Page 29 of Thorns from the Fall

It’s dark, but I swear I see two silhouettes through the glass. Emile will play it safe, making sure to use Sasha as his shield. It’s what he’d done with Hale, and I should have realized he knew my position. The way he held him tightly, it was almost like he was daring me to shoot—and that’s why I hadn’t.

My intuition had told me the truth, and I’d ignored it. When the breeze wafted my hair as I’d navigated around the chimney, I’d been afraid. Emile had shown no signs of awareness, so I’d pushed my fear aside.

I should have fucking known better.

The back door to Roman’s house opens behind me, and my aim doesn’t dip as I look over my shoulder. I’m about to tell Nico to go back inside and hope he’ll listen because of where my gun is pointed.

But Roman beats me to it.

“Go back inside, Nico. Mind your business,” he says. Nico stares at me for a moment, face unreadable, before he turns back toward the door. He raises each of his hands in a one-fingered salute before going inside.

“Your dog is a good listener,” I say, but Roman doesn’t respond. Hale has gone silent, and I have to hope it’s because he’s passed out. That his blood is moving slowly enough that he’s not losing enough to kill him. But at what cost? Will his mind be intact when this is over?

I bite my lip, using the pain of my sharpened fangs to distract me from what’s happening. Hale will probably die, and it’s just one more death I can add to the ledger. It’s all my fault, just like everything else. I can’t allow myself to think about how many times I’ve failed my family, not without risking doing it again. Not when it counts the most.

There is no time to panic, let alone mourn.

“You said Roman is your favorite, Emile. If you want to keep him alive, send Sasha out,” I call to the violent vampire who might be responsible for killing the last people who love me. The last people whoknowme. The only people on this planet whose death would make my life no longer worth living—as if there is much worth to start. For a moment, I fear the worst. Perhaps he’s already killed her. Perhaps he doesn’t give a fuck about Roman just like he doesn’t care about Remy, and he’s left Sasha to bleed out in Roman’s garage.

“Just go!” shouts my sister’s voice, and it’s cut off by a shriek as Emile slaps her. The sound is like ringing glass inside my bones, reverberating into my marrow.

Roman mumbles to himself, eyes screwed tight as he tilts forward. I think I hear him say Nico’s name, but he’s speaking in French, and I don’t know enough of the lyrical language to understand him. He’s in pain, but he keeps his knee firmly onHale’s collarbone. I close my eyes, listening for Hale’s heartbeat. The faint thud is the only solace I’ll get, I’m sure.

Despite my intention to play this cold and calculated, a sob breaks loose, surging past my lips. There’s no way all three of us get out of here alive, I realize. Because when that garage door opens, if I aim for Emile, I won’t have coverage on Roman. Who the fuck knows what he will do. He doesn’t want to risk losing Remy, but perhaps he knows what my own mind has sought to bury—that Hale is already dead, his brain deprived of oxygen far too long. So at this point, what does he have to lose? If he kills me and Sasha alongside our friend, there will be no one to kill Remy. Maybe he’s banking on being able to find his brother.

And honestly, it might be a safe bet. I don’t know the extent to which Hale has gone to hide his tracks, trusting him to handle things appropriately. But for all I know, he could have grown complacent. Considering how we got here, I wonder if I’m onto something. Because it’s not like Hale to let his guard down enough to not only lose Sasha but to be overtaken by Emile. It doesn’t make any sense.

And for a brief second, only a fraction, I wonder if he’s betrayed me just as his mom did to my parents. Because Hale is powerful, trained by his mother and given personal lessons by a professor from the Institute. I don’t care how old Emile is; the vampire shouldn’t have been able to get to him.

The only thing standing in the way of that theory is Hale’s slit throat, but I wouldn’t put it past Emile to do something so violent just for fun. I recognize that I’m a spineless bitch to think that of my friend, especially as he dies just a few feet in front of me. And yet, it takes far too fucking long to banish the idea.

I’ve memorized each pockmark on that garage door, noticed where the white paint has peeled up from the wood beneath. I know certain death is behind it—for those I love, and for me—and a part of me doesn’t want it to open. But it slams inwardanyway, hard, and Sasha’s body is thrown against it. She begins to slide down, unable to catch herself because of a broken leg and bound wrists. I scream her name, scream Emile’s name, rage and fear mixing into something explosive. Emile moves too fast, grabbing her by the throat and hauling her through the door before I can react.

“Entrer dans le cercle, mon grand,” Emile commands.

“English!” I scream, firing a round into the ground to his right. Five bullets left.

“There is no spell,” Roman says, throwing his good arm out and gesturing toward the empty part of his yard. “Besides, if there was one, the caster is about to fucking die, bringing Remy down with him, thanks to you.”

I study the place Roman had indicated, understanding dawning. It’s faint, but I can make out a sacred circle made of blood. I don’t know where it came from, and it doesn’t smell of Hale’s blood.

“Is there another sorcerer nearby?” I ask, lips barely moving, hoping Roman will answer.

Roman laughs. A chuckle, as if he hates me so much that he can’t imagine I’d ever dare to ask him a question. “Very funny, sweetheart.”

“Fine. Take your payment, but if the spell is still active…” Emile says, trailing off. He isn’t looking at me or Roman, but between us. I turn my head, looking for who he may be talking to, but there isn’t anyone there. I don’t understand.

I’m suddenly exhausted, my entire body going sore in a split second. It’s like the pain after the first workout in a year, but my body is that of a vampire. There should be no soreness or muscle fatigue, and yet I feel like I’ve been hit by a fucking truck. I haven’t slept much, but I don’t understand why my arm feels so fucking heavy. My head dips and lolls, almost like it’s too big for my neck. My grip loosens, and the gun tumbles from my hand.

“What’s happening?” I ask, words slurring. My vision goes hazy and everything starts to spin as the edges of my sight grow dark. As my knees buckle and I fall to the ground, all I can focus on is the scarlet red of Sasha’s curls. My eyes are so tired, and at the last moment, just before everything goes black, I wonder if this is what it’s like to die.

12

ROMAN

Gwyn collapses,and Caitriona hovers over her. My uncle laughs, a dark chuckle carving out lines of delight on his pale face. He’s amused as he allows Sasha to fall to the ground, and he doesn’t seem to hear Nico as my friend and bloodsworn sneaks up behind him, walking quietly around the perimeter of the garage.

There is no looking away just as there is no stopping this.

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