Page 182 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

He shoved me backward into the bookshelf. Volumes tumbled down around us as I drove a knee into his groin. He folded slightly but didn’t let go, slamming me into the shelves again. More books rained down. He wrenched my hand against the wood until the knife dropped from my numb fingers.

I headbutted him. Cartilage crunched under the impact and blood poured from his nose. He released my wrist only long enough to lock both hands around my throat. His fingers closed like iron bands. Black spots started dancing at the edges of my vision as I found the slim knife strapped to my thigh, yanked it free, and stabbed upward. He raised his forearm at the last second. The blade sank deep into it instead of his neck. He howled and let go.

I dropped, gasping, and rolled away. Air scraped into my lungs in rough pulls. My chest throbbed with every breath, but nothing felt broken. Just deep bruises that would hurt like hell tomorrow. Good. Pain kept me sharp.

“You think a knife makes you dangerous?” he growled.

I didn’t answer. My cat surged hard under my skin. Claws pushed through the tips of my gloves, shredding the fabric as I launched low and fast. I ducked under his swing and drove my clawed hand into his side. Flesh tore. Something gave under my fingers. Thomas roared and backhanded me hard enough to send me crashing into the wall. My head bounced off the plaster. I slid down it, vision swimming.

The hunting knife lay on the floor near the overturned chair. I snatched it up as Thomas came at me again, slower now, blood soaking his shirt and dripping from the wounds I had already opened. His eyes burned with the kind of hate that only came from a man who had lost everything and still had teeth left.

I circled left, drawing him toward the fireplace. My breath came ragged. Thomas limped after me, favoring his injured side. Former alpha or not, age and blood loss were catching up.

From the mantel I grabbed a heavy brass candlestick and threw it hard at his knee. It connected with a sick crack. He stumbled. I burst inside his guard before he could recover. My cat fed me the angles, the openings. I slashed the hunting knife across his thigh and cut deep, hamstringing him. He dropped to one knee with a roar that shook the room.

I didn’t hesitate.

I drove the blade straight into his chest, just left of center. It punched through muscle and scraped rib. I twisted hard and felt the give. Thomas’s eyes widened. Shock first. Then recognition.

Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth. “You…”

“Yeah,” I said, voice steady. “Me.”

For the first time, real fear flickered across his face. I shoved the blade deeper. His hands clutched weakly at my arms, fingers slipping on blood. His legs buckled. He toppled sideways and crashed to the floor. I followed him down, straddling his chest.

“This is for Harmony.”

The knife went in.

“This is for my father.”

I drove it down again.

“This is for me.”

Again.

“This is for Jackson.”

Again.

“This is for every life you destroyed.”

I kept going. Each strike fed the fire I had carried for ten years. My arms burned. My vision blurred with tears. But I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The blade rose and fell, wet sounds filling the quiet room. Thomas’s body jerked under me with every hit, long after he had stopped breathing.

Strong hands suddenly closed around my wrists.

I jerked and spun with the knife still raised, but Jackson caught my arm and stopped the blade inches from his chest. His scent hit me at once. Familiar. Safe. Steady.

The fight drained out of me all at once. The knife slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor. A ragged sob tore from my throat as he pulled me off Thomas’s body and into his arms.

I buried my face against his neck and clutched at him like he was the only real thing left. My entire body shook. The dam I had held for ten years finally broke.

I cried for my mother. For Harmony. For my father. For the girl who never made it out of that burning house.

Jackson held me tight against his chest, one big hand cradling the back of my head. His heart hammered under my ear. He smelled like night air and blood and home.

“I felt it,” he whispered roughly. “Even when you tried to shut the bond down. The rage. The pain. I came as fast as I could.”