He’s held it locked up inside him for so long it burns as bright as the sun, on the verge of going supernova.
Then what I’ve done finally registers.
There’s horror in those eyes.
There’s pain.
There’s betrayal.
The very same betrayal I feel.
I’m no better than him, I realize as my own action finally registers through the red haze.
He loves me, and I’ve killed him.
I’m the monster I’ve been running away from my entire life.
“No,” I moan, swaying on my feet in denial.
I didn’t do that… I couldn’t have done that…
But I did.
Hands going to his neck, Isaac tries to stop himself from bleeding out by putting pressure on the wound, but the blood pours and spurts through his fingers. His life rushing out of him.
And again, he looks at me. Looks at me wondering why I’ve hurt him.
Why did I kill him when he finally admitted he loves me?
When he’s here because he tried to save me?
Tried to save me from this.
“No!” I scream, launching myself at Isaac.
I don’t want to be the monster, I wail inside my head as I slap my hands over his. Trying my best to hold his life in.
I don’t want him to die.
I want to take it back. Oh God, please take it back.
I didn’t mean it.
God, please don’t let him die because I couldn’t control myself, I pray in desperation.
“No, you can’t, Father. You can’t,” someone says in alarm behind us.
“He’s the fucking enemy,” someone else growls. “He’s Order scum.”
“Mother hurts… she hurts,” Ambrose whines over and over, each word rising in annoying velocity.
“Fucking hell,” yet another mutters. “This has turned into a shitshow.”
“Silence!” Asher snaps, and the basement falls into an eerie quiet before he appears behind Isaac.
A dark, foreboding shadow.
Reaching down, Asher grabs Isaac by the hair and yanks his head back. “It’s my choice.”
“No!” I cry out and grab at Asher’s hand, trying to pry his fingers off. Afraid he’s going to finish what I put into motion.
Ignoring me, Asher lifts his other hand up to his mouth and tears into his wrist. Biting open his skin to free his blood.
When he lowers his bleeding wrist to Isaac’s mouth, all the fight goes out of me.
He’s not trying to kill Isaac.
He’s answering my prayer and saving me from myself. Again.
Asher’s gaze grabs mine and holds me. Not letting me go. Forcing me to acknowledge his ownership and possession. “The things I’m willing to do for you…”
There’s no animosity in what he says, no anger or regret.
It’s not said to make me feel guilty or beholden.
It’s a declaration. A promise.
A show of his love.
His eyes sear into mine, telling me he’ll give me anything, even this.
Before I can thank him, Isaac’s hips buck, trying to throw me off his lap. Looking back down at Isaac, I watch him reach up and try to push to Asher’s arm away.
Afraid he’ll stop the process, I grab Isaac’s hands and pin them down to the arms of the chair.
Isaac bucks again, trying to throw me off, but I use my grip on his arms to hold on.
When Isaac’s hips crash into my thighs, Asher lets out a vicious growl and presses his wrist harder to his mouth.
I’m sure Isaac would shake his head if Asher wasn’t holding him by the hair, nearly breaking his neck.
With nothing covering the gash across Isaac’s throat, it gapes open, reminding me a little of raw lunch meat. Pouring a fountain of blood down Isaac’s chest and splashing against my knees.
Isaac tries once more to buck me off him, his hips shoving upwards. When they touch my thighs, Asher growls again and slaps his palm over Isaac’s mouth.
“There’s only so much I can stand,” Asher says then he jerks Isaac’s head to the side.
A sickening crack echoes through the basement, and Isaac goes slack, his body stilling beneath me.
I keep waiting for Isaac to move, to try to buck me off some more, to keep fighting. But he’s motionless.
Dead.
When Asher lets go of his hair and takes a step back, Isaac’s head tips to the side at an unnatural angle.
“It’s done,” Asher says. “He’ll rise soon.”
I barely hear him, staring at Isaac’s face.
Mouth open, his tongue lolls out, and his eyes stare blankly up at the ceiling.
There’s no dignity in death.
“Did you hear me, Chloe?” Asher asks. “I said it’s done. It’s complete. He’ll rise again.”
Scrambling off Isaac’s lap, I take a couple of steps back. I’m covered in his blood.
He’s dead, I think again as I lift my hands and stare at the red coating my hands. It looks like someone dipped my hands into buckets of red paint. My hands are completely covered, long, thick streams of blood dripping all the way down to my elbows.
My stomach cramps hard, my hunger coming back with a vengeance, and I have the overwhelming urge to lick it.