I’d researched how to take a life while existing at Hawksridge. I’d read articles, watched examples, planned the perfect murder. To puncture a heart didn’t guarantee death. A ‘stiletto’ type perforation could be survived.
I had no intention of letting Daniel survive.
Locking my knees either side of his chest, I ripped the needle free.
An agonising groan came from his chest as blood oozed from the hole.
Daniel’s stupor fell away. His hands reached for my throat, his fingers shaking and weak as his blood pressure dropped from the orifice gushing in his chest. His brain starved for oxygen the longer his heart bled. He only had seconds before the machine of his body shut down.
His arms flailed. His palm struck my cheek, desperate to hurt.
Tears spurted and pain smarted, but I didn’t move. I wouldn’t have the power to fight him if his body hadn’t turned traitor, poisoning him from the inside out. But right now, I had all the power in the world.
“You fucking cu—” He coughed, his fingers slipping in their attempt to curl around my neck, grasping my collar instead. The impenetrable diamonds kept me safe from being throttled as I arched my arm and prepared to complete my final strike.
“Die.” The needle glistened with dripping crimson as it hurtled through the air and kissed his skin again. The wickedly sharp point crunched its waythrough flesh and fat, returning to lodge in his most important organ.
Daniel howled, his torso thrashing, face straining. He hit me, struck me, tried to knock me over. But I had an anchor—the needle. I held on, pushing down with all my might driving the end home.
“You can’t stop me.”
He bellowed as the needle tip slid deeper, deeper, past gristle and bone, impaling my victim inch by inch. He twitched and bucked, his fingers unable to snare as his nervous system shut down.
The wet squelch of my needle ripping another hole in his heart brought rushing nausea, but I didn’t falter. All masterful killers knew to make the result permanent, dedication and desire had to be invoked.
I was dedicated.
I desired freedom.
I would finish this.
Holding the base of the needle, I twisted it like a corkscrew.
“Ah!” Daniel jerked. His arms fell to his side, scrabbling at the needle, but it was too late. Adrenaline would keep him animated for another few seconds, but it was already done.
I took his life, not with horror or regret, but with no mercy and complete acceptance.
A life for a life.
He owed me that.
Watching him succumb iced my blood, turning me into a ruthless executioner. His golden eyes met mine, gasping for hope and help. His motions turned languid and dull, a broken pawn, never to live again.
“How does it feel, Daniel? To know you’ve lost?” I gasped, but my nerves remained calm. “How does it feel to know a Weaver took your soul?”
He never had the chance to answer. His face froze of vitality. His breath wheezed, his heart stopped, and in those final seconds before his soul leapt free, he snarled with sinister hate.
Then...emptiness.
There were no longer two people in my tent, only one. Just me.
Just me.
I killed him.
As if the universe rejoiced in one less monster breathing its air, a lion bayed on the dawn’s horizon. Daniel’s blood slowly seeped in an odd little trickle around my needle. Weeping wetly and warmly, staining his chest like spilled wine.
He twitched.
