Red flinches.
I turn back to Justice. “We won’t force it, Justice, but if you want Jericho to help, he can. Do you want that? Squeeze my hand again if you do.”
After a dreadfully long few seconds, Justice presses his lips together and squeezes my hand almost painfully. I squeeze back, trying to let him know I understand. To let him know he isn’t alone.
“Okay, good. That’s good. We’re going to help you.”
Tears fill my eyes when I look up to Jericho. He seems completely frozen in time. Unmoving.
“He needs you now, babe. He’s running out of time, and he needs you. He’s made his choice.”
Jericho doesn’t breathe. I can see the war going on inside him, the desperate desire not to go through with this. But then something softens, and he reaches for my other hand, touching me ever so gently.
Justice’s body jerks as the machine beeps frantically. Red curses. “Jericho, now!”
Jericho inhales deeply before leaning over Justice. Holding his face, he says, “I promise you, Jus, this is the worst of it. It’s going to get better real soon.”
Jericho quickly bites into his skin, sending a pair of red streams down his forearm, then holds the wound over Justice’s mouth. Justice sputters and coughs, his body rejecting the liquid, but Jericho holds him steady, lifting his head a little to help him swallow. After three drinks, he pulls away and gently eases Justice back down. His pulse becomes frantic as the blood enters his system, and I turn to Jericho, hoping that’s a good sign, but his face is unreadable.
Seconds feel like hours as we all hold our breath to see if it will work. Even with my human ears, I can hear Justice’s lungs rattle, each breath more labored than the last. This can’t be good. His skin is pale—too pale—and his eyes nearly lifeless. Is there any hope for him?
Is this what Jericho went through when Foxx turned him? How helpless he’d been to what was happening? Was Jericho this close to death?
I look at Jericho, my heart aching, both for the teen and for the man I’m falling in love with. Jericho’s eyes are closed, head slanted as if he’s listening to something I can’t hear. Then his jaw ticks as he pounds a fist against the table.
A second later, Justice’s body convulses once, twice, then goes completely limp on the table. The terrible drone on the monitor tells me he’s gone.
Jericho turns, kicking a table clear across the room. “Fuck!”
I reach for him but he jerks away, nearly backhanding me in the process.
“Jer—”
“He’s dead!” Jericho spits. “Justice is dead! All because of—”
“The same asshole who did this to you!” I cut in, refusing to let Jericho blame himself for Justice’s death. He tried to save him, not hurt him. “This was not you, Jer. It was Foxx! His coven. Not you!”
Jericho thrusts a hand toward the door, eyes the deepest shade of emerald. “How many more will there be?How many?”
“None, if we can help it,” I say quickly, trying to get through to him. But right now, it’s like he doesn’t even see me. His body is tense. A snake poised to strike.
I don’t dare touch him.
Jericho shoves past me, knocking another table over as he passes.
“Jericho!”
But he’s gone before I can turn around. I stare at the empty doorway in disbelief, my knees buckling. Gripping the table, I slump forward.
“He’s coming back, right?”
When no one replies, my heart breaks.
“Jericho’s coming back…right?”
He has to come back.
23
