Reichen closed his eyes at the wooden sound of Helene's voice. She spoke too slowly, the syllables too flat...toneless.
Heartless.
He didn't need to turn around to face her to know that her eyes would seem oddly dull to him now. Dull because all of her warmth - all of her humanity - had been recently bled out of her.
She was no longer his lover, nor his friend. She was Minion.
"Who turned you?" he asked, letting go of the dead boy's hand. "Who do you belong to now?"
"You should know, Andreas. You sent me to him, after all."
Son of a bitch.
Reichen's jaw clenched, molars nearly cracking from the pressure. "Wilhelm Roth. He sent you here to do this to me. He used you to destroy me."
That Helene said nothing only made the realization cut all the deeper. As wrenching as it would be to look into his former lover's eyes and see a soulless shell of the woman he'd cared for, Reichen had to see for himself.
He stood up and slowly turned around. "Oh, Christ. Helene..."
Dried blood splattered her face and clothing - almost every square inch of her, covered in the blood of his dearest friends and relatives. She must have been right there in the center of the entire slaughter, an unfeeling, unaffected witness to it all. She said nothing as she stared at him, her head cocked a bit to the side. Her once-bright and clever eyes were now as vacant and cold as a shark's. Down at her side, she held a large butcher knife from the kitchen in her hand. The wide blade glittered in the lamplight of the dining room's crystal chandelier.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his heart twisted in a vise. "I didn't know...When you e-mailed and left me the message with Roth's name, I tried to warn you. I tried to reach you..."
He let the words trail off, knowing that explanations didn't matter. Not now.
"Helene, just know that I am sorry." He swallowed the bile that rose in the back of his throat. "Just know that I truly did care for you. I loved y - "
With a banshee shriek, the Minion lunged for him.
Reichen felt the sharp edge of the blade cut across his chest and arm, a deep, punishing slice. Ignoring the pain, ignoring the sudden inhaled scent of his own blood, he grabbed the flailing arm of Roth's mind slave and wrenched it behind her. She screamed, bucking and fighting as he brought his left arm down and locked both of her limbs tight at her sides. She cursed and shouted, calling him vile names, spitting in fury.
"Shh," Reichen whispered beside her ear. "Shh now...be quiet."
Like a feral animal, Helene kept squirming, kept shrieking for him to let her loose.
No, he corrected himself. Not Helene. This was no longer the woman he knew. She was gone, lost to him the moment she brought Wilhelm Roth's death squad into this Darkhaven. In truth, for so many reasons, she was never his to claim. But God help her, she hadn't deserved this end. None of the fallen here deserved such horror.
"It's all right now," he murmured, bringing his right hand up to stroke her cold, bloodstained cheek. "It's all over now, darling."
A scream tore out of her throat as she yanked her face out of his grasp. "Bastard! Let me go!"
"Yes," he said. He wrested the butcher knife from her grasp. "It is finished now. I'm going to let you go."
With sorrow choking him, Reichen turned the handle around in his fingers and held the point to her breast.
"Forgive me, Helene..."
Holding her tight against him, he plunged the blade deep into her chest. She made no sound as she died, just exhaled a long, slow sigh as she deflated in his arms and hung there, limp as a rag doll. As gently as he could, Reichen eased her body to the floor. The knife dropped out of his hand and fell beside her, coated with the bright crimson of their mingled blood.
Reichen took one long, unflinching look at the wreckage that had been his home. Now that it was over, he wanted to memorize every bloodstain, every life that had been cut short because of his inattention. His failure. He needed to remember, because in a short while none of this would exist.
He couldn't let any of it remain, not like this.
Nor would he would let these deaths go unmet.
Reichen pivoted and strode away from the carnage. His boots echoed hollowly on the wood floor in the hall, his steps the only sound in what had become a grisly mass tomb. By the time he reached the front lawn of the estate, his chest was no longer tight but cold.
As cold as stone.