“We don’t end here.” My belted words somehow rival the clamorous wrath attacking us from every angle. “We’ve barely started.”
My brother doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch when another blow shrieks across the crystal dome.
I squeeze my eyes shut, warmth dashing down my cheeks, leaked from the part of me that’s painfully aware.
He’s gone.
“Don’t leave m-me ...”
I wish he could hear. That I wasn’t so alone. That I was bleeding out in his arms, and not the other way around.
“Don’t leave me,” I repeat—louder this time. A curse to myself because they took him. Not me.
They always do.
An unfurling knot of black, sizzling hurt stirs beneath my ribs, striking its own malicious heartbeat. Gnarled vines slither up the walls of that chasm inside my chest, feasting on my pain. Growing bigger.
Stronger.
“Don’t leave me.”
I didn’t get to say goodbye.
Those vines writhe, whip, stab at the underside of my skin, digging for release.
They want freedom.
Revenge.
I just want my brother back.
Another jagged rupture rips across the surface. Rather than patch it up, I tear my hand away, sever myself from those greedy draws, and watch the entire thing bloom with a field of fissures. There’s a keen popping sound, and shards of light splinter my skin. Slice it up.
Bleed me.
I bow forward and shield the limp body in my lap from the shattered assault, pulling him so close I can feel the lack of a beat in his chest. Everything stings, but it’s nothing compared to the grief gnawing on my heart.
The terrible commotion stills.
Silence.
Something wet lands on me, and I dare a shielded glance at the thick rope of drool hanging off my arm. I tip my face to the sky, look into big, inky eyes that reflect my dazzling stare …
The Vruk’s ears are pinned back, his mammoth form eclipsing the stars. There’s deadly intention in his narrowed eyes, thick on his fervid breath hitting me with every vile exhale.
I can’t tell who’s the bigger monster.
Him. Or me.
His barbed snarl digs beneath my skin, and that vicious jaw cranks wide, revealing a tomb of dripping ivory sabers.
I hold his savage stare and let him take his fill—let him see how unsatisfying his impending kill is going to be ... because I’m empty.
Bled dry.
I’m already dead.
* * *
