“This time, I really got you, motherfucker,” he says with an evil glint. “Say goodbye to your little pet. You’re going to die, and so will she.”
My heart beating wildly, I step closer to the man lying on the ground. Damien. Oh, God, it’s Damien. But he’s still breathing slightly, his eyes fixed on me, and I can’t read the expression in them. Fear? Anger? Love?Guilt?
Itisguilt. Guilt, mingling with a deep love that makes my own heart ache. There’s a little anger laced in it, a touch of something dark and dangerous that thrills me, that makes me want to submit to him, to ask him to punish me.
But I’m brought back to the moment as Gabriel, who’s standing between the two of us, still unaware of my presence, cocks his gun, aiming for Damien’s heart.
Before he can pull the trigger, I leap toward him and feel the satisfying push of my knife penetrating his back. I shove it back out, noticing the blood spurting from his wound, then force it in again and again, losing count of all the stab wounds.
He doesn’t react at first. I don’t know how many stab wounds it takes for the shock of what has just happened to sink in. He staggers backward, choking wordlessly, his throat strangling with his own blood. Then he crumples to the ground, stillgroaning, still thrashing.
I crouch beside him as his body twitches, the lifeforce slowly draining from him into the cold ground below. Then I bring down my knife again, this time to etch out a design in his skull as he stares up at me in silent horror.
The sign of the Devil. The sign I know Damien would have wanted to mark him with. I feel a moment’s pride at knowing I’ve successfully carried out his plan.
It takes only a moment, and then I’m hurrying to Damien, my heart constricting once more with panic, and nearly cry out when I see the pool of blood staining his white button-down. I kneel down and quickly press my hands on the wound, vaguely remembering how I once accidentally kept myself from bleeding out by doing the same thing.
He looks up at me, his face contorted with pain that he clearly tries to disguise from me.
“My brave little darling,” he murmurs, bringing a weak hand up to stroke my cheek. “Brave Seraphina.”
“Please don’t speak,” I sob. “Please. Where’s your cell phone? I’m going to call an ambulance.”
“Logan,” he mouths.
I place his own hands on the gaping wound in his stomach and fumble through his pockets, finally finding the phone. I hesitate to call the ambulance in spite of his request, but I know that even if it saves him, it will only be to put him behind bars. He needs Logan to cover this up.
Biting down on my anxiety, I turn the phone toward him, and his finger tremblingly puts in the code. Then I find Logan’s number and call him, my heart racing.
“Yeah?”
His voice, calm, with a glint of humor, sounds oddly disconnected from this situation. By now my tears are pouring freely down my cheeks, and I groan, “Please, Logan, please.Damien is dying. Please come, please save him.”
His tone changes instantly. “Seraphina. Are you with him right now?” he asks urgently.
“Yes,” I groan. “We’re in the forest, somewhere in Vermont, I don’t know where exactly…”
“Don’t worry. I can track it. Are you in immediate danger?”
“No,” I blubber. “He’s dead. Gabriel’s dead. I killed him. But Damien was shot. He’s bleeding out. Please, Logan, I can’t live without him, I love him…”
“I know, Seraphina,” he says quietly. I hear the sound of a car engine being turned on and I let myself hope. He’s coming. Everything will be okay.
“It’s going to take me an hour to get there,” he says, and my hopes plummet at once. “Stay on the phone, Seraphina. Do you see Damien’s car from where you are?”
I tear myself away from Damien’s eyes, which are still full of deep love, and guilt, and danger. I scan the surroundings, and quickly spot the car, parked a little while away, nestled among the trees. Only the glint of metal that a distant moonbeam lights up betrays its presence.
I nod, then remember he can’t see me. “Yes.”
“Go to it. There’s a first aid kit in the trunk. You’re going to have to sew him up, if you want him to make it. But you can do that. I know you can. You’ve done it once before.”
I fumble through Damien’s jacket again, hunting for the keys. As soon as I find them, I hungrily kiss his hand, and he gives mine a light squeeze. Then I rush toward the car, my heart thumping.What if by the time I get back, he’s already dead?
I grab the kit and dart back to him, moving faster than I ever have before. He’s still breathing.Thank you, God, thank you. If you exist, I’ll spend the rest of my life worshipping at your feet. If you don’t, I’ll worship the Devil instead.
Damien’s eyes fix themselves on mine as I kneel down andopen the kit.
“It’s not your typical first aid kit,” comments Logan dryly as I discover a number of spools of threads and sewing needles, as well as the usual gauze patches and disinfectant. “But then again, most people don’t have to worry about getting shot or stabbed on a regular basis.”
