I share a look with Killian, and the killer smiles.
“Work what out?”
Lex makes a noise of protest, but Killian glares, halting him. I want to hear what they have to say.
“We have resources. Connections. With us, your clan could grow to be something big—something important. We’d be willing to put this aside—” he gestures to my weapon—“As long as we put our differences aside and work toward something new.”
“Somethingnew.” Grabbing a tumbler of Irish whiskey, I down it. It burns my throat, and I make a face. “This is disgusting. You should try American Scotch.”
Tossing the glass at the wall, I let the noise rain over us. I walk around the table, drawing my fingers over the backs of their chairs. Everyone I touch flinches, as if I’ll strike.
I catch Killian’s eye—he sees it too. They see me as the threat I am. Ilikeit.
“So, I give this up,” I say, waving my gun, “And we can move on? Make a new path.”
“Absolutely.”
I stare into his eyes—lifeless, taunting. I see them still in my nightmares when I was young and unable to fight back. When life told me, the only good I could offer to my clan was what was between my legs.
Shrugging, I drop my gun onto the table, stopping short of his elbow.
He visibly deflates.
Sitting, he turns toward the rest of the uneasy men, Lex and Killian still by the door. Neither of them moves, waiting for my signal.
“See? A new path for everyone?—”
Slipping the knife from my jeans, I flip it and stab the sharp tip into his throat. Pinning him to the seat, I don’t take my eyes off his face. He quivers and shakes, his pupils flaring dangerously with pain. A harsh breath leaves his lips, and with glee, I watch the light fade from his eyes.
As his spirit leaves the room, I feel Michael’s ghost follow.
Shoulders lighter, I glance over my shoulder and lick my lips. Killian’s gaze grows dark with want.
“Kill them all.”
As I exit, gunfire erupts, followed by the second team rounding up the last soldiers. Lights flash behind me, and when I reach the porch, the noise cuts off abruptly. In the woods, surrounded by barren oaks and evergreens, I wrap my arms around my middle, embracing the cold, and listen to the silence.
Until the Reaper comes up behind me, hands rubbing down my arms, before tugging me back into the heat of his chest. I wait—for the voices, the ghosts to torment me—but they don’t come. They’ve been coming less and less since allowing the Reaper back in. But after shooting Hale, I don’t expect them to return often.
I’m sure I’ll still have nightmares. The trauma won’t disappear with one act. I’ll have to watch my back, and I’ll still flinch whenever there is a loud noise. I’ll continue to gag whenever I smell cigar smoke. But with the Reaper at my side, I won’t fear the nightmares. They will fear me.
And maybe one day they’ll leave me alone.
“I hope you didn’t want your heart back, Pup,” I murmur, words soft. He lowers his chin to my shoulder and inhales at my neck. “Because it’s mine. I love you.”
“It belongs to you, and only you.” His nose brushes my cheek. “Let’s go home. You have a clan to run.”
Slipping my hand into his, we walk into the darkness and toward the future.
EPILOGUE
MAEVE
A FEW DAYS LATER…
The cold air nips at my cheeks and nose, but I hardly feel it. My toes are frozen inside my boots, and my fingers are numb. Wrapping my coat closer, I’m hidden under the large umbrella that keeps snowflakes from dusting my eyes.
The priest drones on ahead, as snow swirls around our waists. Surrounded by a group of mourners, reading from his Bible, his words are bleak and dull. He makes grand gestures about Heaven, Hell, and salvation. None of those things will offer consolation to Nico or Lex, or any of their family, currently grieving the loss of Maria.
