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“There’s a difference,” Declan replied. “Your wife is already dead, and nothing you do now will bring her back. The man responsible for her death is gone. You killed him. You had your revenge. It’s over now.”
For a moment, I thought Declan had finally gotten through to him, showing him the futility of what he was doing here.
“It’s not over,” he finally said. “It’s only just begun.”
Whatever life, whatever hope, I’d seen—or imagined—in Lawrence’s black eyes was gone. This was a man who had nothing to live for anymore, fueled only by rage and pain. And he wanted to share that pain with anyone who crossed his path.
“I know you’re an unwilling pawn in all of this,” Lawrence said to me. “I promise that no vampire will ever bite you again. But your blood is too dangerous for you to be allowed to live another day.”
He came toward me, silver stake raised. Instinctively, I stumbled backward only to trip over a cardboard box. I hit the ground hard.
Declan caught the vampire’s arm, stopping the sharp stake only a few inches from it being a death blow to my heart. He wrenched the snarling vampire away from me.
I shook off my fear and panic and scanned my surroundings. There wasn’t much in the warehouse—nothing useful, anyway. Cement floors. Large metal crates stacked against the wall by the door. The scent of sawdust. That was it. If there was another security camera in here, it was hidden. Not that it would do us any good. Whoever monitored the feed downstairs was likely already dead. We were on our own.
Lawrence’s stolen stake arched through the air and stabbed into Declan, piercing his shoulder. Declan let out a sharp snarl of pain.
“First I kill you.” Lawrence pulled out the bloody stake. “Then I kill her. I can resist the Nightshade enough to do it. You both need to die.”
He kicked Declan hard in his already broken leg, and Declan crashed to the ground. Blood gushed from the stake wound.
Lawrence turned toward me, moving so fast I didn’t have a chance to take another step back. He grabbed my shirt and pulled me closer. I fought against him, slamming my fist into his face, my knee into his groin.
Bleeding and injured, Declan grabbed hold of Lawrence’s ankle. The vampire kicked him hard in the face, which propelled Declan backward. Lawrence crouched down over his form, his silver stake now aimed for Declan’s heart.
I launched myself at him. Normally my blood was my weapon. This time it was my entire body. Not quite as deadly, but effective enough as a diversion.
I grabbed his shoulders and used every ounce of my body weight to pull him off Declan. We both hit the ground hard. The stake skittered away on the cement floor.
Lawrence snarled and rose up above me. He clamped his hands around my already injured throat and squeezed hard enough to cut off my breath. I reached out for the stake and felt just the edge of it against my fingertips, but it was out of reach.
It was too late, anyway. I was going to die.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
“Jill! No!”Declan yelled.
Black spots appeared before my eyes, and my hands dropped to my sides.
“There’s no other way this can end,” Lawrence growled. “The moment you were injected with the Nightshade, you had a death sentence. Victor lied. He couldn’t help you, not even if he wanted to. But I think you already know that.”
He was right. I’d been grasping hold of sand with every solution I’d chased after, watching as it slipped through my fingers each time. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t given up yet and accepted my impending death without continuing to waste energy trying to fight the inevitable.
The Nightshade was a lot like Lawrence. It wasn’t letting go until I finally stopped breathing. Until my heart stopped beating. Until my dark, poisoned blood stopped pumping through my veins.
Something about being with Declan had been enough to keep me going, keeping me fighting and hoping. He was a warrior, this kind of thing was his life. He didn’t know any different.
Dream-Declan, the glimpse I’d had of him if he’d never been touched by death and darkness and violence. He was clean and handsome and unscarred.
But I would never choose him over the Declan I already knew. Not in a million years.
It was my last thought before more darkness spread across my vision.
Then there was the sharp sound of a gunshot. Lawrence jerked backward, and his grip on me loosened. I tried to focus enough to see that there was now a spot of red on his shoulder.
He jerked again as another bullet hit him squarely in the chest.
Someone came into my peripheral vision—it was Jackson, with a gun held in his right hand. He was covered in blood from head to foot, trailing crimson behind him as he moved toward us. And there was something terribly wrong with his left arm. It hung awkwardly at his side, as though no longer fully attached to his body.
