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He moves toward me fast, and I shift to dodge his knife, not noticing his other arm rising into the air. The backhand catches me off guard, and I fall to the ground, blood trickling from my busted lip.
Panic engulfs me like quicksand, the air rushing from my lungs as they constrict. It’s all too much like when Papa hit me when I was a kid. The rain, the fear—
“Lilyana!” Arman is standing, just, his arm wrapped over his ribs. “Fight it. Don’t let him win. Get on your damn feet!”
Timur wheels around and bursts into laughter. “What are you gonna do, idiot? You’re only dragging it out. Back down now and I won’t rape her in front of you. I’ll just kill her and put you both back in Papa’s grave, only this time, I’ll make damn sure you don’t dig your way out.” Timur throws his hands in the air. “What a badass you are, brat. Who even does that? And, having miraculously escaped, you came looking for this stupid bitch?”
Arman hurls himself at Timur, and the two men grapple. Timur slashes at Arman’s arm, cutting through his shirt, and blood colors the puddles beneath them.
“You were meant to be dead,” Timur hisses, shoving Arman away. “No matter. You were dumb enough to give me another shot at it.” Arman jumps out of reach of the flailing blade, and Timur laughs. “We’re not dancing, asshole. You’re finished.”
Arman’s footing is unsteady, and he trips, giving Timur his chance. The knife’s sharp edge carves Arman’s flank, and he drops to his knees, raising his head to look at me.
Don’t die. I love you. I need you. Stay with me.
My fear reaches a fever pitch, but as a blackout rushes toward me, Arman’s eyes meet mine. I breathe deeply and fully, and I understand.
Arman wasn’t the only one to drag himself out of a hole. My father told me I wasn’t worth anything all my life, but to Arman, I’m priceless. It never occurred to him to save himself because he couldn’t see a future without me. Now, he needs me, and I can’t afford to let my terror take the wheel.
I roll onto my side and swing my body in an arc, taking Timur’s legs out from under him. He bellows and drops the knife, sending it spinning across the road.
Timur is upon me in an instant, straddling my body as his hands close around my throat. He smashes my head into the concrete. “You could have survived this,” he says, “but you have no instinct for self-preservation. Such a shame.”
“Fuck you,” I croak. I bring my hand to his face and rake it with my nails, splitting the skin, and he leans his weight onto my neck. His breath comes in rapid gasps, but the sound recedes, and the light is already fading. I close my eyes.
This is the end. At least I knew love. Felt love.
It was worth it.
With a roar, all the noise around me rushes back, and my eyes fly open. Arman is dragging Timur away, holding the knife against his jugular.
“Don’t!” Timur whimpers. “We’re brothers! I’m your only family.”
“Wrong.” Arman presses the blade’s tip, and a crimson trail appears on Timur’s neck. “Lilyana is my family. The Kislevs are my family. You don’t know the meaning of the word. All you had to do was come to me and tell the truth, and I’d have embraced you as my brother. You could have stood beside me and been part of my life, but you allowed your bitterness to take hold. I would kill you right here, but you deserve to suffer. I’m sure Vlad will want a say in what happens to you.”
Timur’s hand steals into his pocket, and I cry out to warm Arman, but it happens too fast. The second knife is a slim stiletto, and Timur plunges it into Arman’s chest, piercing him deep. Arman slits Timur’s throat and lets go of him, collapsing to the ground, and Timur keels over beside him, blood cascading from his slashed artery.
I scream and run to my husband’s side, kneeling in the blood as it mixes with the pools of rain. Timur’s cold hands clutch weakly at me as he fades away, but I ignore him.
“Arman!” I unbutton his shirt, bursting into sobs at the sight of his battered body. The knife is still in him, and I know better than to remove it, but I don’t know how much of the blood beneath us is his. “Speak to me. Please. You’ll be alright. We’re gonna make it.”
The rain runs off his prone frame. He’s so still, so peaceful, as though he’s asleep. I put my ear to his heart but can’t hear anything.
“No!” I thump my fist on his chest. “Don’t do this to me. I will love you for the rest of my life, and you have to be here for that! I can’t lose you now!”
47
Lilyana
Six hours later…
“Iwish he’d wake up.” I hold Arman’s hand to my cheek, careful not to pull his cannula. “How is it that you’re both so charmed?”
Vlad shrugs. “I’m just lucky, but Arman is a hard bastard. He should have died at least three times last night.”
It’s strange to see my brother in a wheelchair. He reminds me of our father in his last days, rolling through the house, dragging his IV stand, poisoning the very air with his cruelty and hatred.
Vlad is not Papa, though, and he’ll recover. His wound was nasty, but prompt care from excellent doctors saw him through, and he’s on his second blood transfusion after he was brought around from his coma early this morning. He was on his feet within the hour, and his long-suffering nurse couldn’t keep chasing him back into bed, so he got his way. As long as Morgana stays with him, he can be up and about, albeit on wheels.
