Page 25

Chapter 25

AIRLIE

I have a family.

A father, a real father.

And Ezekiel knows him.

The revelation replays through my mind as my heart beats rapidly in my chest like a wild beast is chasing me. Faster than it did before Ezekiel arrived. I can hear whatever’s left of my blood whooshing loudly in my eardrums while I lie here and watch the array of emotions cross Ezekiel’s face as he and Father Grimsby talk .

Sharp, searing pain radiates through my palms and pulsates on a loop throughout my entire body.

I almost died today.

If it weren’t for Ezekiel, I know that I would have.

The offensive, metallic stench, a combination of blood and flesh, permeates the air around us, masking the noxious smell of incense and burning candle wax, and for that, I am thankful.

I hate that awful, holy smell.

Because whenever Father burns them, the opposite of anything holy happens.

I knew that if Father Grimsby ever found out about my pet man, the consequences, not just for me but also for Ezekiel, would be dire. Yet, it still didn’t stop me from keeping him.

I’m glad that I did.

The problem we are faced with now, with Father being aware that Ezekiel and I love each other, is that Father wants me all to himself. The two horrible men did say something like that to me. Why else would Father hide me from the others all these years if he didn’t want to share?

Ezekiel will not allow Father to touch me ever again.

I know that for sure.

It’s one of the very prominent tells on Ezekiel’s beautiful, blood-covered face whenever he looks at me. Father would notice this, and I fear his reaction to that the most.

Ezekiel traces small, soft circles on my skin, yet his eyes do not waver from where Father Grimsby stands, twirling around a small, gold object and whispering prayers for who I assume are the dead men lying on the floor before him. I cannot see them from up here.

Ezekiel doesn’t look like he cares about Father’s discovery, but I sense that his coldness may just be on purpose. That gold thing is important to him.

Father walks out of sight and, behind where Ezekiel stands by my side, his shoulders noticeably stiffen, his manner morphing into something I don’t recognize as he shares one more glance at me and winks a sky-blue eye.

What? What does that mean? What is he planning?

I don’t move. I don’t really have a choice as my exhausted, tired body writhes in pain. My inability to move prevents me from seeing Father approach Ezekiel from behind and hurting him with… something .

I want to cry.

I want to ask Ezekiel if he is okay, but he spins on his heels, retrieving the small blade protruding from beneath his ribcage, almost on the side of his back.

“A bit obvious, don’t you think, old man?” Ezekiel reaches around, taking his eyes off Father, and pulls the blade from his skin, dropping it to the floor.

Blood gushes from the wound, but Ezekiel appears completely unbothered by it. My eyes flick to Father, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this mad.

“You think you can destroy years of hard fucking work, boy? All because of one insignificant girl? That’s the only reason Titan bothered to take us down in the first place, and we both know it. He wouldn’t have cared about The Royal otherwise!” Father says, his voice betraying the array of emotions written on his face.

He’s afraid.

I’ve never seen Father fearful of anything before. Not in my nineteen years.

Ezekiel says nothing as he glares down at Father. I realize now that Ezekiel is taller, his body much more powerful, and broader than the older man who stands before him, and for the first time in my life, Father looks small. Ezekiel takes a step toward him, and then another, until he is standing toe to toe with the man who has hurt me in every way possible.

“She and her mother may have been the reason why Titan came for you and your fucking pedophile ring, but I can assure you that it was me who killed Charles and Valerie,” Ezekiel growls as he leans in closer to Father, getting into his face. Blood still drips from his body, saturating the skin surrounding the wound where Father stabbed him. “It was me who killed your precious niece, Ursa,” he takes another calculated step forward, forcing Father to tread backward.

He killed Ursa?

Unfamiliar excitement coils in my stomach as I watch the love of my life morph from man to beast.

“And it will be me who gets the honor of killing you. And when I tear your fucking limbs off for laying a single fucking hand on a child,” Ezekiel's neck tilts, making him appear ungodly, and the fear in Father’s eyes will be like a scar, forever etched in my brain. “It will be me who gets to brag about your death when Titan comes to get his daughter.”

My chest tightens as a deep thrill clings to my weakening heart when Father falls back to the floor, tripping on a dead body. I careen my neck and adjust my hips a little, conjuring the strength to do so from somewhere, before rolling onto my side as far as I can to watch as Ezekiel kills Father.

Ezekiel's on him in a matter of seconds. His fists meet Father Grimsby’s face with bone-crunching punches, pounding his head over and over again. The sound of Father’s muffled cries of pain is something I've never heard before. I wait for Ezekiel to stop, but he doesn't. Not until a loud bang fills the room, causing him to pause.

Ezekiel's arm is raised mid-air, and my heart lodges in my throat.

He's hurt.

Father hurt him.

That noise.

Father shifts, taking advantage of Ezekiel’s distraction, or is it pain, before he stands, kicking him hard in his injured ribs. I have to do something. Ezekiel is hurt, and I’m finding it hard to think straight. I try to stand. Liquid fire courses rapidly through my stiff muscles, igniting me from the inside out. I bite my tongue, careful not to alert Father of my movements because whatever loud noise has hurt Ezekiel, it could hurt me too, and then I won't be able to help him.

I look up. Father has dragged Ezekiel over to the large window that touches the ceiling, but Ezekiel is fighting back. It looks as if he has been swimming in blood, but I cannot tell if it belongs to him or the dead men with missing faces and decapitated heads lying haphazardly on the floor.

Disgusting.

I'm proud of him.

Blood gushes from my mouth as I bite down on my tongue, my teeth piercing through it as I try not to cry out in pain. My skin prickles in a sheen of sweat as I move my bloodied feet, inching my body closer to the edge so I can hang my legs over the side of the stone table where, just minutes ago, I almost died.

My vision blurs, and my body trembles, a bout of queasiness crashing into me as I try to stand. I look over at Father. His body leans over Ezekiel's, whose back is on the ground, fighting and intercepting each of Father’s blows.

Another loud bang fills the air, and the window glass shatters into millions of infinitesimal shards. Shivers of glass hit my face and body, its broken pieces now covering most of the floor. Ezekiel is shouting something at him, but I cannot hear his voice. I can’t hear anything over the sound of my heartbeat, hammering loudly in my ears as I will my body to keep moving.

It's odd, really.

Part of me feels the pain. The other part of me feels like I'm on the outside looking in, watching the scene unfold from another's eyes. I take advantage of this grace and slowly bend to pick up the small silver blade Father used to stab Ezekiel. It's covered in blood, and I wipe it on the cloak wrapped around my body so it doesn't slip from my fingers. My hand clutches the hilt tightly, sending fire surging down my arm, but I pretend it's not there.

I need to help Ezekiel.

He’s the only thing that matters to me, and I won't let him die for me.

“You will not win this, boy! You will not kill me!” Father screams, Ezekiel’s skin a little paler as his head hangs out the window and over the edge of the frame. His body is still inside, allowing Father access to punch the delicate place covered in scars on his ribcage. Scars that are only there because I was too weak to carry him to safety the day I found him.

Slowly, I walk over and stand behind Father, and Ezekiel's eyes meet mine.

Leave.

Run to safety.

He is absolutely mad if he thinks I would leave him like this. Despite the look on Ezekiel's face, I hold out my shaky hand and grip the knife even tighter. Pushing past the searing pain in my palm, I raise my free hand, fisting a handful of Father’s hair, and wrench his head back sharply toward me. Ezekiel’s words are muffled as I slide the sharp blade across Father's throat with as much strength as I can rally, making sure the wound is deep and precise. He falls back, and a vulgar, gurgling noise comes from his now gaping throat. I hover above his dying frame and stab everywhere I can.

I want him dead.

I want him to suffer for hurting Ezekiel.

The blade stabs through the fabric covering his large stomach, his heart, and then his chest.

I can’t stop.

I don’t want to.

Flashes of memories fly through my mind.

His filthy hands all over my body.

His filthy hands on my mother’s body.

I raise the blade and bring it back down with more strength than I can afford to use, slicing through the material, his exposed protruding stomach now a mess of flesh, blood, and intestines.

He was going to sacrifice me to his men. They were going to eat me. They were drinking my blood, and they weren’t going to stop until my heart finally stopped beating. He took everything from me. But he still doesn’t have me. And I hope his soul suffers for all eternity in the purgatory in the sky.

The room spins around me, Ezekiel's words even quieter as a coldness surrounds me, like a blanket of ice draped over my body. My body is screaming, but I can't speak from the pain. I move my hands, distorted and doubled, and all I see is gore and blood. Ezekiel holds me in his arms, rocking back and forth, but I don't feel it. I don’t even feel like my body is my own anymore, yet I feel everything at the same time.

“It's okay now, baby. I'm so fucking proud of you. You got him, Airlie. He's dead,” Ezekiel's voice brings me out of my trance, and a breath escapes my lips. “You're in shock, Little Siren, but you're gonna be okay,” he soothes, kissing atop my head and then my forehead.

His face and body are covered in blood, but I think he looks spellbinding like this.

Enchanting.

I open my mouth to speak, but my throat feels dry. Instead, I move in Ezekiel's arms, rolling my eyes over his body to see how badly he's hurt. He must notice because he looks down at his side, where blood pools from a small, dark red piece of flesh missing from the side of his body.

“I’m okay, baby. It's just a flesh wound. The bullet only scathed me.”

I don't know what he means, but I nod. I have yet to learn about the outside world, but I mentally note that I should ask him what a bullet is.

I’ll ask tomorrow.

Burrowing deeper into his hold, I realize I never want him to let me go. My eyes fall on the man who lies dead at my side. His grey hair now blood red, and his dark eyes are even darker, black, I realize, as his evil, demonic soul leaves his lifeless body on a one-way ticket to Hell.

My head is pounding, my body throbbing, but nothing feels as bad as when I saw Ezekiel hurt. “I-I love you, Stranger,” I whisper. My throat feels like I've swallowed glass, and considering we're sitting in a pile of it, it wouldn't surprise me if I have.

“Say it again,” Ezekiel says, his bloodied face lightly caressing mine before he nuzzles into my neck and hair.

“I love you.”

“If anything happens to me after this moment, I'll be dying a very happy man, Little Siren,” he says, wearing a coy smile.

“Why is that?” I ask. I want to know everything about him. How his mind works, what he likes and doesn't like. I want it all with him.

“Nobody has ever told me that they love me before, Airlie. I don't know a single person who would have saved me. Out on the rocks the day you found me, and here a few minutes ago. No one is waiting for me back home to talk to, to tell them I’m alive, let alone how my day went. I am just me. I have no family. Nothing . I have nothing to offer you. I'm just a ghost, baby,” his voice cracks, his warm breath heavy on my neck as I take in his words.

He's torturing himself, but it isn't necessary.

I know what I want, and I'm no longer allowing a man to tell me what that is.

“If you're a ghost with nothing, Ezekiel, then I am a phantom with everything. Because now that I have you, there is nothing else in this world that I could possibly want more.”

Bright blue eyes meet mine, and my heart stops at how remarkably wonderful he is. He leans in, pressing his bloodied lips to mine, and I've never tasted anything more beautiful. He leans back, his hand gently wiping away the tears that I didn't realize were falling down my face.

“Now, about your father— Titan,” he quickly corrects, and I can see why the word father would be like acid on his tongue.

I look up, tilting my head to see what that strange sound is coming from outside.

What is that?

Ezekiel follows my gaze, and his crimson lips tilt into the broadest smile I have ever seen anyone wear.

“You couldn't write this shit,” he says, still wearing a triumphant grin, as he holds me tightly, not enough to hurt me, and I burrow into his body as we watch the monstrous machine-like thing hover above the water. There are people, lots of people, standing outside, staring up at the strange building in the ocean.

“It's a boat, baby, more like a ship, kinda like the one I was telling you about,” he explains, and I feel silly. My cheeks heat with embarrassment because when he mentioned that he blew up a boat, I imagined an arc-like thing, and it looked nothing like the ship outside. “And those things over there,” he points to the large, loud black birds in the sky. “Those are helicopters. They are what is gonna get us out of here. And down there, baby, is Titan,” he says.

His voice sounds different. He sounds free, like an enormous weight has lifted away from his shoulders.

“He came for you,” I say in awe. Ezekiel turns to me, his eyes brimming with tears of joy, I think.

“No, Little Siren. He came for you.”