The Art of Obsession (Savage Stalkers #1)

49. “A true god knows he’s nothing without his goddess.”

49

“A true god knows he’s nothing without his goddess.”

Chapter Playlist:

“Blood in the Water” – Grandson

“No Time to Die” – Billie Eilish

“Bad Guy” – Billie Eilish

“The Dark of You” – Breaking Benjamin

CAL

My footsteps hammer on the wood beams as I run down the boardwalk, gun in my hand, knife in my belt. All I hear is my heart pounding in my eardrums.

Warm blood still wets my shirt from the government official I interrogated to learn Dorian’s location on this island. From there, me and my team took a boat. As much as I wanted to run off half-cocked, I knew Dorian would have his own security. We came by boat vs the airstrip. By now, my manager and security have taken control of Dorian’s compound.

It took a few snapped fingers to learn of his goddamn beachside exhibit .

I pause at the end of the boardwalk, stepping onto the sandy beach with tropical foliage hemming me in on each side. Waves crash against the nearby rocks. But then…the muffled scream of a woman pierces the air from the west side of the beach. Not just any woman—Everleigh.

I charge forward, pushing harder beyond the clusters of fronds and trees, my chest burning, until the glass-paneled structure comes into view.

Through the glass, I see her. Dorian’s hands are on her, forcing her into a white gown that clings to her trembling frame. Her face is streaked with tears, her eyes burning with defiance even as her body shakes.

Rage ignites in me, hot and blinding. Without hesitation, I raise my gun and f

ire. The shot shatters the glass, a clean, precise break that sends shards raining down.

“Dorian!” I roar, stepping through the opening, ignoring the crunch of glass underfoot. “Let her go.”

Everleigh’s head snaps toward me, her eyes widening. Relief floods her face as if the weight of the world lifts from her shoulders.

“Cal!” she breathes, her eyes glassy with tears.

But Dorian doesn’t flinch. His grip tightens around her waist, yanking her back against him. He presses a gun to her neck, and my heart stops. My whole universe stops.

“Drop it,” he says, his tone casual, almost bored. “Or I paint the sand with her blood.”

Everleigh swallows hard, her hands twitching. I know how much she wants to fight, but she’s touching her stomach—her instincts to protect our child are greater than the risk of struggle.

I don’t hesitate. My gun hits the floor with a dull thud.

Dorian chuckles, low and mocking. “You think I’d ever end the life of my future bride? And my main attraction for your customer base that will soon be mine? No, no, Acheron. How short-sighted of you. But thank you for arriving just in time for the ceremony.”

Everleigh’s wide eyes meet mine, her fear so palpable it feels like a fist to the gut. She whispers my name, her voice a plea, her trust in me absolute.

I take a slow step forward, hands raised, calculating my next move. But before I can act, Dorian shoves her aside and fires.

The bullet slams into my side, a hot, searing pain that nearly drops me to my knees.

“Cal!” Everleigh’s scream slices through the haze of pain before she runs to me.

Blood trickles down my side, warm and sticky, but I grit my teeth and stay on my feet. I can’t go down. Not now.

Dorian’s gun is aimed squarely at me, his hand steady, his smirk infuriatingly confident. Before Everleigh can reach me, my vision tunnels, focusing on nothing but him. With a roar, I lunge forward, barreling into him before he can pull the trigger.

We hit the ground hard, the impact jarring my ribs and sending a fresh wave of pain through me. His gun thuds onto the nearby sand, out of reach. We grapple, his elbow catching my jaw as I struggle to pin him. He’s wiry but strong, and rage fuels him as much as it does me.

“Everleigh!” I shout at her from the side. “Get out of here!”

But she doesn’t.

While Dorian and I wrestle, I catch a flash of white out of the corner of my eye—Everleigh moving, quick and deliberate. Her hands dive toward my belt, pulling the knife from its sheath. Her expression is no longer fear-stricken; it’s something darker, fiercer. And filled with more feminine wrath than the first night of the exhibit when I took her virginity, and she stabbed me in the shoulder.

Dorian manages to break free of my grip, shoving me off him with a grunt. He scrambles for the gun, his fingers curling around the grip just as he turns it toward me.

“Now, I will be the new God of Art,” he sneers, arrogance dripping from every word.

Before either of us can react, Everleigh unleashes a feral feminine snarl and drives the knife into Dorian’s back, the blade sinking deep between his ribs.

He stiffens, body locking up, mouth opening in a silent howl of pain. His head snaps around to look at her, shock and fury in his eyes.

“I stabbed Cal in the front,” she growls, her voice cold and cutting. “I don’t give a damn about stabbing you in the back.”

Dorian chokes out a sound—half a laugh, half a gasp—before she twists the blade viciously. He drops the gun, his hands flailing as blood spills from his mouth. I grab the weapon before he can so much as think to use it on her—or me—again.

But she’s not done.

With a guttural cry, she yanks the knife free and plunges it into him again. And again. As far as my hardening cock is concerned, nothing else matters. Her movements are wild, each strike fueled by rage and something deeper—something primal. Possessive. Blood sprays across her white gown, staining it crimson, but she doesn’t flinch.

He’s still wheezing, barely clinging to life as she stands over him, her eyes like a maelstrom of gray thunderheads vowing ruin. “A true god knows he’s nothing without his goddess,” she seethes, taking the blade handle in both hands. “A true god won’t just die for his goddess. He’ll kill for her.” Her eyes flick to mine, gleaming like silver before she snaps them back to Dorian. “And she’ll do the same.”

With a fierce cry, Everleigh plunges the knife through his ribcage and into his heart, ending him with savage finality.

Her blood-slicked hands tremble as she lets go of the knife. Tremors break out in her body as she pants, her chest heaving.

“Everleigh…” I rasp, struggling to stay upright. My legs feel like they’re about to give out, but I have to reach her.

Her head snaps toward me, her wide eyes locking onto mine. The fierceness fades, replaced by panic as she rushes to my side.

“Come on, we have to get out of here,” she says, her voice cracking.

I manage a weak grin. “You look good in red, Little Quill.”

She huffs, tears brimming in her eyes, the others mixing with the blood on her face. “You’re hurt. Bad. You need a doctor.”

“I’ll live,” I mutter, swaying as she steadies me.

“Not if you keep standing there bleeding like a stubborn shithead,” she snaps, though her hands are gentle as they press against my side, trying to stem the flow.

“It’s just a scratch,” I mutter, even as the world tilts around me.

“Don’t you dare downplay this,” she snaps, slipping an arm around my waist to support me. “Come on. We’re getting you out of here.”

She half-drags me through the shattered glass, ignoring how it slices into her bare feet. The beach stretches endlessly before us, but she doesn’t falter.

“I don’t need a doctor,” I slur, trying to grin as I look up at her, my cock like iron from how gorgeous she is like this.

Everleigh rolls her eyes, carting me away in slow trudges down the beach. “Only you would charge in and bring a gun and a knife but no first aid kit.”

“You’re my first aid kit. Just lay me down right here. And I’ll give you instructions.”

“What instructions?”

“Very simple. Pull out my dick. Sit on it.”

She lets out a disbelieving laugh, tears streaking her face. “You’re a bonehead.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Cal you’re bleeding out!” she moans, dragging me up to the boardwalk. “Besides, do you think just because you show up like a knight in shining armor and take a bullet for me, it means I’ll automatically fall into your arms?”

“Technically,” I mutter, smirking through the pain, “I’ve fallen into your arms, Little Quill.”

“Insufferable jackass,” she huffs, her blood-soaked hair thwacking her cheeks. “It’ll take more than a bullet, Cal.”

“How about two?” I say, pulling the gun from my waistband.

Her scream echoes across the beach as I pull the trigger, the bullet slamming into my shoulder. The same one she stabbed.

“Why the fuck would you do that, you crazy, insane moronic idiot?” she shrieks, wrestling with me for the gun.

I groan through the pain, my vision blurring. “Proving I love you. How many bullets will it take, Everleigh?” I try to tug on it, but my grip is frail at best.

She’s so beautiful when she’s crying in her madness while getting the gun away from me and hurling it far across the sand. “None! You fucking idiot, NONE!”

Her hands press against my shoulder and side, trying to stop the bleeding. Tears fall freely as she shakes her head.

“What is Cherry thinking about now, hmm?” I slur, unable to push past the pain for the first time in my life.

“Oh, god, that is so not what you should be focused on right now.”

“Come on, Little Quill. Give a dying man his last request. What is your deep inner self doing?”

“Fine, you fucking psycho?—”

“High-functioning psycho.”

“Ugh! She’s down on her knees proposing marriage, you fucker!”

“Tell her to crawl to me, and I’ll consider accepting,” I mutter, twisting my mouth into a crooked but weak smile.

“You’re not dying. Stay with me, Cal!”

“Could never go anywhere else. Even in death, I’ll haunt you until you end your life to join me.”

My vision darkens, but I make out the figure appearing on the boardwalk—my manager, flanked by the doctor I’d brought along, just in case—the real walking first aid kit. Everleigh’s sobs grow louder as she begs the doctor to save me.

“You better not die, you stupid asshole! Because I fucking love you, and I won’t stop fighting for you.”

Her words are the last thing I hear before the world goes black.