Page 104 of Love to Defy You
I’ll never be able to scrub this grotesque image from my brain for as long as I live.
I manage to free him, and his cold, limp body falls onto my shoulder. He’s long past rigor mortis and melts almost like liquid wax to the floor.
“Jesus, Kurochkin, what the fuck are you doing?” Paul’s voice is deafening as it echoes around the silent cell.
I drag Henri by the arms to the bench, where I lay him down on his back. His glasses are off, giving me a clear view of his closed eyes, which will never open again. My gaze settles on the lyre tattoo on his forearm.
Henri and I were never close, but a part of me felt somewhat responsible for his well-being. I took pity on him because deep down, I knew he wouldn’t make it to the end of the trials.
But I never imagined he would be the architect of his own demise, and actually, I rather admire him for it. Henri Rooman went out on his own terms before the Order could slit his throat—even if it was the Order who inflicted the trauma that drove him to it.
Leaving him hanging and naked doesn’t sit well with me. He deserves more dignity than that.
I yank my shirt off over my head and drape it across his waist, shielding his manhood from view. There isn’t much else I can do, but it’s better than doing nothing at all.
As Shakespeare so eloquently put it, “Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.”
Henri Rooman was the latter.
I place my hand on his shoulder and whisper, “Godspeed.”
When Paul and I emerge from the cellar door, night has fallen, but the lampposts lining the sidewalks of the Weltner quadrangle blind me, and I shield my eyes with my hand.
I suck in the fresh air. It will be a miracle if there isn’t mold growing in my lungs after being stuck in that cold, damp cell.
“See you, Kurochkin.” Paul gives me a lazy wave before walking off in the opposite direction.
And just like that, I find myself alone with my thoughts. The image of Henri haunts me, but I can’t let myself be shaken by that right now. All I want is to hold Willow in my arms, to inhale her scent and replace the stench of death that lingers with me.
But if my hunch is correct, the spring holiday is well underway, which means Willow will be in Andarusia. I’m sure I have a slew of missed calls and worried texts from her. There’s a bench close by, and I drop my bag onto it before sitting down.
After putting on a new shirt, I spend five minutes opening each pocket and pulling out every article of clothing and toiletry item from the bag. But my phone is nowhere to be found. The last time I had it was...
When I handed it over to Enzo fucking Messina. Bastard owes me a new phone.
A shadow flickers in the corner of my eye, startling me. I jump up from the bench and whirl around, but the courtyard is empty.
My muscles spasm from the sudden movement, followed by a wave of dizziness, and I slump back down onto the bench.
It takes a minute for the spell to pass, but as soon as I’m able, I shove everything back into the bag and set off toward my apartment.
It takes longer than usual to get home thanks to my deconditioned leg muscles, and I even have to stop a few times to rest against a wall.
When I enter the lobby of my building, my eyes burn from the bright LED chandelier, and I stumble back. Using my arm, I block the light and make my way across the empty lobby.
After I drag myself up the elevator and through the front door, I drop my bag in the foyer and shuffle inside.
“Malishka?“ My voice is weak, and I try again a little louder. “Malishka?Are you home?”
Silence.
All the lights are off in the apartment, and when I check the closet in our bedroom, her suitcase is missing, which means she’s in Andarusia.
Two days. I was only supposed to be in there for two days, but it was longer. How much longer, I’m not sure, and I can’t check my phone calendar.
I pad into my office and open my laptop, but the light from the screen is too bright, and even after my eyes adjust, the tiny numbers in the lower right corner are blurry.
I need to get in touch with Willow, but I can’t even write a simple email right now.
