But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t stir at all.
“Martin!” Mom screams, as she scrambles toward him on her hands and knees. I follow her, approaching cautiously. Nearly sixteen years of experience tells me this could be some trick—not to trust the bastard. To have my fucking guard up.
Coming level with his face, I peer down.
Dad’s body lays still, an empty shell. His glassy eyes are open—almost surprised. It’s then that I notice the jagged rock just to the left of his head. I see what looks like little white chips of bone, and a strange pinkish red matter. Dark blood pools around the grass under my feet.
My heart hammers in my chest as I take a step back. Beads of sweat cool my forehead. But I don’t shudder, my hands no longer shake. My mother’s shriek pierces the haze, and I am jolted back as if emerging from being underwater.
“Zaney, what did you do?” her voice wails, as she holds Dad’s splintered head in her hands.
“I—freed us,” I whisper. And it’s true. Just like that.
I walk backward, my eyes still glued to his lifeless form. Mom seizes me. She strokes my cheek, presses me to her. Her voice sounds scared as she whispers to me over and over, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” Her voice shifts over into rapid French. I stand there unblinking as she holds me. “Ça ira. Jusqu'à la mort.”
____________________
I shake my head back and forth, dispelling the vivid memory. I’m surprised to feel dampness on my cheeks. I’m in my car, still driving, with no real idea of where I’m going, or why. I just know I have to keep moving forward. I swipe the back of my hand under my eyes. Without thinking, I seize my cell phone and dial a number I haven’t called in months. It rings and rings before finally going to voicemail.
“Hi, you’ve reached Will Bronwin. Sorry I missed you. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you when I can. Cheers.”
Instead of hanging up like I usually do, this time, I decide to leave a message. My voice is a snarl, and I’m aware that despite his avoidant and selfish tendencies, Will probably doesn’t deserve this. But I don’t fucking care. With Kat gone, what do I have left to lose?
“Hey dipshit,” I start, “how about you try answering your cell phone for fucking once. Or EVER.” I pause, taking a breath and thinking for a moment. I lower the register of my voice before adding, “There are people who still need you, you know. Family. Fuck.”
I hang up and fling the phone into the passenger seat. I let go of the steering wheel for a second and run my hands through my hair. Pulling the car off the side of the road, I swerve onto the wet gravel shoulder.
The blue glow from the center console clock reads 12:32am.
I shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t check.
She made it clear she was done with you, asshole.
But I can’t help it. I can’t not do it. And before I know it, I’m picking up my cell and checking the front exterior camera to Pearson House. Frowning, I see that Kat’s black SUV isn’t there.
Swiping up, I log into my security feed and start to go back through the footage from the last hour or so. My thumb moves along the feed, speeding through the tape, and I finally see it: Kat departing the house, black umbrella in hand. She makes her way to her car, shuts the door, and drives off.
At eleven-thirty at night.
What the hell, Doc?
25
PREY
KAT
My eyes fly open.No, Kat—you can’t go to sleep. If you do have a concussion, that’s the worst fucking thing you can do.But my weary eyelids feel so heavy now, too heavy.
My thoughts fall to Zayn again.God, if there is one person I would pray to, it would be him. Huge, warm, strong, and surveying me with those ocean eyes of his. My protector and my peace. Unexpected, and bursting into my life like he had always belonged there.
Fuck. Why had I let him walk away from me at the ruins? Why didn’t I chase him down when I had the chance and wrap myself around him? Why didn’t I nestle into his warm embrace one last time, when I could?And why had it taken this—being abducted by the Demon—for me to realize that I don’t want to die after all.
I can almost feel his massive arms wrapping around me now. Warm and safe, like two steel bands. My eyes slip closed again, and an image of Zayn striding towards me through a thicket of dark green trees fills my head. He approaches and reaches outfor me. I can almost hear his voice murmur, “Doc.” His low rumble is soft and far away, barely audible. Weakly, I smile at the memory.
He moves closer to me, speaking again. “Katherine.” My name whispered from his mouth is like a breath of life.I can feel it in my bones.
“Doc,” he says again. His voice carries that same deep richness, but with more power behind it now. I smile faintly as I remember the way he has called out my name, whispered it against my ear. In softer, safer moments. Warm in my bed, tangled up in my sheets...
