And second—
He pulls the pin.
“Hijo de puta—!” I leap forward to gain control of the situation, spitting curses in my mother tongue, but before I can even get there, Christian has already picked Everett up by the scruff, and with a roar, he uses his entire body to throw Everett through the window with a splintering crash.
I’m sure a stream of expletives leaves my mouth but before I can tune in, I’m tackling Christian to the ground when the grenade explodes.
I’m sure the force of it shakes the building, but I'm too hyperaware of Christian’s body beneath mine. It’s as though every place we touch burns... but it only takes a moment for me to realize he’s running a ridiculously high fever. His body is hot to the touch underneath the torn parts of his shirt and his blood seeps into my clothes and sticks to my skin like a fresh coating of paint. The wound itself looks like it’s from a single bullet but it’s bandaged like shit—if he’s been losing blood from Nash’s place until now, he’ll soon go into shock and die, regardless of whether the shot missed his vitals.
Something about that thought just isn’t sitting well in my chest.
“I didn’t mind it... but thanks,” Christian smiles weakly, the sharp focus that was there a moment ago now looking hazy and weak. It feels like he’s looking at me for the first time. His eyes can’t be more than a few inches from mine and under the ceiling lights, I can make out flecks of green amidst the blue of his irises. Right before he passes out beneath me, a cold hand grips my heart and a strange anxiety begins to bubble nauseously in my chest.
Because the beautiful red that was his hatred has faded into an ominous black.
And I’ll be damned before this man gives up on his life before we've even met.
Chapter 2
‘Christian’
I think I handled myself pretty well for my second debut as a human.
All those nights binge-watching ‘Syndicate’ with Christian and the team, crowding around the living room to watch our all-time favourite crime series, definitely came in handy… and I’ve watched Christian for long enough that I think I did pretty well mimicking him. Maybe.
I open my eyes to bright ceiling lights. I thought cat eyes were pretty sensitive but I’d forgotten how different human eyes are, the new range of colours is still jarring.
I’m blinded for a few moments before the room comes into focus—a small space with a single bed—and when I look down, my torso is bandaged spectacularly. I admit, when I shot myself in the chest to recreate the bullet wounds of a dying man, I didn’t expect bandaging it to be so utterly impossible. They made it seem so easy in Syndicate.
I have the limitations of the body I shift into, so my collapsing is a stark reminder that even though I can’t die, losing blood will still render me unconscious. As long as my cores are undamaged, the body I’ve chosen will heal over time. They’re the only parts of me that matter.
A familiar face comes into my line of vision, leaning over me and my expression softens. I’d been meaning to wake up when no one was here so I could shift back into a cat and escape… but Dahlia hasn’t left my side even once in the past two days.
I can only pretend to sleep for so long.
She looks tired. I’ve seen her many times while following Christian and the team on his adventures, and she absolutely adored me as a cat—she’d often scratch that sweet spot beneath my neck and leave warm milk for me whenever she could.
I’ve watched her closely in all those moments… so I know she’s been holding in the tears. I know because her usually vibrant skin is pale, her black wavy hair now lies flat and dull around her shoulders instead of its usual well-kept waves. One look into her eyes and I know her soul is breaking.
It’s a stark reminder that mine is breaking too.
She collapses over me to wrap her arms around my head and my eyes sting. I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve felt the warmth of another person, and every single time, it was Christian. Whenever he rubbed my fur his hands were always warm. Whenever he made space for me in his bed, his body was almost hot to the touch, keeping out the chill during the winter nights…
But when I’d laid next to him for the last time, his body was stiff and cold. His blood was sticky beneath my paws and against my fur—the scent of it lingers in my nose even now, and his pretty eyes—the bright blue that mesmerized me every passing day…
They were dull. Lifeless.
The heart in my chest squeezes painfully, and my hand hovers over Dahlia hesitantly before finally gaining the courage to rest on her back… and for a moment the world is just barely warm again, a glimpse of the past peeking its head out of the darkness.
“Welcome back, Christian,” Dahlia whispers.
And just like that, the warmth is gone, sucked out of the air to leave behind only bitter cold.
My hand freezes on her back and my throat tightens painfully. Dahlia pulls away to watch me with such a bittersweet and grateful expression, that I have to turn away because the tears have started to fall.
Because she’s wrong.
Christian Adler didn’t come back.
