Page 71 of Born Wicked

“Seriously?” I ask in exasperation, clambering to press the torn pieces of my dress into his wound. But even as I’m doing that, I can see it’s already clotted. It’s sticky and gross, but there’s no more blood leaking from the site. “You might have given me a heads up before you went all He-Man.”

“I don’t feel like I’m drowning anymore,” he says, ignoring my snarky comment.

Tentatively, I remove the cloth. Already, I can see his skin knitting back together.

My job would be a whole lot more boring if every one of my patients healed as fast as a vampire.

I sigh and toss the ruined bit of bloody fabric into the garbage can sitting nearby. My hands come to my hips, and I step in front of Roman, annoyed eyes fixed on him firmly.

“What?” he asks impatiently, this knowing look on his face.

“Why would you do that?” I blurt. I feel fire building inside me. It’s fueled by all the mess that’s been going on in my head today and now the utter confusion about what just happened back there.

“He put his hands around your throat,” he says, his voice a controlled deadpan. “What else was I supposed to do?”

I glare at him. “You should see the marks on your face right now and all the blood dripping down your back. You know I would have just come right back. You let the bastard stake me and then use that moment to take advantage. You kill him then without getting yourself mauled.” I’m breathing hard, so completely annoyed that he did this, and still completely shaken by the sight of a stake buried in his back.

“Are you serious?” he barks, his brows furrowing.

“Of course I’m serious!” I yell. My emotions are a raging freight train now. They’re gaining speed. “He could have killed you. And we don’t know the limitations of my gift yet. What if I can only die for you once, Roman? I can’t be the only one of us who has thought about that. So, why? Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because I couldn’t stand to watch you die one more time, Juliet!” he explodes as he stands. And suddenly, we’re very, very close. His bare chest is right there, and he breathes in and out, hard, as he looks down at me with those bright blue eyes that are somehow so dark. “Because if I have to watch you die in front of me one more time, I’m pretty sure it will break something in me.”

His hand wraps around my waist, pulling me against him. The freight train grows all-consuming as he places his hand against the side of my neck and brushes his thumb over my lower lip. There’s fire in his eyes. There’s heat and rage and lightning there.

The breath stills in my chest as I look into them. I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a precipice. One tiny breath, and we’ll both slip off a cliff.

“You are everything, Juliet,” he says. His voice is a reverent whisper. “And I’ll throw myself in front of a thousand stakes, so long as it means I never have to watch the light die in your eyes again.”

The universe grows ten times larger as the distance between his mouth and mine disappears. My hands come to the back of his neck, and I pull him closer. His hands slide up my back, splayed wide against my exposed skin.

An ember in the back of my brain sparks, words from the past. That voice has been haunting me for months. I ignored some of the words that never made sense until this moment.

You hide in lies, Juliet. And so long as you would have held onto them, you never would have gotten what you want most. So tragic. Because you could have had the potential to correct the ending to one of the world’s most famous tragedies.

Roman’s lips move in perfect unison with mine. Desperate, hungry gasps escape my mouth, are claimed by his. His bare skin pressing into mine is the most soul-filling contact I’ve ever felt in my entire life, and it’s something I never, ever saw coming.

It should have been so obvious.

Archer King took the gift of prophecy once upon a time.

Once upon a time, he correctly prophesied that one day I would hate the man I loved most.

It came true. Even though, at the time, I loved Sebastian more than I’d ever loved anyone, I did come to hate him, and my lies were my downfall.

…correct the ending to one of the world’s most famous tragedies.

Roman spins us, and with one smooth motion, he lifts me, setting me on the table. With a desperate gasp, I shift my weight backward, pulling him up with me. Roman knees between my legs, crawling up my body to keep our lips connected. His fingers interlace with mine, and he raises them up above my head, pinning them against the table.

…one of the world’s most famous tragedies.

Juliet.

My head falls back, and the moment consumes me entirely.

Roman.

His hands, his heat, his lips, they make up the entirety of reality right now.

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