“Focus on me, Princess,” he murmurs. He taps my forehead. “Don’t let them win.”
The ghosts. The voices. He remembers how I’m still haunted.
Holding my nose, I gulp back bile. I try to control the thoughts—why is there so much? What happened here?
Killian waits, and I exhale.
“Stay with me.”
My heart cracks open further, that fucking love growing stronger. “I’m here.”
Tugging me forward, we enter the back kitchen. It’s a small room, with hanging copper pots and a basket of green apples in the center of the counter.
Blood is splattered across their grassy skin.
“No,” I murmur, dropping Killian’s hand. Stepping around the breakfast bar, in the far corner, Nico sits slumped withMaria’s head in his lap. Blood covers them both, soaking their white satin pajamas like a morbid rose in a winter storm.
How can you lead? You’re nothing but a woman with dainty emotions.
Rushing to their side, I kneel in the puddle of blood, letting it soak me. Fingers to Nico’s neck, I gently press against his throat and swear when I feel the smallest, faintest thump of a pulse.
Holy fuck, he’s alive.
Turning to Maria, I search her neck. When I can’t find anything, I snatch her wrist, digging the tips into her sensitive skin.
Nothing. No pulse. No life.
A sob sits on my tongue, but I don’t release it. It feels as if I’ve been shot—ripped apart and left to bleed on the floor.She’s gone.The only woman who loved me like a mother is dead.
Shoving a rag into my face, Killian says, “Nico’s been shot.”
Pathetic. Just like a woman to be so weak.
A steady stream drips from his shoulder. I push the rag into the wound numbly, throat clogged with emotions I can’t name. Sadness, grief, disappointment—plus more wrap around me, a heavy hand of failure that claws at me as good as any demon.
Killian eases Maria to the ground, and the scent of charred flesh drifts into the air. Tasting bile, I lean my nose into Killian’s shoulder—smelling his scent and regaining my composure.
He doesn’t say anything, letting me have a moment. Carefully, he inspects her face, turning her from side to side. Her dark hair is matted in knots against her skull, and her cheekbones are sunken, gray. Red paints her eyes and her neck like macabre costume makeup, and I shudder. Maria was always beautiful—elegant, sophisticated—and to see her carelessly left burns me with unholy rage.
Quietly, he pulls up the bottom of her shirt, and I choke down another sob as crimson spills down the sides. Two bullet holes—one in the center, and one a bit lower—leak onto the kitchen floor. A slightly burnt ring borders the impact site, likely formed from close range.
“They held her down,” he explains, holding up her wrist. Lines of purple with finger indents mark her olive skin. “Probably forced him to watch.”
“They killed her in front of him.” My heart falls, obliterated.
Gripping the rag, I let myself sniffle. Just one. A sign of weakness, with only the Reaper and the dead to witness it.
That’s all I allow. Because Maria doesn’t deserve my sadness—she deserves my wrath on her behalf. And I will hunt every single one of the killers down and make them pay for what they did here tonight.
Snatching my chin, Killian pulls me back to reality, turning so our noses brush. “I see the rage, Princess. I understand it. I know what Maria and Nico mean to you, but I’m going to need you to bottle it and help me here. Focus on me.”
Nodding, I swallow the fury and clear my throat. “I know. I’ve got it.”
He doesn’t believe me. “Maria is gone, but Nico is still alive.” My fingers flex against the prone man’s shoulder. “We need to get him to a hospital. The mansion is too far away.”
I shake my head. “He can’t go there unprotected.”
“Then we stay and protect.” He agrees so easily. “You and me, right?”
