And...I didn’t want to live it.
When I had discovered she was alive, a life preserver had been tossed to me, and I had to decide if I was going to hold on. The waves would be erratic, I knew that, but the paradise we found would be worth it.
But because of my stubbornness at the ball, she had nearly...
I shook my head succinctly. She was right. I wasn’t to blame for the actions of others, and if I would’ve been with her, it might’ve ended much differently. Maybe in both of our deaths.
I had to be grateful that she and my brothers were alive.
“Are you ready to get your head out of your ass?” she asked lightly, and I nodded.
“You are welcome to have your head in my ass anytime you desire,” I responded.
She snorted.
“You might think that’s sexy, but the last thing I want to be privy to is your man farts.”
“Man farts?” I brought my hand to my chest in mock horror. “I’ll have you know that that’s sexist. My farts smell like daisies.”
“Why are we talking about farts when I was thinking about kissing you?” she mused, tapping her finger to her chin.
“Wait? Kissing?”
“Not anymore.” She laughed, the sound misting away the last of my doubts. “Now, are you coming with us?”
I gestured towards the swords hanging from my back.
“No,” I drawled languidly. “I just carry around swords wherever I go.”
Her lips tilted up, and she leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially in my ear. “I wouldn’t blame you. I do.”
Did it make me a psychopath to get slightly turned on by her proclamation?
With a sultry smirk, she pressed a kiss to my cheek and raced out my door.
TWENTY-THREE
JAX
She was leaving me.
Leaving.
Leaving.
The crisp white walls seemed to be closing in on me, surrounding me, suffocating me. To my horror, the framed pictures adorning the hallway walls changed and contorted. A landscape of flowery hills transformed into gallows, a young woman hanging precariously from the rope around her neck.
Her blonde curls and beautiful face was unmistakable, even in death.
A sob caught in my throat as I stared at the portrait of my beautiful mate. My beautiful, dead mate.
Death.
It followed me around constantly, an ominous cloud hovering just above my head, threatening to release a torrent of heavy rainfall.
Death. Death. Death.
Around the picture, blood cascaded down the pristine white walls in rivulets. They puddled on the wooden floorboards.
Death. Death. Death.
My hand fisted in my hair, pulling to the point of pain. I knew that more than one strand of blond hair broke free each time I pulled.
I took a deep breath, trying to ease the tightness in my chest. It pressed down on me like a weight I couldn’t quite carry but wasn’t heavy enough to kill me. It just sat there, mildly uncomfortable.
Death.
Death.
Death.
The blood on the floor rose from the ground, as if pulled by an unseen force, and molded itself into the shape of a person. First the small body, then the glasses, then the flowing hair.
Her presence stabbed me, gutted me. I couldn’t look away as she took one step closer and then another.
“You did this to me.” Her voice was the sweet one I remembered, though I hadn’t heard it often. Once or twice, maybe, but my memories of that time were foggy. “Why did you do this?”
“Sasha, I’m sorry,” I sobbed. My back hit the wall, and my feet gave out. Crumbling to the ground, I held my head in my hands. Pain slammed into me with the force of a meteor. It burned me on impact.
“You did this,” Sasha repeated. Her gaze was accusatory, lips parted in a silent scream. Anguish. It emitted from every pore of her little body. “You did this to me.”
My mind staggered back in time, recalling memories I had tried to keep buried.
A young Sasha looking at me as if I held the moon.
My fangs piercing her neck.
And then...
A cry escaped me, a pathetic, whining sound.
Still, Sasha did not stop her advancements. She stood directly in front of me, her body of blood swishing with each step she took. A bloody hand reached out to caress my cheek, and I knew it would leave a handprint.
“You’re going to kill her too,” she whispered, eyes flickering towards the painted picture. It had changed once more. Instead of gallows, it showed the blonde haired female lying on the ground. Her unseeing eyes focused on me.
Me.
Death.
“No,” I whispered, unable to tear my gaze away from the bloody wounds on her neck. The product of fangs, my fangs. “I wouldn’t hurt her.”
“You would,” Sasha insisted in that same, airy voice. “And you’re going to.”
“No!”
I straightened, shoving at her small body in my attempt to escape. I felt my body tilting, falling, before I hit the ground with a resonating slap. Pain darted down my legs.
“No.” I shook my head once. “Never.”
I needed to see her. I needed to see with my own eyes that she was okay and safe.
Pushing myself back to my feet, I began to move down the long hallway.
Behind me, Sasha’s laugh carried.
Mate. Where was my mate?
I found myself in front of a familiar door, and I pushed it open without preamble.
My desperation ebbed when I noted how empty the room was. I tried to feel her, sense her presence. My skin no longer prickled as it usually did when she was around.
Did that mean...?
Another anguished cry escaped me as I sunk to my knees. Tears ran down my face, but I couldn’t find the motivation or even the desire to brush them away.
Loneliness swamped me. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before, a tsunami that I
