Page 113 of Cursed Shadows 5

I throw a wild gaze at Daxeel as he lands on his knees beside me. Hands are reaching out for Eamon, honeyed and lovely and familiar—but I strike out at them, my face twisting with that eternal scream.

“Get away from himmmm!”

Daxeel flinches back, his eyes flaring in the dark, blood slicking him head to toe.

‘Kill…’

I flick my gaze to the knife protruding from Eamon’s throat… A knife that, if I pull out, will certainly leave a gaping hole and he will bleed out much, much quicker.

Not that he won’t bleed out if I leave it in.

Eamon is dying.

Eamon will die.

He hears Mother… because he is near her in soul.

My lashes flutter, wet, with the understanding.

Eamon’s frown is aimed up at me, but his eyes are dim now, less panicked…

He pleas.

He… pleas.

‘…him.’

My breath shudders in my throat.

Eamon blinks, a flutter of his lashes—

He urges me.

We agree.

And I act.

My hand snatches for the knife in his neck. I grip the hilt, fast, a moment too quick, and as I wrench it out of my beloved Eamon, I twist my wrist—and backstab it into another throat…

The throat of the male kneeling at my side… the throat of the male leaning over to touch Eamon’s wound, to find a solution that is impossible to find.

Because this is the solution.

Eamon’s life is saved—only if Daxeel’s is taken.

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††††††

It happens so quick that it blends together, the choked shout from Daxeel as the blade plunges so far into his neck that it scrapes his spine; the jerk of Eamon in my arms, the gargle of freshly pouring blood; the scream that rips out of me, hollow and strangled.

I can’t look.

I can’t bear to look at Daxeel, not as the gentle and surprised touch of his fingers graze mine, not as his hot blood soaks my hand—and not as he slips away from me, then thuds to the cobblestone.

My face twists.

The sob brews, long and silent, warped, aching too deep, too deep to ever survive.

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