Page 39

GWYN

I didn’t mean to scream. I’ve seen people I love die. I’ve seen strangers die. But I’ve never screamed over death until tonight. Slumped against the wall, a man with light blue eyes stares lifelessly, and I realize it’s Adam. I can’t help the noise that escapes me, and I crumple to my knees.

Because I’m the murderer, and this man was innocent.

There’s blood all over his shirt, staining his palms that rest in his lap. His phone has slid out of his grip, and it begins to ring as I watch, and I feel hollow. The contact photo features a woman with the same blue eyes and dimples, but she’s a little younger than him. A sister, I wonder?

Violently, regret and horror rip up my throat in heaving sobs.

I can’t see anything except the lifeless man whose death I caused.

I think maybe I’ve blacked out when everything goes dark, but strong arms wrap around me and pull me to my feet.

It’s Roman, and nothing is right or fair, but he’s got me, and whatever happens, it’ll all be alright.

He’ll either kill me or protect me and I don’t know which I prefer, but I can’t stop the sounds or the pain or the fear or the heartbreak, and I just want it all to go quiet.

I want to go back to a simpler time, but there is no fucking simpler time.

There never has been. I was born into something that could never give me a peaceful life.

There was never a chance for my dreams or hopes because of what I’ve inherited.

Not with my ancestry, not with the choices I’ve been forced to make, not with Roman, not with anyone. Not even by myself.

Because look at what I’ve done, all on my own.

I want things to go dark and quiet, and I want to be alone—forever.

Roman walks me backward, carrying me more than anything, but he keeps me hidden.

He keeps me covered. He doesn’t let me see Adam, and I don’t know if it’s intentional or not, but I have to be thankful.

If he breaks my neck or throws me to the police or whatever else he might do, I have to be grateful, because it’s what I deserve, but at least I can’t see the evidence of my own desolation.

It’s not my first murder, but it’s the only one I’ve never meant.

And it’s so different. So very fucking different.

I can’t breathe, and I think maybe Roman’s causing it on purpose.

If he squeezes me hard enough, I’ll pass out, even if I won’t die, but goddamn, if only he could end all of this for me.

I think he might be the only one of the two of us brave enough to actually fucking do it.

“Get her out of here,” Roman says, and then he’s letting go of me, and I can’t handle it. I don’t want to go. I don’t want him to go, and it’s insane, and he fucking hates me, but that’s what I deserve.

In that surety, I can grieve. In that truth, I can find hope in the inevitability of his retribution.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Hale’s voice whispers in my ear, and my sobs renew because I don’t deserve him.

I deserve harsh words and vicious fists and instead, the only one who can give that to me tosses me aside.

To Hale. To the man who is now a vampire, who has lost all his magic because of me, who only got involved with all of this because he loves me, and he’s wrapping me within wiry arms I fear aren’t strong enough to contain everything straining to break free.

He’s not big enough to hold me the way I need, his slim frame unable to shut everything out when I crave the dark.

“I’ve got you,” he says, and he’s petting my hair as he turns me away from the crowd.

It’s growing louder every second, and I have to get out of here, but I can barely walk, can barely stand, can barely exist.

“Carry her,” comes Nico’s voice, and I choke on my reflexive protest when Hale cradles me in his arms with ease, his vampire strength making it possible, and it feels so fucking wrong and strange and awful, and all I want is to die.

But when I close my eyes, I see light blue and dimples and a sister.

I see a sister waiting for him to answer the call.

She was probably wishing her big brother a happy new year, but I've introduced her to a new hell instead.

It will be a year of firsts that all involve a missing piece.

Missed birthdays and anniversaries and holidays—each absence that I missed acutely when wading through my own grief.

If only I’d drowned in it.

I turn my head, retching onto the ground because I can’t hold it back.

“Jesus Christ,” Nico says, but I’m in a car a moment later, and the taxi driver is yelling about my puking.

Nico barks out a command, and we’re flying through the streets.

I don’t know why my consciousness refuses to let go as I curl into my friend’s embrace.

Perhaps my own mind knows it would be a kindness I don’t deserve.

I get dizzy despite my closed eyes, and my sobbing turns into something else. Like a sieve, every emotion drains from me slowly, until there’s nothing left.

By the time we get to the compound, I’m a husk of a person.

“You can sleep in my bed—at Margot’s place,” Hale says as he’s putting me in the elevator. Nico is silent in the corner, but if looks could kill, I’d finally find some relief. I don’t even have the energy to question Hale about what the hell he’s doing living in Roman’s best friend’s apartment.

“No,” I say. “I want my dog.”

“He’ll be okay for a night. I’ll go let him out once I get you?—”

“I said no. I want Zuul. I want my dog.”

Because he’s the one creature I haven’t let down in all this time. He’s been my truest companion. With dogs, there is no duty or familial obligation. Only love. Zuul is the purest thing I have in my life, and I want to make the most of my days left with him.

Because one day soon, I’ll be gone, and he’ll go to someone who has a big backyard and takes him on walks every day. He might be a German shepherd, known for cold intelligence, but he’s a soft boy who has had a soft life.

I want him to have a softer life after all of this. No shitting in rooftop flowerbeds. No owner constantly under threat by their mind or their enemies. Just peace. He deserves that.

When Hale punches the number to Margot’s floor, I lose my shit.

“I swear to god, Hale. I just want my fucking dog.”

I press the button to the mezzanine level so I can swap to the private elevator in Bjorn’s office. My irritation has somehow managed to snap me out of that desolate haze, but I don’t know how long it will last.

When I get out, Hale follows but Nico stays inside the elevator. It’s weird to have this kind of unimpeded freedom within the compound. It’s relatively quiet, and I bet everyone is out celebrating the holiday. We don’t pass a single soul as we head to Bjorn’s office.

And we don’t speak either.

Not until the elevator doors shut and I’ve punched in the code and we’re moving.

“People are so smelly,” Hale says. “Did you struggle with that at first too? I mean, I assumed everyone showers like once a day, maybe once every other day, but now with my new sniffing powers, I’m pretty sure no one bathes nearly enough. Or maybe everyone just smells bad all the time.”

I laugh for his sake, knowing what this is. It’s proof of life, in a way. If I can laugh, then I’m not completely dead inside, right?

“I think it’s both. I think everyone just gets dirty fast but also people don’t know how to wash themselves. I mean, hello, some people don’t even use a washcloth in the shower.”

“Gross,” Hale says, but he steps closer, tucking my arm into his. I look at him in the reflection of the metal elevator doors, and I search for differences with his Ascended body.

His skin is clearer, and his hair looks a bit more luxurious than I remember, but he mostly looks the same way he does on a night when he’s really feeling himself. I wonder if it’s because of the witch’s blood. He’s just as much a descendant of Ansi’s creations as I am.

I lay my head on his shoulder a moment before the elevator shudders to a halt. “Thanks, Hale,” I say, and when the doors open, I remove my arm from his grasp. “I want to be alone.”

“I want to drop everything I’m doing and go to Belize, but here we are,” he says, following me through the door and into the foyer of Bjorn’s penthouse. “I’m staying for a little while,” he says.

“No.” I shake my head. “I need to be alone. I just did something horrible, and I need to sit with that.”

“You didn’t do it on purpose,” he says, and I shrug.

As if that matters. “Listen, I’m here now, and I’m not leaving you.

I’m sorry I haven’t been around. It’s just been…

a lot to process,” he says. “I feel like I’m wearing someone else’s body.

Like all my clothes shrank in the wash and nothing fits quite right anymore.

And without my magic… I don’t know, it's like I’ve lost a sense.

Like I can’t hear anymore. Or I can’t taste my favorite foods.

I don’t know how to explain it. I needed some time, but I’m here now,” he says, bending over to put his forehead against mine.

I close my eyes and appreciate my friend who has been there for so long, through so much. I’ve missed him, and I’m glad he’s here, but I don’t want him to stay. He’s got his own shit going on. The last thing he needs is to make my problems his own.

Because he can’t fix this. He can’t bring Adam back to life. He can’t go back in time and make me less reckless.

Would that he could, but there’s no hope in this.

“I understand,” I say. “Really. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

He sighs before straightening. “Which movie are we watching? Princess Bride? Are we at Princess Bride level?” he asks, giving me a knowing look. A blond curl caresses his forehead, and I tuck it behind his ear. When I don’t answer, he gasps. “Oh my god, are we at Steel Magnolias level?”

“I just want to sleep,” I say. “Really,” I stress when he gives me a dubious look. “I’m tired, and Zuul is enough to keep me company.”

Zuul is enough to keep me from killing myself , is what I mean, but I don’t say it. Hale crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. With pursed lips and a furrowed brow, he stares me down to ascertain if I’m telling the truth or not.

“Bring me your gun,” he demands, and I knew it was coming, so I’m not sure why it annoys me.

“Let me go get it,” I say, and when he moves to follow me, I give a firm, “stay here.” He doesn’t need to see the state of my room.

When I got dressed earlier to meet him, I had cleaned up all the trash, but it’s still a mess.

Half-unpacked boxes are stacked in the corner, and I know I need to change the sheets.

Hale peeks into the room anyway as I’m picking my way over dirty laundry to get the Beretta out of the nightstand drawer. When I hand it over, he removes the magazine and checks the tip-up barrel. He hates guns too much to take it with him, but he’ll remove the threat, all the same.

“As much laundry as I can get done during Princess Bride,” he says. “Then I’ll leave you alone.”

“One load started ,” I counter, trying to soothe him with normalcy. I’m desperately holding myself together at the seams, doing my best to make him think I’ve got it under control.

I don’t—at all. But I think crying in his lap won’t help this time. All I want is to be alone.

“I also get to change your sheets. I can see the crumbs and blood stains from here.”

“Listen, those blood bags are hard?—”

“—to open,” he finishes with me, smile as radiant as always.

“Yeah. Listen, thanks for being here for me…even when…well, you know.”

“Sorry I didn’t come sooner,” he says—even though he doesn’t have to apologize.

He shoves the magazine into his pocket and starts stripping my bed.

We don’t talk, moving together to do this.

It’s not the first time he’s helped me in this way, but maybe it will be the last. For one reason or another.

Later, after he’s left, and I’m spooning Zuul on a bed covered in fresh blankets, I break.

My soul dog startles for a second, but I pet him and reassure him as I sob into his fur.

I want to sleep, but I can’t close my eyes.

Tattooed on my lids is a man whose only crime had been speaking to me.

I can hear Sasha try to justify it in my mind, positing that perhaps he was a bad person or maybe even a neutral person. And he could have been, for all I know.

But it doesn’t matter.

What I did to him was unforgivable. I replay the moment he walked out of that bathroom on my mind in a loop. As he pulled away, did I not lick his puncture wounds to make sure they healed? Did I bite him too hard? Did I bite the wrong spot?

I mortally wounded him while I used him to make Roman jealous. He’d been a pawn in my psychological sex warfare, and it cost him his life.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I roll over, back to back with my dog, and I look at the empty gun on the nightstand.

How had there ever been a time that I thought I was better than the coven full of vampires?

I’m just like them—always have been. How many innocents have been killed because vampires can’t fucking control themselves?

How many innocents have been killed because a feckless waste of breath didn’t know what they were doing?

Perhaps it's time I revisit my original plan with Agnarr.

Maybe I will eat his heart after all. Maybe I command every single one of us to die. Then maybe I finally will have the willpower to do what I’ve longed for.

I reach for the gun in a fit of fury before flopping onto my back. Slowly, I place the barrel in my mouth—just to see how it feels.

Zuul doesn’t even startle when I pull the trigger.

I knew it was empty, but at this moment, I have a hard time telling the difference between relief and disappointment.