Her smile is small and hesitant, but I see the truth in her eyes, the adoration, the trust. Her hand lifts, her fingers just brushing the edge of the gold, sending a shiver of awareness through me.
Time resumes with a crash, our surroundings once again a hell scape, and she jumps to her feet, inserting herself between me and the doorway, as if she’s going to defend me.
My gold exterior shimmers at the gesture, and I reach out, even if only with my mind.
Can you hear me?
She frowns, cocking her head in concentration, but then she nods, turning her head so her eyes lock with mine. Relieved, I push down my urge to grab onto her, do anything within my power to remove her from the situation, and protect her. To save her.
It’s not my job to save her. She has to save herself.
It’s me, but it’s not me. Do you understand?
She nods again, her focus again back on the doorway as the energy shifts, those thunderous footfalls measured, unhurried. I know she understands, but also know it will be difficult to break down once she comes face to face with me, sent to destroy her.
She takes a step toward the doorway and then stops as I appear—her fate, her future. Her executioner.
She swallows visibly, her entire being locked up as she stares in shock, seemingly unable to move. I send a shockwave to her, and she startles, automatically stepping back as I move in front of her, blocking her fully from view in the hopes the other me can be distracted.
Sure enough, he zeroes in on me, hands clenched, expression neutrally aggressive, and I approach slowly at first, needing him to keep his attention solely on me.
Vivian does as needed without prompting, moving with me with tactical care, remaining hidden. And then, once I’ve managed to approach and pivot so we’re near the doorway and he’s in the room, I back up, pushing her toward the doorway as I continue to warn her.
Keep the sword away from me.
She balks at first, and I move back more forcefully, knowing she will avoid touching the gold more than she would insist on remaining with me. She curses, knowing she has no choice but to go, even as she fights to stay.
Run.
A moment’s hesitation, a muttered curse.
And then she runs.
THIRTY-SEVEN
A CLOSE CALL
Vivian
Running from Zion feels wrong.Especially running from Zion in two forms.
But still, I run. I run as if the dogs of Hell are chasing me.
Zion’s warning still rings in my head, and I reach down to confirm that my sword is still secure. I burst out of the hallway, coming to a stop and glancing around a large room. On the far side is what appears to be a stone altar, and directly behind that, giant chairs that can only be considered thrones.
Gemma sits in the center, the grandest one, of course. She hasn’t noticed my arrival, too focused on preening in what she assumes is to be her new home.
Even now, knowing what I know, I’m still torn when I look at her. I guess that’s the talent of a narcissistic personality. They weave you so intricately into their life that the idea of unraveling yourself is painful. Near impossible. Their innate ability to consistently tear you down while still filling you with warm feelings creates a chronic state of instability where those short highs falsely make up for the ever-increasing lows.
Commotion behind me startles me into motion. I skirt along the outside wall, moving as swiftly and quietly as possible. As if on a motion detector, obstacles begin appearing. Suddenly, there’s a legion of demons between me and Gemma. I release my sword from the scabbard, holding it out in front of me as I meet the demons head-on.
To my surprise, these demons are not tough. They look the part, mean and angry and ugly, acting as if they’re actually going to do something when all they do is fall down at the edge of my sword.
Without warning, they stop, their focus now over my shoulder. I glance back, not surprised to see Zion approaching. What does surprise me is that when I turn back to the demons, they all turn tail and vanish back into the shadows.
Another minor annoyance, considering I could have at least used them as cover.
I take off toward Gemma again, attempting to shove the sword back into its scabbard, but I lose my footing, tripping over a demon's body on the ground. I attempt to right myself, my arms flailing, my grip on the hilt of my sword slipping.
