Oh no… Ella was definitely dead. I had no doubts. If he was killing people, then his madness had progressed too far. Taking him somewhere safe wouldn’t help. Selene was right—he would break free and harm other people. The realization broke my heart. I hated him, but I didn’t wish death upon him.
“You can fix this,” he said. “You will fix this.” Death flashed in his eyes, and his hands started to shake. “You’ll come back with me. We’ll be together. And that’ll fix everything. We’ll be normal again.”
A fresh wave of pain crashed through me. We would never be normal again.
His whole body shook now. His jaw clenched so tightly, I could hear his teeth cracking. Something inside him was breaking right this second. Seeing it firsthand made me want to wrap my arms around him and sob.
“I tried to forget,” he whispered. He leaned forward, until his forehead rested on my shoulder. “I tried to move on. But I couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel. Everything hurt. But you’ll make it better now. You have to.”
Yes.
Yes, I would.
It would break me to do it, but it was the only option here. I knew it with all my heart.
“I—I can make it better,” I whispered.
His trembling stilled. He lifted his head slowly. “You can?”
My bottom lip trembled, and tears welled in my eyes. But I forced out, “I can.”
He stared at me for a long moment, studying me. Then something inside him broke. The calm, fragile veil of reason he’d been clinging to snapped like a thread under tension. His entire face twisted into a grotesque snarl, and his eyes gleamed with pure hatred.
“Liar!” he shouted. “You’re lying!”
“Trystan—”
He shook me hard. Once. Twice. My head slammed against the wall and stars burst behind my eyes. A cry escaped before I could catch it.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he rasped. “But maybe if you bleed for me, like Ella bled for me, it’ll fix everything.”
“Trystan, no?—”
But he was beyond listening now. His lips peeled back, and before I could react, he struck like a snake, his fangs piercing my flesh.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
LUCIEN
I heard Isadora’s cry, and that was all it took.
One moment I stood on the porch, listening keenly to their conversation. The next, I was inside. I didn’t remember moving—just the crash of the door as it splintered under my weight, wood shards catching in my coat as I crossed the threshold in a blur.
The scent of her blood hit me like a drug, and I dashed into the hallway, immediately spotting them.
Isadora stood trapped beneath Trystan, his mouth latched to her throat, her blood dripping down her shoulder. He didn’t even flinch at my presence. Just kept feeding, like an animal too far gone to know it was about to die.
My vision tunneled to red, and I simply reacted.
I tore through the hallway, gripped his throat, and ripped him away from Isadora. I flung him backward, toward Ricky. The werewolf caught him mid-air like a ragdoll and drove him into the floor hard enough to crack the wooden boards.
I followed and slammed my foot down on Trystan’s chest, hard enough to dent bone. He screamed and writhed beneath me, clawing at everything in range.
Ricky dropped to a crouch and seized both of Trystan’s arms, pinning them wide.
Trystan bucked and thrashed, his eyes gleaming with a madness so complete, it nearly stunned me. There was nothing left to him other than hunger and fury. I wanted to show him sympathy, but I felt nothing of the sort. He’d bitten Isadora and started feeding on her with mindless hunger.
