Page 91

WES

T he force by which Mara launched herself into Belinda sent the woman careening backward, straight into the inferno that had consumed the Presidential Office of Telvia.

Belinda’s blood-curdling scream pierced my ears more harshly than the deafening sound of the gun firing or the ear-splitting resonance of the window shattering from the sweltering heat.

As her black dress went up in flames—charring her skin, burning her hair to nothing more than embers and ash—her screams reverberated in my skull.

She flailed and thrashed in futile efforts to wipe away the hungry flames that consumed her alive.

And the sound of her shrill wail as she fell to her death through the broken window—framed by billowing plumes of black smoke that poured out into the morning air—were nothing compared to the thunderous roar that emanated from deep within me as I saw Mara…

My promised…

My heart…

My love …

My broken soul…

Collapse to the ground in a heap of bones and flesh and skin and blood that clung to the edges of life. Because that bullet—that fucking one bullet—found a target, and that target was her.

I fell to her side, feeling aches and pains and injuries and wounds that I couldn’t even begin to give a shit about.

And my body groaned in protest. But it didn’t matter—nothing fucking mattered—because Mara had collapsed in front of me.

Her name left my lips in a ragged breath as I searched for a way to staunch her bleeding.

She moaned as she rolled onto her back. “Wes?”

Fuck, there was a lot of blood. Too much blood. I pulled on the fabric of her jumpsuit, tearing it, revealing the gunshot wound that was leaking bubbles of syrupy blood in her chest.

“Shh, don’t talk, okay?” I searched her utility belt. “Where’s your first aid, love? Where’d you stash it?” My hands shook, and I hated how panicky my heart felt.

“My mom…” she uttered softly.

“She’s safe,” I said, tearing off the zipper of a pouch.

“I got her out. Damn it , Mara, where—” I gazed at her eyes, watched her lids close.

“No!” I gripped her face in my hands. Made her look at me.

“Don’t go anywhere, Mara. I need you to stay with me, okay?

Where’s your first aid? Please tell me you packed first aid,” I said more desperately, too aware of the black smoke filling the room, and the sweltering heat causing sweat to bead on my brow, and the glow of orange and yellow and red that colored the throne room of a fallen king.

“Right…side,” she muttered, and christ her voice was weak. Too fucking weak.

I reached over, tore the bag open, and watched as an assortment of first aid littered the floor. And then I saw it. A plastic pouch of white powder—hydrophilic polymer and potassium ferrate. It took me all of ten seconds to rip off the top of the bag and pour its contents onto her wound .

Three. She had fucking three bullet wounds, but this was the one that was stealing her from me. I watched the powder clump and slow the bleeding. But it didn’t stop. It wasn’t fucking stopping.

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

My brain registered the alarm, but I didn’t understand, and I didn’t care.

“Wes…”

I looked at her. Cupped her cheek. Brought my face down to hers as her eyes began to close. “Don’t do that, Mara. Not today. We’re not doing this today. Open your eyes for me.”

Her lashes fluttered as she took a shuddering breath. “The airstrike…” she said. “Time’s…up.”

I jerked my gaze to her tab. Saw four red zeros blinking at me with each shrieking beep. I didn’t care. It could all burn, because if Mara died…

If I couldn’t save her…

Then I didn’t want to live.

Glass shattered, dragging my attention to the fire that had all but consumed the office. I had to get us out of here or we were both going to burn alive. I looked back at her wound. Saw the blood still oozing out, slowly clotting, but not nearly clotted enough.

“Wes…”

I dragged my gaze over her once more, saw those bottomless brown eyes prepared to dive into the depths of surrender.

“I love…you.” She exhaled, eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“No!” I screamed, pulling her up into my arms and standing. I tucked her into me and ran like my life depended on it. “Stay with me, Mara. Please, for the love of fucking god, stay with me.”

My body cried out with the effort, but I didn’t care. She had to live. It was the only code I lived by. Mara had to live. And I would do anything and everything in my power to make that happen…or die trying .

I ran through the dilapidated halls of hell as fire raged and burned my skin.

I fought my way through obstacles of falling wood beams and smoke so thick it choked and so hot it scorched my lungs.

I fucking ran, and the entire time I begged .

I begged the universe to let her live, to allow her to survive, to make her stay. With. Me.

Because Mara was everything I ever wanted.

From the first time I saw her, to the moment she had chosen me for who I was, giving all of herself to me.

I had loved and craved and wanted and needed nothing more and nothing else but her.

Because Mara was the dawning sun and the moon and the stars and the birds and the trees and the fucking galaxy to me.

She was my universe.

My promised.

And so when I finally broke through the front doors of the Presidential Palace and rested her body on the artificial lawns of Telvia, too limp and too cold to be normal, I fucking broke.

I shattered.

I disintegrated.

My stone crumbled into the soft, supple petals of a fresh white rose.

And even as my hands rested over her sternum and pumped quick, hard jerks against her…

And even as I tipped her head back, opened her mouth, and breathed oxygen into her lungs…

And even as I counted thirty chest compressions again—1, 2, 3, 4—and breathed into her once more…

I imploded.

I imploded and then exploded and then splintered and cracked and ruptured into gasping sobs as fucking tears clouded my vision.

“Fuck, please no,” I begged, scooping her up into my arms once more and pressing her against me as my face buried into her hair.

“Don’t leave me… Open your eyes and come back to me, love.

Please ,” I cried, pulling her back enough to press my forehead against hers and brush my nose along her cheek with desperate whispers of surrender.

“I love you, Mara. Please come back to me…come home. Please come home to me.” And then I kissed her.

I pressed my lips against hers, and hoped and prayed and wished for what I feared might only be a desperate dream.

I kissed her.

And I tasted sugar, and caramel, and chocolate—all the things I remembered her to taste like. And her lips were still soft and her tongue still warm and I swore—I swore —I could feel her heart beating even though I knew she was already gone beyond my reach. I kissed her anyway.

And when I pulled back to stare at her beautiful face one last time, I felt my own heart stop as I took one shuddering breath.

Because Mara— my Mara—opened her eyes.