Darick steps up in front of me, his face grim. “Kara, don’t—”
I shove past him, my heart in my throat. The world narrows to a tunnel, everything beyond the circle fading to a blur. Someone tries to grab my arm – I think it’s Soren – but I wrench free.
Time stretches like taffy as I push between two witches. Their voices sound distant, underwater-slow. My boots crunch on broken glass, each step taking forever. The air feels thick, resistant, like I’m moving through molasses.
I see a boot I recognize. A hand sprawled on the marble floor. Dark blood pooling beneath a familiar leather jacket.
Marcus.
Oh, God.
The crowd parts as I move forward, or maybe I shove them aside – I’m not sure. Everything’s moving so slowly, yet I can’t seem to process what I’m seeing. My legs carry me forward on autopilot while my mind refuses to comprehend what’s in front of me.
It can’t be him… It can’t be. Please.
But it is.
I drop to my knees beside Marcus, glass shards biting through my jeans. His skin – what’s left of it – is ashen, almost translucent, dark veins spreading like cracks across his face. Agaping wound in his chest pulses with sickly green energy – magic, but not like any I’ve seen before. Black liquid oozes from the corners of his mouth.
“No, no, no…” The words spill out as I reach for him with trembling hands. His chest barely moves. The link between us feels like a fraying thread, growing thinner by the second.
Bile rises in my throat as I take in the full extent of his injuries. Whatever hit him has torn through muscle and bone, leaving ruins behind. The smell of burned flesh makes my stomach heave. I press my hand to my mouth, fighting the urge to vomit.
My vision blurs, tears streaming down my face. My throat tightens to the point that it’s hard to find breath as I try to process what I’m seeing. The gallery spins around me, artwork and faces melting into a kaleidoscope of color. Someone’s speaking – maybe several people – but their voices sound warped, distorted.
The marble floor beneath my knees feels ice cold, yet my skin burns. Power pulses in the air, making my hair stand on end. Every sensation is too sharp, too bright, too much. The scent of copper fills my nose. My hands are wet with blood. His blood.
This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
But it is. Marcus lies broken before me, and our bond – that annoying, intrusive, precious thing I’ve been fighting so hard against – grows weaker with each passing second.
His eyes flutter open as I lean over him, those dark blue depths finding mine. It’s the only part of him that I recognize right now. A weak smile tugs at his bloodstained lips.
I try to pick up his thoughts but there’s nothing clear, no words that make sense. And then something filters through…an overwhelming sense of peace. It crashes against my rising panic like waves against rocks. He’s relieved –relieved– to see me safe. The absolute idiot is dying, and he’s happy because I’m okay.
“What did you do?” I whisper, my voice breaking. “What were you thinking?”
He tries to speak but only manages to cough up more black liquid. Instead, his thoughts drift through to me.
“Worth it. You’re worth it.”
“Don’t you dare.” My hand hovers over his shoulder; I want to shake him, but I’m too afraid of the damage I’ll do. “Don’t you dare say goodbye.”
But I feel it – the way our contact gutters like a candle in the wind. The steady presence in my mind starts to fade, growing dimmer with each labored breath he takes. It’s like watching a light go out in slow motion.
Anxiety claws up my throat. My chest feels too tight, like I can’t get enough air. The connection that I’ve been fighting against, that I’ve been so determined to ignore, is slipping away. And suddenly, I can’t bear the thought of losing it. Of losing him.
“Stay with me,”I think desperately, trying to hold on to the threads that remain.“Please, Marcus. Stay with me.”
His response comes faint, distant:“I’m sorry, Kara.”
The peace radiating from him only makes my panic worse. He’s accepted this. He’s ready to go. But I’m not ready to let him.
I whip my head around, seeing the others gathered around me, faces taut with worry.
“We have to help him!” My voice sounds strange, desperate. I look up at the faces surrounding us, searching for any sign of hope. “Someone has to be able to do something!”
Darick steps forward, his expression grim. “He needs blood. Witch blood. A lot of it. The magic in his system…” He gestures at the sickly green energy still pulsing from Marcus’s wound. “It’s corrupted him. Normal blood won’t help.”
