Page 159 of Devoured

“I don’t think so, flora,” he murmurs. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

He twists his claw, and Portia screams again.

Lunging, I seize Jasper by the throat and throw him away from her. Calix finds us in the crowd—darting to protect a wounded Valja as a bullet nearly grazes her ear—and I gesture for him to take Portia. To carry her to safety somewhere far away.

Then I whirl around on Jasper.

He cracks his neck, licking blood from his lips as he rises to his feet. He grins salaciously. “Hello, Lavender.”

He isn’t worth my breath, however.

I have had it with this castle and its cruelty.

Tackling him, I throw his body against the castle wall. His head cracks against the stone. His fangs just barely graze my throat. He shreds claws over my spine, but I don’t care. I don’t feel the pain anymore. I only hear Portia’s scream. I only smell Sin’s blood. I only see my father in the distance, trembling with fear. Still frozen, compelled to stay put.

Tipping Jasper’s head back, I stare into his piss-yellow eyes.

They unspool in my vision, and I peel through that yellow. Further and further as he begins to thrash and roar. I drench myself in his sickness. The yellow of a sunlit alley as a young girl fights to get away. The yellow of brown hair splayed on the ground, stained with splatters of her blood. The yellow of her screams for help.

I do not feel Jasper anymore. I do not feel anything but gnarled violence—a thirst to avenge that poor girl, to make this monster feel just as small and helpless as she did. I sink my hands into the memory. I rip that thread apart until my fingers drip with gore. And then I tear a claw through it. I sever it.

I make it so Jasper never survived the transition. He died being bitten. He died with a savage fever. He died alone, and miserable, and afraid.

In seconds, the memories evaporate.

And Jasper disappears. He vanishes as if he was never here at all.

No one will mourn him. Nothing will change without him. I move to where Calix carries Portia into a safe corner, tucked beside a turret, and find Evie ducking around rifles to rescue injured werewolves and humans alike. She drags an unconscious Amethyst beside Portia, kneeling for a moment before turning toward me.

“Where is Cora?” She exhales heavily, wiping the sweat from her brow and smearing blood across it instead.

Without a word, I gesture to where I left Cora. Dead on the ground, her body arched as if trying to claw her way out of hell.

“Holy shit.” Evie stares in disbelief. “You—you did it? She’s dead?”

“She’s dead.” I blink at how stark the words sound, at how little I feel in this moment. I know the emotions will return eventually. For now, however, I am numb. “I shot her.”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Evie rounds on me, searching my person for bruises, but she can’t see through all the blood. She tries to wipe it away with her hands, but all it does is make her bloodier than before.

“I’m fine.” I brush her aside, blinking rapidly against the sudden burn in my eyes. I can’t afford to lose control now. The battle hasn’t been won yet. “Help the others. They need it more.”

She doesn’t listen, still cursing under her breath. Her eyes search mine anxiously. “What happened, Hart? Stars above”—she gestures to the blood, all the blood—“were you hit?”

I swallow around the lump in my throat.

I don’t know how to say… I don’t know how to admit… I keep my attention fixed upon her face. Through sheer force of will, I resist the impulse to search the courtyard for a glint of golden hair.

How do I tell her the worst of the blood is from Sin?

“No,” I say through feeble lips. “No bullets. No lasting injuries.”

She swears again, and it looks as if she blinks back tears. “Okay. Okay.” She nods, as if trying to center herself, before she glances once more at Cora’s corpse. “Portia is okay too. Calix is corralling the others. Valja has managed to save most of her soldiers. And the faeries—they can’t die. They’ll all be fine.”

I nod.

“Oh god, Vanessa.” She exhales a tremulous breath, clenching her eyes shut before snapping them open again. Her voice shakes with disbelief. “I think—I think we might’ve done it. We might’ve won.” She seems to give herself a mental shake, and I know she’s only moments away from realizing…

From asking…