He dug through the cabinets, his clothes falling around him. “There has to be something in here…anything…”

“Olivier.”

The sound of his own name snapped him back to his senses. He froze with his hands buried in a pile of clothes. He shut his eyes, grimacing. But he couldn’t ignore Emilio’s call. He summoned the courage he had left and turned around.

Emilio was lying on his bed, clutching his wound, blood leaking from between his fingers. His lips trembled through a soft smile.

“Lie down with me.”

Olivier’s legs moved beneath him. When he reached the bed, he slumped down next to Emilio. He didn’t care about the blood soaking his sheets. The blood staining his shirt and his skin.

He just needed to be near him.

“You have to fight,” Olivier whispered, cradling Emilio’s shoulders. He gently guided Emilio’s head onto his chest. “For me. Please.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know.”

Emilio let out a breath, but the sound was wrong. “I tried to—to run. But I wasn’t…I wasn’t fast enough.”

“That doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I’m sorry I failed.”

Olivier shook his head and placed a hand against Emilio’s forehead. He brushed his damp hair away from his eyes.

“Don’t be silly. You’re here. You did it. And now you just have to hold on—”

“But I’m tired.”

“We have to stay awake.” It was a plea. A bargain.

Emilio closed his eyes. “Promise me you’ll stay.”

“Till the end.”

“My…knight in shining…armor.” Emilio’s voice was thready, barely audible.

Olivier cupped his face. “Hey. Look at me. Don’t—don’t go. I need you, okay? I need you here.”

“I’m…here.” Emilio’s lips curved into a soft smile, though his eyelids had begun to flutter closed.

Panic swept through Olivier as he gently shook Emilio’s face. “Emilio. Come on. Just hold on a little longer.”

Emilio inhaled a shaky breath, his eyes sluggishly opening. “Why don’t…you tell me…a story.”

Olivier blinked in surprise.

“A—a story?”

“It can be…anything,” Emilio choked out. His bloodied hand gripped Olivier’s wrist like a lifeline. “Just…tell me about…your old life. Tell me about…what you can remember.”

“Okay.” Olivier nodded frantically. He would do anything, say anything, if it meant keeping Emilio awake. “I…I grew up in a small town outside Paris. About…forty minutes away from the city, by coach.”

Emilio hummed. “I always…wanted to go to Paris.” He coughed, and blood spluttered onto his lips. “When…did you…die?”

Olivier wiped the smear of blood with the back of his hand. “Late eighteen hundreds. I think. I can’t…I can’t fully remember.”

Emilio chuckled, the sound raw and broken. “Old…man…”

Olivier couldn’t help but laugh, wiping away the tears prickling at his eyes. “Eighteen is not old.”

“I wish…I could have met you…then.”

“I don’t.” Olivier shook his head. “When I first arrived at Blackwood…I was nothing. Just an obstinate fool fumbling through eternity. I was careless. Reckless. Free-falling through purgatory. But then you showed up…” Olivier cupped Emilio’s cheek with a trembling hand.

“You showed up and I swore I could feel my heart beating again. Sometimes I think…I think I was never truly alive until I met you.” He pressed his forehead against Emilio’s.

“That’s why I need you to stay. For me. Even if that makes me selfish.

Even if you hate me for it. Because the truth is—I cannot bear the thought of eternity without you. ”

Emilio shut his eyes. He was drifting, slowly fading.

Olivier promised himself he’d stay awake.

Remain vigilant. Even if Emilio fell asleep, he’d force himself to fight the exhaustion and keep his eyes open.

The truth was, a part of him feared that if he dared to look away, if he allowed even a moment of weakness, Emilio would slip through his fingers and disappear.

But the longer he stayed like this, with Emilio in his arms and the weight of exhaustion pressing against his bones, the more he found himself succumbing to the inevitable pressure of sleep.

Because sometimes the exhaustion is too much to bear.

And sometimes promises aren’t enough.