For my people.
ForBaze.
My corrosive anger, my crippling hurt, my world-rocking devastation of what Rhordyn really is—what he’s done—it all boils into a thick venom pulsing through my veins.
A thousand slaughtered souls seem to chant my name …
Serren.
Serren.
Serren.
“I have something to say!”
He stops so abruptly I almost slam into his back, my hand coming up to buffer the collision—fingers splayed over the solid panes of his muscled physique.
Such a beautiful monster.
I drop my hand at the same time he drops his grip on my wrist, and a waiting silence ensues while I stand, staring at the spot between his shoulder blades.
A pit of tension clogs my throat, blocking my words.
I swallow it back, gritting my teeth against the bloom of tears stinging the backs of my eyes. “A confession.” The word comes out damaged, and I clear my throat, tip my head to stall the spill of tears, and stare at the pale blue sky through gaps in the canopy. “You and I … we’ve done horrible things.”
His breath quickens, his shoulders rising and falling with its pace.
“I think that’s why I can’t let you go,” I admit, chin trembling. “Because we’ve both been forged by the lives we took.”
The sawing labor of his breath slams to a halt, like he’s suddenly cast in stone.
I blink, those tears finally falling down my face. “I killed my mother ...”
The words are whispered.
Choked.
Barely there.
An ashy confession that wraps me in a shroud of melancholy, spoken to my beautiful, broken ghost.
A single bite of my damage he craved.
One final blow for him to absorb.
“Orlaith …”
I sense him shift, slip my hand behind my back, and wrap my sweaty palm around the thick handle that feels so cold and final.
“My name is Serren,” I whisper, and he spins.
There’s a sorrow caught in his eyes as they begin their gentle fade from black to the familiar, safe silver. Fissures crackle through my crystal shell as his chest inflates with the ammunition for words he doesn’t get a chance to speak before I rip my hand up and drive it forward.
I feel the tip of the brutal weapon pierce the hard meat of his chest to the tune of his hollow grunt. Feel it drive through muscle and sinew to the round of his heart, where it splits the organ keeping his life afloat.
Eyes wide, his stabbing starebleedsme …
And then it drops, landing on the weapon protruding from his chest. To my hand, still wrapped around the hilt, painted in the life force spilling out of him as something inside me withers so fast the world rocks beneath my feet.
