I reached across and squeezed his arm. “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably at the market.”
We turned left and down a long bitumen driveway under huge flame-colored oak trees that swelled over the road and left a carpet of gold and red and orange on the floor. It was a white timber-clad home with a white picket fence and an immaculate garden, with beautiful flowers and plants running around the fence line and in front of a timber-covered porch. Neat as a pin, like Mary.
Karson got out, rain whispering all around him, and waited for me to join him.
“Her car’s not here,” I commented.
“It could be in the garage.” He gestured to the side of the house. We walked up a slate path to the front door, painted a pretty pale blue.
Karson knocked three times and waited. I looked at him, wondering if he could hear anything. I didn’t need to ask, he read my mind, or perhaps he saw the question on my face, and shook his head.
Claws appeared on the tips of his fingers and he went to open the door, but I willed it to unlock with my mind. There was a click, and it swung open. The hallway was long, painted white, with a long blue-patterned hall rug covering shiny floorboards.
A feeling of something dark, something grave, clenched around my body.
Karson made a sound, an awful heart-shattering sound. In a blur, he disappeared down the hallway.
His wild cry of Mary’s name sent spiders scurrying over my skin. I ran, heart in my mouth, my legs pounding. I slipped on something wet as I turned the corner, and my shoulder bashed into the edge of the door. I righted myself and what I saw froze my entire body, stole the color from my face, and almost dropped me to my knees.
Karson had Mary cradled in his arms, rocking her body. Blood had leaked from a point in her chest to the floor, leaving a pool around her.
“No.” His voice cracked. “No, Mary, no.”
There was a crunching sound as he bit his wrist and jammed it to her lips. “Swallow,” he pleaded, the pain in his voice shattering something inside me. A high-pitched ringing screamed in my ears. “Please, darling, swallow.”
His blood would heal her without turning her. She didn’t want to be a vampire. But Mary …
Mary didn’t look like she was unconscious. She looked dead.
My brain lurched with the need to get to them, but as much as I willed my muscles, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. I just stared at Mary in some kind of stupor. Her eyes were glassy marbles, staring up at Karson. Her mouth was ajar, frozen on her last pained breath. Her skin was the shade of snow, streaked with deep red. Her frail arms were covered in slash marks where she had tried to defend herself.
This can’t be happening.
“Swallow, sweetheart, please,” he begged. “You have to swallow.” Hope fought against the terrible knowing—maybe his blood was so powerful it would run down her throat and somehow revive her? I didn’t know if any went down, but blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. “Please, please, please,” he whispered, his lips brushing her forehead. “I need you … we all need you. I love you.”
Tears blurred my vision, coming to rest on a knife on the floor. The blade glinted crimson.This can’t be real.
Hope was shattered when Karson tilted his head back and roared. His cry of devastation was so loud it shook the windows and blasted through the air. Shock waves rushed through the surrounding trees. Resting birds squawked and took off in terrified flight.
His despair jolted me into moving. I staggered to him, falling to my knees and wrapping my arm around his trembling shoulders. Everything felt surreal. All I could think wasthis can’t be happening. But the scent of blood was too real as it burned up my nostrils.
His face dipped to her hair, his chest heaving with sobs. “No, Mary.No, no, no.”
Mary, sweet Mary, whose smile lit up our lives. Who cooked our meals with love, who was always there when I needed to talk, always armed with a wise word. She was old, innocent, harmless. And she was dead. Not just dead—murdered.
Tears streamed down Karson’s face. My hand rubbed at his back, trying to ease his pain. But it was pointless. There was no way to help a heart fractured with grief.
“I’m sorry.” My voice choked on the tightness of air trapped in my chest. “I’m so sorry.”
Karson didn’t answer, he didn’t even look at me, as if he didn’t even register I was there. He slipped his arms under her body and rose slowly, his steps stumbling and unsteady as he carried her and gently placed her on the sofa. Then he straightened and turned. He stilled, staring, not blinking.
I followed his line of sight.
The high-pitched squeal increased in my ears. I could not believe what I was seeing. I cried out at the words written on the wall in Mary’s blood.
Tick-tock.
The world fell silent. Even the ringing in my ears died. Darkness stormed over my vision, threatening to take me under, before my body physically jerked on the realization that I killed her.
