16. Willow
16
WILLOW
An Hour Earlier
Damien walks past me as he packs his bags, and I stand there watching him.
"It's bad, isn't it."
"No."
"Damien, don't lie to me."
His jaw tightens, and he exhales sharply through his nose. He doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t even glance at me as he shoves another shirt into the duffel bag on his bed.
He finally stops, resting his hands on the edge of the bed, his shoulders tense. "Willow, it’s nothing I can’t handle."
I take a hesitant step forward. "That’s not what I asked."
"Damien, please," I whisper, my voice barely audible.
His head drops for a fraction of a second, but when he lifts it again, his eyes are dark and blank as he speaks. "I just need to take care of a situation. I’ll be back."
I shake my head, frustration bubbling to the surface. "And if you’re not?" My voice wavers despite my efforts to keep it steady. "Then what?"
His eyes finally meet mine, solemn and stormy, and for a moment, I think he’s going to tell me everything. But then, just as quickly, the walls come up again, shutting me out.
"You’ll be fine."
"You don’t get to decide that!" My voice rises, cracking at the edges. I take another step forward, reaching for him, but he pulls back, putting space between us. It hurts more than it should.
"I have to do this, Willow."
"Why?" My chest tightens, panic clawing its way up my throat. "Tell me why."
His lips press into a thin line. "Because I am the Knight and our Queen needs us.”
My breath catches. "Queen?”
"I can’t let you get involved," he says after a long pause. "It’s not safe."
"Safe?" I let out a bitter laugh. "Do you think I feel safe right now? Watching you pack like this, watching you walk away without knowing if I’ll ever see you again?"
His jaw tenses. "It’s different."
"It’s not," I counter. "You’re making a choice to go. I don’t get a choice. I just have to sit here and wait, hoping you come back."
He turns away, running a hand through his hair. "Vincent will be here."
"I don’t want any of you to go."
He exhales, long and slow. "It’s not that simple."
I step closer, closing the gap between us. My fingers brush against his forearm, and he freezes. "Then make it simple," I whisper. "Stay."
His eyes slide shut for a brief moment, and when he opens them again, there’s something raw there, a sentiment that makes my heart ache.
"You know I can’t."
"Damien—"
He cups the side of my face, his thumb grazing my cheekbone. "I need you to trust me."
"That’s not fair," I whisper. "You’re asking me to trust you while you’re keeping secrets."
He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t argue. He just watches me with a serious expression. And then, before I can say anything else, he leans down and presses his lips to my forehead. It’s soft, lingering, and it feels an awful lot like goodbye.
"I’ll be back," he murmurs against my skin. "I promise."
But promises are just words, and words don’t keep people safe.
I grab onto his wrist as he tries to pull away. "Damien, please?—"
He gently pries my fingers off him, his touch lingering for just a second before he steps back, slinging the duffel over his shoulder.
"Lock the door behind me. Don’t let anyone in unless it’s Vincent’s voice."
"You sound like you don’t trust me to take care of myself."
His lips curve into something that isn’t quite a smile. "I trust you. It’s everyone else I don’t trust."
And with that, he turns and walks out the door.
I stand there, frozen, listening as his footsteps fade down the hall, the front door creaks open, then shuts with a soft click.
I barely have time to process it before the door swings open again. My heart leaps—until I see who it is.
Fucking Vincent.
I groan, crossing my arms. "You’ve got to be kidding me."
He snickers, stepping inside like he owns the place. "Miss me already?"
I roll my eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"Switching places with Damien. Orders from Cast."
My nostrils flare. "Excuse me?"
Vincent drops his bag by the door and stretches, like he’s settling in for a long stay. "You heard me, sweetheart. I’m your new babysitter."
"I don’t need a babysitter!" I snap.
"Yeah, well, Cast thinks you do."
I clench my fists. Cast and I are going to have words next time I see him.
Vincent flops onto the couch, grinning. "Relax. We’re gonna have so much fun."
I groan again. This is going to be a nightmare. “I'm going to bed,” I murmur turning around on my heels.
Vincent moves faster than I expect, pushing off the couch and grabbing my wrist before I can take another step. His grip isn’t tight, just firm enough to make me pause.
"Not so fast, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice smooth but laced with a heavier tone.
I tense, my skin burning where he touches me. "Let go, Vincent."
He doesn’t. Instead, he steps in closer, his body heat brushing against me like a teasing whisper. "You’re really just going to walk away from me? After everything?"
I exhale sharply, yanking my wrist back. He lets me go, but he doesn’t step away. If anything, he moves closer, his towering frame making it impossible to ignore him.
"I don’t see what else there is to say," I snap, crossing my arms. "You’re here because Damien told you to be. That doesn’t change anything."
Vincent tilts his head, amusement flickering in his blue eyes. "Doesn’t it?"
I scoff, turning to leave again, but he steps in front of me, blocking my path.
"Vincent—"
"You missed me. You can pretend all you want, Willow, but I know you. I see it in your eyes. You missed me."
My throat tightens. I want to deny it, want to throw his words back in his face, but I can’t.
Vincent must see my hesitation because he steps closer, his fingers brushing over my arm. "You were always good at running, but not from me. Never from me."
I swallow hard, the heat in his gaze unraveling something in my chest. "Vincent, stop."
"Why?" His hand trails up, fingers skimming over my jaw before tilting my chin up. "Because you’re afraid I’m right?"
I shake my head, but it’s weak. My body betrays me, leaning into his touch even as my mind screams at me to push him away.
"I missed you," he murmurs, his forehead resting against mine. "Every damn day."
I squeeze my eyes shut, my hands fisting at my sides. "You and I…we…at my Dad’s funeral and I just…" I whisper.
"I know." His thumb brushes over my cheek, the gentleness making my breath hitch. "That was the wrong time."
Silence stretches between us, thick with unsaid words and lingering tension. My chest rises and falls too fast, my body hyper aware of every inch of him.
"Say it," he whispers, his lips barely an inch from mine. "Say you missed me, and I’ll stop."
I open my mouth, ready to push him away, but the words that fall from my lips betray me.
"I missed you."
Vincent exhales sharply, like he wasn’t sure I’d say it. Then, in one swift motion, his arms wrap around me, pulling me against him. His lips crash into mine, hungry and desperate, and I don’t fight it.
I melt into him, my fingers digging into his shirt as he deepens the kiss. His hands move to my waist, gripping me tightly like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. I don’t think I could if I tried.
The past months of anger, longing, and frustration burn between us, spilling into every touch, every movement. He walks me backward until my back hits the wall, his body pressing into mine as his hands slide up my sides.
When he finally pulls away, his breathing is heavy, his forehead still resting against mine.
"Ask me again," I whisper, my voice shaky but sure.
Vincent’s lips curve into a slow, wicked smile. "Oh, I will."
Then he kisses me again, and this time, I don’t pull away.
“But not now.” He whispers against my lips.
“Vincent.” I sigh, pushing him away, a scowl on my face.
I stiffen, glaring at him. “You can’t just kiss me like that and then put everything on pause.”
Vincent’s smug smile lingers, but there’s a hidden intonation behind his eyes. “Patience, sweetheart.” His thumb grazes my bottom lip, his voice a low rasp, teasing and full of restraint. “I want you to be sure.”
I scowl, heat rising to my face. “I am sure,” I snap, pushing his hand away. The air between us is thick, charged with weeks of unspoken words and unresolved feelings.
His expression shifts, the amusement in his gaze dimming just enough to reveal a sharper appearance beneath it. “Then why do you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself?”
The words strike a nerve, but before I can fire back, something flickers in the corner of my vision. A tiny, crimson glow?—
A laser dot.
My pulse stutters. It hovers over my chest, steady, unyielding. A hunter’s mark. Everything slows, the weight of reality crashing down on me all at once.
Vincent sees it, too. His knowing look vanishes, replaced by a feral reaction. His body tenses, muscles coiling like a predator about to strike. His eyes meet mine for a split second, dark and urgent— Run.
I don’t get the chance.
Vincent moves first, a blur of motion as he lunges forward. “Willow, down! ”
Then—
Bang.
The gunshot rips through the night like a thunderclap. The walls tremble with the force of it, the sound bouncing off every surface, rattling my bones. His body collides with mine, and the force of it sends us sprawling onto the floor. The air rushes from my lungs in a sharp gasp.
For a moment, there’s nothing. Just the deafening ringing in my ears and the crushing weight of Vincent over me. Then—warmth. Sticky, hot—too much, too fast.
Not mine.
Vincent shudders above me, his entire body jerking violently. A ragged breath leaves his lips, sharp and uneven. And then he goes still.
My heart lurches. No.
I don’t think—I just move, flipping us over. My hands fly to his side, pressing down hard. Too much blood. It seeps between my fingers, staining my skin, dark and warm. His shirt is already soaked through.
“Vincent,” I choke out, my voice breaking as I shake him. “No, no, no— stay with me. ”
His face is pale, lips parted as he tries to breathe through the pain. His lashes flutter, and for a brief second, his eyes meet mine. They’re unfocused, but there’s still awareness there. A stubborn conviction.
His lips twitch, a weak, barely-there smirk. “Told you…” he rasps, voice strained. “I wasn’t letting you run.”
A sob escapes me, raw and desperate. “Shut up,” I whisper, pressing harder against the wound, as if sheer force could stop the bleeding. “You’re not dying. You hear me?”
His fingers twitch against my wrist, his grip weak but insistent. “You… finally admit you need me?”
Tears blur my vision. “Yes, okay?! I need you. So don’t you dare die on me, Vincent.”
The room spins, my thoughts fracturing as panic claws its way up my throat. Outside, the night is deathly quiet. Too quiet. Whoever took that shot— they’re still out there.
My breath shudders. My fingers tremble as I reach for my phone, while the other presses desperately against Vincent’s side. “Help is coming,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out. “Just hold on.”
Vincent’s lips part like he wants to say more. But then?—
His body slackens. His eyes slip shut. Cold terror crashes over me.
“No—Vincent! Stay awake! ”
I shake him, my voice rising in panic, but he doesn’t respond.
A shadow flickers outside the window.
My stomach clenches, terror constricting my chest like a vice. My hands are slick with Vincent’s blood, my breaths coming in shallow gasps as my gaze snaps up to the window. The darkness outside seems to shift, a shadow moving just beyond the glass.
They’re still out there. Watching. Waiting.
My entire body locks up. I need to move. Now. I bite back a sob. I can’t fall apart. Not now.
Move, Willow.
Swallowing down my panic, I start inching backward, my hands shaking as I crawl away from Vincent’s unmoving form. I nearly break down right there. But I can’t— I have to hide.
My fingers clutch the phone in a death grip as I crawl away, my breath coming in sharp, panicked bursts. My bare knees scrape against the floor, but I barely feel it over the blood pounding in my ears. The shadows in the room stretch and shift, and every tiny sound—every creak of the walls, every rustle of the wind—sends a bolt of fear down my spine.
I press myself into the narrow space between the couch and the wall, curling in on myself as best as I can. My heart slams against my ribs, the fear suffocating. My hands are still coated in Vincent’s blood, and I clutch them to my chest as if I can somehow keep them from shaking.
With a trembling breath, I bring my phone up and frantically press Cast’s number.
It rings once. Twice.
Pick up. Please, Cast, pick up.
On the third ring, his voice comes through, sharp and alert. “Willow?”
A broken sob rips from my throat at the sound of his voice. “C-Cast,” I choke out, barely able to get the words past my lips. “Vincent—he’s—” My breath shudders, the words tangling in my throat. “Somebody shot him. There’s—there’s someone outside. I don’t know what to do.”
A beat of silence. Then his voice hardens. “Where are you?”
“Living room,” I whisper, pressing myself further against the wall. “I—I’m hiding, but I think they’re still out there.” My whole body trembles, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Cast, I’m scared.”
“Listen to me,” his voice is sharp, commanding, but steady. “Lock every door if you can. Stay low. I will get one of the guards to take you to the hospital.” His words are a lifeline, pulling me from the panic, even if just for a second.
“I can call 911.” I whisper.
“No police.” He snaps. “They can’t get into the safe house. I will get the guard.”
I clutch the phone tighter as Cast barks orders for someone to get the guard at the perimeter of the safe house to come and drive us to the hospital. “Hurry.”
“They will. Stay quiet, sweetheart. Don’t make a sound. But first, I need you to check on Vincent.”
My heart skips. “Vincent… He’s—he’s hurt.”
“I know. I need you to check his pulse. Find it, Willow. Do it now.”
I swallow hard. “I—okay.” My hands are shaking as I inch closer to where Vincent lies, blood staining his clothes, the faint rise and fall of his chest barely noticeable. I press two fingers to his neck, searching, praying.
“I’ve got it,” I breathe, relief flooding me for a moment.
“Good. Now, press down on the wound, as hard as you can. Don’t stop. You’re keeping him alive, Willow. Don’t let up, no matter what.”
Tears blur my vision as I do as he says, the pressure making my hands slick with blood. “Cast, I’m scared. What if—what if I can’t?—”
“You can,” he cuts in, his voice rough but sure. “You’re doing great. Stay with him, Willow. Keep pressure on the wound. I’m coming. Just hold on.”
“Okay,” I whisper, my voice barely a breath as I kneel beside Vincent, my hand clamped over the wound, the silence in the room suffocating as I wait for the guard to arrive.
I stare down at Vincent, my heart breaking with every shallow breath he takes. His face is pale, his body limp beneath me, and all I can do is hold on. “Vincent,” I choke out, my voice trembling. “I—” I swallow, trying to force the words past the lump in my throat. “I would’ve said yes this time. I swear, I would’ve.” My fingers press harder, the blood soaking through, but I can’t stop, can’t give up.
“I love you,” I whisper, the tears falling freely now, mingling with the blood on my hands. “I love you so much. Please… please don’t leave me, okay?”