Chapter Eleven #3
He was starting to feel pretty great about how the fight was going when he noticed Helena taking out a gun. He sucked in a breath and hesitated because he didn’t know who she would shoot, but he should have.
She aimed her gun at Vale. It only took a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity to Cyril. He swore he could see the moment in which the bullet hit Vale’s shoulder. He was pretty sure he screamed, but there was nothing he could do.
Except watch as his boyfriend started to bleed.
* * * *
IT WASN’T THE FIRST time Vale got shot, but fuck, it hurt.
He stumbled back, his vision blurring as the pain shot through his shoulder.
His foot caught on one of the headstones scattered around him—some poor man from 1847 whose name had been worn smooth by decades of wind and rain.
He went down hard, his shoulder screaming as it hit the ground.
The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth where he’d bitten his tongue.
He could hear Cyril scream, and he turned to him to reassure him that he was okay. He might be in pain and bleeding, but it wasn’t a fatal wound. The world around him tilted for a second, but he’d be fine. He’d been through worse, and he’d lived to tell the tale.
He wasn’t in time to tell Cyril any of that. When he turned, he saw that Helena was coming toward them, her boots crunching on the gravel path between the graves. Her gun was still raised, but this time it was aimed in Cyril’s direction.
Vale’s heart was in his throat. He opened his mouth to tell Cyril to be careful, but it was too late.
He wouldn’t have thought Helena would try to kill Cyril.
She wanted his ability, and it would be impossible to use if he was dead.
But she was angry, maybe because Cyril had been trying to hurt her using those little bones he’d had in his pocket.
If there was something Helena didn’t appreciate, it was people trying to kill her.
Cyril wouldn’t have been able to do much damage, but apparently, it was enough to piss her off.
Or maybe she was just trying to wound him. Vale didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to think about it. She shot at Cyril, and Vale could do nothing but watch it happen.
A white streak jumped between Cyril and Helena, moving faster than Vale could keep track of. Vale cried out, not knowing what it was until it hit the ground.
Where the fuck had Oscar come from?
Vale had no idea how he’d gotten there, but he was grateful.
Oscar had managed to intercept the bullet that had been aimed at Cyril.
The problem was that now, he was slumped on the ground in a bony heap, and Vale was pretty sure that he was dead—or deader than he’d already been, considering he was a bunch of bones kept together by Cyril’s ability as a necromancer.
Cyril screamed. The sound echoed around them, causing a bunch of black birds to fly away.
Cyril rushed toward Oscar, falling to his knees next to his pet, his hands already moving toward Oscar.
Vale needed to move. He could tell that Cyril wasn’t going to take Oscar’s death well, but that wasn’t what worried him right now.
Cyril was distracted, which meant he didn’t see Helena moving closer.
Vale struggled to get back to his feet and had to use the closest headstone for support. It was smooth and cold under his palm, or maybe he was hot? His mind was a little fuzzy, which wasn’t good. He needed to get to Cyril to protect him.
Good thing he could do that distance because, just like Helena, he had a gun.
“What is that?” Helena asked, sounding both curious and amused. “What kind of monster did you create?” Her eyes were sparkling. She knew what she’d found in Cyril. But now, she wanted him more than ever.
Cyril turned watery eyes toward her. He was cradling Oscar’s body in his hands. Vale couldn’t tell if Oscar was alive or definitely dead. “You killed him.”
“It’s a bunch of bones, Cyril. I’m pretty sure he was already dead.”
“You killed him,” Cyril repeated.
He sounded angry now, and it sent a shiver of something running down Vale’s back.
He’d never heard Cyril like that. It was more than anger.
It was desperation and rage and something deeper that made the air around them feel wrong and heavy.
Vale never wanted his boyfriend to feel like that, so he shot at Helena.
It wouldn’t help much, but it was better than doing nothing.
She ducked to the side and took cover behind a massive headstone. Vale could still read the name on it, but he didn’t bother because Helena raised her gun again. Her attention wasn’t on Cyril anymore, but Cyril’s attention was definitely on her.
“You killed Oscar,” Cyril repeated as he pressed his hands against the earth.
The ground under Vale’s feet started shaking.
At first, it was just a tremor, like a metro train passing underground. But then it grew stronger, and Vale realized with growing horror that it wasn’t just the ground beneath him—it was the entire cemetery.
“Cyril,” Vale called out, but his voice was lost in the growing rumble that came from the earth under their feet.
Helena’s eyes widened. The smart thing would’ve been to run, but her greed kept her where she was. She wanted Cyril’s power, and whatever he was doing was impressive.
The ground beneath the oldest section of the cemetery began to crack. Vale could hear something underneath—a rustling, like dry leaves, but deeper.
“Jesus Christ,” Helena whispered, and for the first time since this nightmare began, she sounded afraid.
She wasn’t the only one. Vale pushed himself fully upright, ignoring the fire in his shoulder. He had to get to Cyril before this got completely out of control. If there was one thing he’d learned about Cyril’s necromancer ability, it was that it was unpredictable.