Page 87 of Kentucky Nights
His hate, his need for blood, for violence, that’s what killed him. I simply pulled the trigger to finally put him out of his misery.
I do what any parent does. I sit down, pick his head up, and place him in my lap.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t around, so you wouldn’t hold so much anger inside you. You and I are a lot alike in that sense. If I had known about you, I would have been there.”
He lifts his hand for me to take. The angry man has vanished, and now all I see is a lost little boy. I hold onto it, my own tears bursting free, knowing I killed my own boy.
“I’m sorry, but I had to protect what’s mine.”
“It’s okay,” he rasps. “I can be with Mom.”
“I can take him from here.” Lorcan arrives, covered in the blood of all the lives my son killed. “His soul calls to me.”
“No. I want to be with him. He doesn’t deserve to die alone.” The breeze drifts in, carrying away ash peeling from his face.
“I bet you would have been a good dad,” Louisville says with tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. You’re okay.” I choke on a sob, running my fingers through his hair until there’s nothing there but piles of ash.
He’s gone.
Kentucky stares at his empty hands as the wind carries away his only child. What I love most about Kentucky is how honorable he is. He could have done a lot worse to Louisville, yet even through his anger for revenge for what Louisville had done, he stayed with his son until the end.
Now that the bond is complete, his every emotion courses through me, and he is devastated.
“I didn’t know,” he whispers, looking up at me with bloodshot eyes and my blood still lingering on his lips. “I promise, I didn’t know.”
I kneel next to him, forcing him to look at me by palming his jaw. “I know you didn’t. I know.”
“I took care of his soul.” Lorcan appears again, freeing the bull that was stuck. Gunpowder runs away from us, and not in the way that gives him more room to charge. “The bull willbe okay. I’m just sorry you had to go through all that pain, Kentucky. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here. There were too many souls that needed me.”
“I understand, Lorcan. I ain’t mad. Is he in Purgatory? My son?”
“He is,” Lorcan replies with a frown. “I’m sorry. He will never be free. His crimes are too severe.”
Kentucky reaches for his hat and begins to put Louisville ashes inside it.
“What are you doing?” Lorcan asks with big, round eyes.
“He deserves to be cared about in death. I couldn’t do that for him in life, but I can do it now.”
I help him, fisting piles of ash until his hat is full. “I love you even more because of this.” I kiss his cheek. “Even after everything he did, you’re showing love.”
“It’s not his fault he turned out the way he did. It’s mine for not being there, and it’s his mother’s. He’s at peace. I know I did the right thing.”
“You did. Rogue vampires never last very long.” Lorcan places a hand on his shoulder, shooting me with a worried expression. “He wasn’t going to last, Kentucky. Find peace in knowing it was you in the end to give him peace and not The Horsemen—War, Death, Famine, and Conquest with their leader Abaddon.” His attention redirects toward me. “I don’t know how much you know, but The Horsemen are called The Hell’s Harvesters. Any paranormal who commits crimes that are deemed unforgivable is typically captured by them. They travel where they are called. They are on their way here. I couldn’t…I couldn’t get all the souls by myself. I have to go back.” Lorcan coughs to clear the emotion in his throat. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m sorry for your loss, Kentucky, but the world is a better place without him. I know how much you wanted kids.”
“I’m sorry for what he did,” Kentucky sighs, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I need to get to Romeo. He turned him to stone with Stone Snakes. Can you reverse it, Lorcan? I need my fucking horse. Please,” he essentially begs.
Lorcan’s eyes turn downward, his brows pinching together in sorrow. “I’m sorry, Kentucky. The only way for someone to come back from Cemetery Ophids is if their Beloved finds them. In Purgatory, there’s an entire forest of statues that will never meet their mates. We call it The Cemetery. I’m sorry for both your losses.”
Kentucky hands me his hat and, without a word, begins to walk away. His clothes are drenched in blood, his wounds faint as if he wasn’t just bored by a bull, and that isn’t what weighs him down the most.
It’s heartache.
I place a hand against my chest and take a deep breath when the pain seems to buzz inside me.
“You’ll always feel what he feels. That won’t change. Go. He needs you more than ever. I need to go. Abaddon is calling me.”
