“Breathe,” he said smoothly, holding me with one arm and running his other over my hair. “Breathe, Amelia.”
He wasn’t acting like he hated me, but he must. I jerked the breaths in through a pinhole, tears rolled down my face.
“You’re alright, everything is alright.”
Everything was far from fucking alright.
I opened my mouth to shout at him or tell him . . . tell him what? That I was sorry for being a witch? For being the thing he despised? Instead only a small pathetic whine came out.
Vampires hate witches.
I tried again, I opened my mouth to speak but wool choked my throat and nothing came out. I swallowed. Blood ran into my mouth. Dizziness held me hostage.
“He’s dead,” I said finally as I let out a shuddering sob. “I killed a man.”
“No,” Karson said, looking uncharacteristically pained. He gripped both arms and swung to face me. “I severed the artery in his neck, he had moments left.”
I couldn’t meet his eyes. I was afraid of what I might see. More tears streamed down my cheeks. I couldn’t stop them.
“Amelia, listen to me. You did not kill him. I did.”
“I threw him,” I breathed. I looked across at his body, pale and still, awash with blood. It coated his neck, his shoulder, his torso, the floor.
Karson’s fingers lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him. No anger, no hate, just an agonizing softness. “Yes, but he was already dead.”
BJ made a muffled sound of annoyance.
BJ! Jesus, BJ.
I forced my legs to move, to hold balance. I went to him, and with trembling fingers, I pulled the gag from his mouth.
“I’m so, so sorry,” I whispered, dropping to my knees. I sniffed and wiped fruitlessly at my eyes. He simply stared, wild-eyed and pain-ravaged. Shock had left him speechless, his bottom lip trembled. I wanted to hug him, I reached out and held his bound arms, they were damp with sweat and trembling.
“BJ, I’m sorry. Please talk to me, are you okay?” I begged.
He shook his head slowly, like clowns at a show. “I have two knives hanging out of my leg, Amy,” he breathed, and then he laughed, but it was mildly manic. He grimaced.
“I guess that’s a ‘no’ then,” I snorted laughter, and then I cried some more.
I looked at the knives still stuck in his thigh, they had to come out. I didn’t want to do it. In less than a heartbeat Ethan had pulled them free. It was done so fast I don’t think BJ even realized it was happening.
He grunted. Blood seeped out onto his jeans, two pools flooded together to form a large, red stain.
BJ’s eyes darted back and forth between Karson, Ethan, and the dead men. “What the . . . what the . . . what—What the hell are you two?”
“Well, I would say extraordinarily handsome, extremely intelligent, and completely charming, but I’m guessing that’s not the answer you’re looking for?” Ethan tried to make light of it.
BJ’s brow drew into sharp lines. “How did you move so fast?”
Neither man answered. He paused and took a few heaping breaths. “Oh, good God, I’m going to puke. Untie me,” he muttered.
My legs protesting the effort, I stood up and wiped my nose with my sleeve. Ethan undid the ropes which held his legs and then his arms. BJ rubbed his raw wrists, his eyes rolled suspiciously between the two men. Wincing in pain, he stood up. The blood continued to surge.
We needed to get him to hospital and get it stitched.
From behind came the sound of footsteps pounding down the hall. Fists clenched, I spun back. Dahlia stopped in the doorway looking frazzled. Anger burbled inside, if I had the energy I would’ve punched her in the face.
“I’m sorry. I tried to stop them,” she said breathless, and with what looked like a flash of guilt, her eyes fell to BJ’s bloodied leg. “I can help, take your jeans off.” She strode over to him.
