Page 43
Smoke was billowing from somewhere on the lodge grounds.
Fucking hell.
“You’re bleeding—” Faustine tried again, her dry claws pawing at my shoulder.
“I don’t give a fuck,” I bit out.
Had there been an accident? The lodge caught on fire?
Then I saw the front gates were open, and my stomach dropped.
That shouldn’t have happened. That should never happen.
With the gate opened like that. . .anything could go wrong. . .down here in the valley where the heavy forest dampened the sound of screams.
The lodge was still standing. So Léonie must be in there. Sitting down at the table, those bright blue eyes behind the pale lashes blinking in confusion at me, just waiting for me to tell her everything was all right now, she could come home. . .
But in front of the lodge—
Tilly and Armand were holding each other and right in front of them were two bodies lying crumpled on the ground.
One was covered in a blanket, but there was—hair—spilling out over the grass, bright red hair streaked with blood. . .
No. No.
I was never sure how I drove down that driveway, how I got out of the car, how I made my way over to her.
The earth seemed to be rushing toward me, but how could that have happened, was I upside-down?
I didn’t even feel myself hit the ground.
Their bodies were burned—terribly. But my wife’s long auburn hair was unmistakable—the sun catching the gold in it, my rough fingers reaching out to touch, because I couldn’t—couldn’t believe this was real.
Somehow I was crawling forward, dirt and blood between my numb fingers.
I wanted to ask what had happened. What happened. That was the main question, because this was impossible.
I had left her here just a few hours ago. And she had been safe. But someone was making too much noise for me to speak over.
And I realized that noise was me, roaring so loudly, my ears ringing so hard that I couldn’t hear myself.
My mother’s mouth was moving, Tilly and Armand were replying.
I heard the words attack and caught them unaware.
“There must be some mistake,” I croaked out, my fingers clutching at my wife’s hands, eyes scanning the burns on her face. “Send for a doctor—”
“Monsieur, I’m sorry, she is gone.”
“Léonie! Léonie, listen to me. You have to come back!”
Her eyes were closed so tightly, the pale lashes splayed over her cheeks. If only I could make her open them. Then she’d come back.
She’d always come when I called before. . .
I knew for goddamn sure that gate had locked behind me.
So who else knew the code?
