Chapter Thirty-Three
Autumn
I can’t stop pacing. The carpet is wearing thin under my bare feet, but I can’t feel it. Viviana stands at the window, arms wrapped around herself like the glass might shatter first.
“It’s taking too long,” she whispers, voice cracking on the last word.
My heart slams against my ribs so hard I taste metal.
Two cars tear into the drive. Kaden climbs out of the first, shirt soaked dark, clinging to his chest and arms. Christian and Tiernan follow, faces grey. Then John Flanagan steps from the Mercedes like a king surveying fresh corpses.
We bolt for the door.
The second it opens, the smell hits me: gunpowder, iron, death. Kaden walks in, and the world tilts.
Blood. So much blood.
“Kaden?” My voice is barely air.
He won’t look at me. That’s how I know before anyone speaks.
My knees hit the floor. The impact jars up my spine, but I don’t feel it. I can’t feel anything.
Viviana’s broken question about Declan is lost under Christian’s choked words.
“They didn’t make it.”
He lunges to catch Viviana as her legs give out. She folds like paper, a raw, animal sound ripping from her throat.
I stay on the ground, palms pressed to the cold tile, staring up at Kaden through a blur of tears. “Where is he?” It comes out small, childlike.
Kaden’s jaw works. He still won’t meet my eyes. “We… we were going to call medics, but there was nothing left to save. Flynn’s men took the bodies—”
John cuts in, voice smooth as oil. “No one can know the leaders were gunned down like dogs. We keep this quiet. For now.”
There it is, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Pride. Victory. He thinks he won.
Flynn was right about him. Every poisonous word.
My legs shake so hard I nearly collapse again, but rage, white-hot, alive, drags me upright. “How exactly did you survive?” I ask, voice trembling with something that isn’t just grief.
John shrugs, casual as Sunday brunch. “We were already inside. Declan’s men held the doors. We tried to get out—”
Tiernan’s voice cracks. “We fucking tried.”
The difference is night and day.
Christian and Tiernan look like someone scooped their souls out with a rusty spoon. Eyes bloodshot, cheeks wet, hands shaking so badly Christian can barely keep hold of Viviana. Every word fractures on the way out.
John? Not a tear. Not a tremor. His eyes are flat, shark-dead. He’s working so hard not to grin it’s almost funny.
I drag in a breath that tastes like ash. “What happens now?”
Christian answers, voice raw. “We bury them. We find who did this. We burn the world down until they’re ash.”
He looks at me over Viviana’s unconscious form. “We keep you both safe. Always.”
Kaden swipes at his eyes with the heel of one bloody hand. “I promised Flynn,” he says, and the words break something open inside me.
A sob tears loose, ugly, loud, unstoppable. My knees buckle again, and this time I let the floor take me. I curl forward, arms wrapped around my stomach like I can hold the pieces together, and cry hard enough that my ribs ache.
They watch me shatter.
“We need a meeting,” Flanagan says, voice clipped and eager. “I need to decide what to do next.”
Tiernan spins on him so fast that the air moves. “Now?” The word rips out of him, raw and vicious. He stalks forward until they’re chest to chest. “Their bodies aren’t even cold, and you're already taking their place?” His roar echoes off the walls.
John takes one involuntary step back, hands raised. “I’m next in line without them,” he snaps, but the smugness wavers for the first time.
I sob louder, ugly, broken sounds that claw up my throat.
Kaden moves like a storm. He shoves John hard in the chest. “Not here. Not now. Get the fuck out. All of you.”
Kaden scoops Viviana from Christian, cradling her limp weight against his blood-stained shirt. Tiernan’s jaw is granite, eyes glittering with murder; he hasn’t decided where to aim yet. They leave, footsteps heavy on the stairs.
John pauses on the threshold, glances back at me with one last measuring look, and the corner of his mouth twitches in that sick little victory smile before he disappears.
The door slams, and two of Flynn’s guards take position outside; I hear their low murmurs through the wood.
Kaden exhales like a man who’s been holding his breath for hours. He climbs the stairs two at a time, Viviana still draped over his arms. I trail behind, legs shaky.
He kicks Declan’s bedroom door open with one boot, strides in, and gently lays Viviana on the duvet.
I swipe the last tears from my cheeks, sniffling.
Viviana’s eyes pop open. One perfectly arched brow lifts.
“Soooo?” she chirps, bright as sunshine. “How good was I?”
A laugh bursts out of me. I shake my head, chest still hitching.
“Strangely believable,” Kaden says, lips curling into a tired, crooked grin. He points at me, eyes soft for the first time all night. “And you,” he points at me, “you deserve a fucking Oscar.”
I flip him off with a trembling hand, still giggling through the leftover tears.
“How are they?” I ask finally, and Kaden’s voice turns darker, edged with exhaustion and something close to anger.
“Hidden,” he says. “Only five of our most trusted men know. They’re safe.” He sinks back into the chair in the corner of Declan’s bedroom, shoulders heavy.
“They didn’t notice they were breathing?” That part still confuses me, gnawing at the back of my mind.
Viviana sits up on the bed, pushing her long black hair over one shoulder.
“Remember what I told you about getting Alek?” she says gently.
“Flynn took that poison, the one that makes your breathing and heartbeat almost undetectable. They need an antidote to wake up, but until then they look dead. To the naked eye… they are.”
Kaden exhales, rubbing his jaw. “Flynn’s plans always end with him taking something.”
I try to laugh, but my eyes fall to the blood on his clothes.
He notices immediately and points at it.
“Real blood,” he says, “just not theirs. We got it from Declan’s clinic.
” He gestures toward one of Declan’s ruined suits lying on the side table.
“They had dozens of little bags taped inside. Once the fake bullets hit, it exploded like a damn paintball. Blood everywhere.”
“You guys are very theatrical,” I mutter, lowering myself onto the mattress and trying to calm my breathing.
“Says the woman who gave the performance of the century, grieving at the window.” He grins at me, and I find myself smiling back despite the ache still gnawing through my chest.
“Now what?” I whisper.
“Now we wait,” Kaden says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His voice drops into something deep, almost feral. “Because the wolves think the kings are dead… but in reality, they’re sharpening their knives.”