Page 109 of Wicked Salvation

Ten minutes, I told her. Just ten minutes to collect her things.

I offered to come with her. She said it would be faster if she went alone.

I told her to wait for me. Begged her to.

But she told me she needed time to be alone with her thoughts and the ten minutes was all she needed. I let her go—partly because I needed time to explain things to my parents. To soften the blow before I brought her home.

The woman who I embarrassed in front of London’s high society.

I needed time to explain to my mum that the very woman she told me not to hurt, to handle with care—I’ll be bringing her to their home, broken and bruised. I didn’t want another war since Eden is so frayed at the edges.

Because Mum would have surely started one with me.

By the time I got off the call, everything was settled. Mum handed my ass to me while my father watched in quiet amusement. The jet had been charted, her name cleared with our private security team. Mum also agreed to give her the suitein the west wing—tall windows, warm floors, bookshelves that I planned to fill with everything she loved. A view of the garden where no one ever walked, so she could breathe without being watched.

Eden will be safe with me.

The call ends—and that’s when I realize it’s been nearly an hour since she left.

The sun is dying outside, casting long, sharp shadows across the flora. I’ve always loved the rich gold that makes everything look straight out of a movie.

I call her.

Nothing.

It doesn’t ring.

There’s no warm, playfully annoyed voice on the other end telling me I’m being overprotective. I’m already on my feet before the panic finishes forming, moving before the fear finds a shape.

I leave the cottage—stride turning to a jog, jog turning to a sprint. The wind bites, but I don’t feel it. Every step pounds into me like a countdown, like I’m already too late.

The dormitories loom ahead, gothic and silent.

When I get to the Girls’ Dormitory, I push the doors open so harsh they slam against the walls. Girls scatter out of my way as I run up the steps to Eden’s dorm room. She wanted to get the last of her clothes. Since she was certain her parents would cut her off, the clothes she had at school was all she had left.

It didn’t matter how many times I reassured her that I would spare no expense to get her everything she needed, or that my mother would be beyond excited to take her on shopping trips. Eden was insistent.

So I let her.

She had to endure so much to develop a backbone that I wasn’t about to stand in her way. Now, as my heart is beating sofast it might jump out of my chest—I wonder if that was the right choice to make.

I get to Eden’s door and knock.

There’s no response but the door creaks open.

That’s not good. Adrenaline burns in my throat. I push the door, and what I see stops me in my tracks. There she is.

Not Eden, but Anastazya.

Her body lies in the middle of the room, neck twisted unnaturally, eyes blown wide. Her mouth is still parted. A single rose-colored smear of blood has dried on her lip. There’s more pooling behind her skull—congealed now. The smell of it is faint but metallic.

Her blonde hair fans out like a halo, mockingly perfect.

But she’s dead.

She’s dead.

And Eden? She’s nowhere.