In the centre of their circle of death, he fought with an intense fury, blood dripping down his arms and cheek, his dark hair waving like a banner, those eyes of his shimmering wild.
Two.
I pushed through the crowd, my heart guiding me to him and lunged for Dig Graves, falling into his arms.
He looked to me, breathless, panicked.
I looked to him.
One.
I crushed our chests together.
43
It was my bedroom.
I knew before I had opened my eyes that it was my silk pillow I was sleeping upon. The air also tasted of Cauliflower’s shedding coat and the goat milk moisturiser I kept on my nightstand.
When I awoke in my own bed with an IV in the back of my hand and a migraine knocking on the doors of my head like angry wind, I yawned through the pain.
Oh. Pain.
It was all over me, uncaring and nasty. I had been dressed in my pyjamas and bundled in gauze from a heaping of wounds along my body.
“What the…”
“Careful!” Arms came around me, helping me to sit.
I looked up to my brother.
Magnus De Astor. He smelled like mint, like shoe polish. The sunlight trickled in through the window highlighting the glossy oil over his perfect slicked hair. “Go slow darling, the stitches are still fresh. Would you like some water?”
Once I had looked upon my brother with adoration.
Now, things had changed.
“Get away from me!” I kicked at him and dove into the headboard.
Stabbing pain pricked all over my torso, tears dribbled from my eyes from the unbearable hurt. There were so many wounds on my body, I felt like a pincushion.
“Duckie!” Magnus snapped, concern knotting him. “When you senselessly walked through the crowd of criminals you were stabbed eleven times.” He punched his fingers into his forehead. “I watched the whole thing. It was ridiculous. You walked right through a hundred people trying to kill you like it was a sunny spring day. You currently have more stitches in you than an embellished cushion, please, be careful.”
The memory of Battle came itching in my head. I had to push away the drill of pain and forced myself to focus.
“I’m out of prison?” I looked around, my mouth dry.
“Yes.” Magnus fixed the quilt, straightening it. “And do not worry, darling, I brought out the boy you wanted. Tommy. It’s done well for the papers, made me look like some sort of saviour, you know? Helping an innocent young man. Good thinking.” He poured a pitcher of water into a glass. “Also, you being innocent has assisted in this. The entire world saw it darling, you, finding your soulmate.” The usual polish in his voice cracked a little and he cleared his throat. “Mm. At least you are out, that is all that is important.”
I grabbed at my chest, pulling down my pyjama shirt.
Oh. My. God.
There across my chest, embedded over my heart, a Soulmates insignia bloomed from my blood. Pure and real and intoxicatingly beautiful. A single line, it curved up and around like half a love heart. I touched it carefully, as if it would wipe away under my fingertips. Underneath it, my heart lulled steady. The organ beat deeper, at least it felt that way. It beat as if there were a purpose to each beat, not to keep me alive, but to keep something else alive. A connection.
“Where…” My throat clogged and I breathed out my emotion. “Where is he?”
Magnus twitched his nose and repositioned the pitcher that did not need repositioning. “I’d like to speak to you first about yourSoulmate.”
