Page 111 of Wicked Salvation

She looks like she’s bleeding straight from her soul. Yet when her eyes meet mine she manages a soft smile. She smiles like she didn’t think I’d come. Like she thought this was it—and now that I’m here, she can let go.

And she does, her body crumpling.

“Eden!”

I reach her in time. I drop to my knees and catch her before her head hits stone. Her body folds into mine, trembling and broken. Her blood seeps through my shirt in seconds. My hands, my arms, and my chest are all soaked.

“Stay with me,” I choke. “Stay the fuck with me, please.”

I pull her tighter against me, cradle the back of her head, press my cheek to her temple like I can hold her soul in place just by being close enough.

She exhales, but it’s too slow.

It’s too shallow.

“I killed him,” her voice is as thin as the wind. “I’m free, Lucy.”

Her pulse is faint against my wrist. “I’m proud of you, Edie.” The words slip from me, even though I’m certainnowisn’t the time or place to talk about this.

Her lips are pale and cracking. Her mouth moves but no sound comes out, but her lips wrap around each word like she’s praying, like she knows how close she is to death.

“No, no,” I breathe, fury rising behind my ribs. “You’re not leaving me. You’re not. I just got you back. I just got you back.”

I slide my arm under her knees, the other behind her shoulders, and lift her.

She’s too light, and Eden should never be this light.

The Eden I know? She should be full of heat and defiance and fire—cursing me for being dramatic, for always barging into her ruin and trying to fix it.

Her head lolls against my chest, and I start running.

My feet hammer the ground. My vision blurs, but I blink it away. I can’t afford to fall. Not now. Not when I’ve already failed her once. This is my fault.

I let her go alone.

Told myself it would be fine.

Told myself ten minutes wouldn’t matter.

I thought I had time.

I thought I’d planned for everything, as if evil waits politely while you finish making arrangements. As if Silas—fucking Silas—would ever let her walk away unpunished. I thought embarrassment would send him into hiding.

I was arrogant, and now she’s bleeding out in my arms.

I press my mouth to her bloody temple.

“Just hold on,” I whisper again. “Please. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

My words are paper-thin, and don’t even sound believable to my own ears. They’re useless against the weight pressing down on my chest. Underneath my pleading, underneath my panic, is a truth so loud I can barely breathe around it.

If Eden dies, I have nothing.

My name doesn’t matter.

My family’s wealth doesn’t matter.

None of the havoc I wreaked matters.