“What?” Frederick stammers.
“You want to end it?” I growl. “Shoot me. I won’t stop you.”
He blinks.
Then fires.
One. Two. Three. I take them in the chest. My body jerks but I don’t fall.
Four. Five. Six.
Ayla screams.
The sixth slug tears through my ribs—and my vision grays around the edges. I fight to stay conscious..
Fire. Pain. Cold. It all hits me at once, like a thousand hammers slamming into my chest from the inside out. I’m on my knees, choking on blood, my vision swimming with red and shadows. But I’m not done. Not yet.
A sound slices through the chaos.
A growl.
Low. Unnatural. Deep. It’s not human. It’s her.
Chelsea.
I force my head up. Frederick stares at her, backing away like he’s seen a ghost. His hand trembles, still holding the gun, still pointed at Ayla.
“No,” he whispers. “Stay back. Stay?—”
Chelsea’s eyes blaze crimson.
She launches.
Frederick screams as she sinks her tiny teeth into his trigger finger andripsit clean off. Blood arcs across the room. The gun clatters to the floor. He howls, flailing, stumbling backward, clutching his hand.
“My finger! My goddamn?—!”
Ayla moves.
Smooth as a viper.
She doesn’t pause. Doesn’t scream. She justacts. There’s a launch thruster hatch cracked open behind Frederick, steam venting, blue light flashing like a warning.
She shoves him.
Hard.
He stumbles back—arms flailing—into the open vent. The blast of heat ignites his coat. He shrieks, writhes, tumbles to the floor just outside the full stream, smoke curling from his body.
He’s alive.
Barely.
And it’s more than he deserves.
I gasp.
It’s all I can do.
