50. CHAPTER 50
Zayne
The Capital
Kallum, Ciondo
Nothing had felt real since Zayne smelled the blood in the air, and he didn't know how it ever would again.
Three days passed in a blur that might have been three weeks for all he knew. Grief distorted time, rendering it meaningless, except as the obstacle separating him from Kira. He last saw her being dragged from the basement, soaked in blood, and received no updates on how she was.
At least she wasn't also suffering through Mom's death.
Father planned to tell the world his mother died from a heart attack, and until then, they told no one about what happened.
The Phaedra paraded his victory over the so-called terrorist cell, claiming the Old Ones judged them for hijacking the PXI.
The time also distanced Mom from the Followers and let them manufacture medical records.
It was really all for the Phaedra. The death of the High General's wife couldn't overshadow his long-sought-after destruction of the rebels who lived right under his nose. And the empire didn't care that Adelle Riven died anyway. No one cared about who she was other than a wife and mother.
They didn't understand what the world lost.
Kira couldn't know while the Phaedra forbade it. For now, he lived in a world where Mom tended to her garden at home and nursed her wounded heart. As disturbing as it was to hide her death, telling Kira would feel like discovering Mom's body all over again. Hadn't she suffered enough?
For three days while sorting through pictures of Mom for the funeral, he only thought of returning to Kira.
Now that he stood before her door, he didn't know what to do once he saw her.
He dragged her around a room full of blood and threw her onto the bodies of innocent people.
What if this broke her forever? If she wanted to stab him in the face, he'd give her the knife to do it.
Zayne couldn't look at her after what he'd done. He couldn't leave her alone either. And he had no idea what to do now.
When he opened her door, the stench hit him immediately.
Time whisked him back into the cell in the North where rancid, rotting blood permeated the air and coated the floors and walls. Far worse than the room where the Followers were massacred. Far worse because of the powerful stench of days-old gore.
Kira lay curled on the ground with nothing left in her room, not even a bed. And her body was painted in blood.
Confusion ripped his world in two, convincing him he was actually stuck in the nightmare this time, the kind that felt so real he couldn't wake up. Or that he was trapped with his friends in the north.
The reek of old blood poured out from Kira's prison cell.
No, not her too.
Why didn't the Phaedra kill him along with Kira and Mom? He pretended to make a deal with Zayne only to send him to Kira's corpse.
Numb legs carried him toward her. Terror ripped him from the past and demanded his full attention as he took in her still, bloodied form. If he touched another freezing body…
“Kira?” Another step, and he ran to her side. Clasping her shoulder, he ripped her curled body over to see her face, his hand clutching warmth.
Warmth, not ice.
Alive.
Alive, alive, alive.
Her eyes slowly opened.
Alive.
He hadn't just replayed finding Mom's cold corpse.
Kira was warm.
Alive.
And fucking broken.
Even in torment, her eyes never dulled, only defiantly shone brighter. Not this time. They looked lifeless.
Dried blood creased her eyelids and coated her face. He could see where she'd tried to smear it away, but there'd been too much.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, afraid to hear the answer.
No response. Like she didn't hear him. Blank eyes stared at him.
“Kira.” Scanning her body, he searched for injury but only saw blood. So much that he had no way of knowing if any of it was hers.
But he didn't think it was. No, the Phaedra had left her soaked in the blood of the Followers all these days.
He pried matted strands of hair from her face. “Nod if you're hurt.”
Kira didn't answer. Her breathing was shallow, but it didn't sound pained. Looking at the blood staining her nails, a terrible truth crashed into him. A final, killing blow from the Phaedra's punishment.
It was Mom's blood.
Visceral pain pricked every inch of his body and grew to tidal waves that knocked the wind and life from him.
Mom bled and died in that room where he dragged Kira through the gore. She wasn't just covered in the Follower's blood. She'd been drenched in his mother's blood too.
Zayne dipped forward, fighting to keep himself from throwing up. Vision blurry, he struggled to hold onto his consciousness. It wasn't anything he could control. Shock and horror and darkness no person had ever created words for, strangled the life from his body.
Numb from head to toe, lungs burning, he slid his arms beneath Kira's legs and shoulders and ripped her from the blood, trapping her on the ground. He held her tight against his chest, panic rising at how she didn't stir. How limp she lay in his arms.
All these days, left like this. Alone.
It wasn't possible to think or speak. Zayne's body acted on its own. His steps wavered as he carried Kira to the shower and lowered her, tucking her legs inside. Wasting no time, he turned the water on full blast.
Only nothing came out. Not a single drop.
That was when he noticed the dark red streaks coating the shower walls and floor. He'd fixated so singularly on Kira that he hadn't taken in the rest of the room. Turning, he found red all over the sink. There wasn't a drop of water in this room.
No food or clothes either. No bed, blankets, or sheets.
When was the last time she had anything to drink?
Rage broke through the bottomless shock and grief. “I'll be back soon. I promise.”
Finally, Kira reacted. Her head shifted toward him, pleading filling her eyes. How could he leave her like this?
But he had to. He had to help her.
“I promise.”
He flagged down the first staff person he saw and ordered them to bring everything he needed.
What could Zayne do while he waited? What could he do?
His hands came to the back of his neck, digging into the head of the snakes, even though useless logic told him his fingers were contaminated with dozens of people's blood. What did it matter? What did anything matter? What could he do for these minutes he was forced to wait?
His eyes rose to the camera, and he didn't know how to speak for a minute. Language didn't exist.
The Phaedra was watching.
Zayne could feel it.
Watching to test whether his hold on Zayne held. Watching with sick curiosity to see how he'd react. To see if he'd follow orders and deliver Kira's spirit to him.
The only thing in the world that could contain Zayne's vengeance was also the only thing that mattered now—Kira lying in that shower, wearing all that remained of his mother.
Footsteps. Glorious footsteps.
He ran toward the noise, ripping the box full of supplies from the man's hands.
“The water?” Zayne asked.
“Turned back on.”
“Send a bed. Leave it in the hall.”
This time, when he reached Kira's shower and turned on the faucet, the pipes groaned.
Water sputtered out of the showerhead.
Freezing water. Shit.
But Kira didn't react. She stayed, eyes on him.
Zayne lifted a bottle of water to her lips and tilted her head back. Desperately, she drank and then shuddered in her first good breath since he'd found her like this.
“Good. Good job.” He paused to let her breathe before feeding water to her again. All the while, the shower poured over them both, softening the hardened blood that looked like another layer of skin.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” he said. Kira's eyes didn't leave his. “This woman is safe. She works in the laundry, and she'll help you. Okay?”
Zayne rose, but Kira's shaking hand brushed his pant leg. Silent pleading in her gaze again.
“I'm staying,” he said. “I'll stand where you can see me.”
The woman who came to help slipped past Zayne. “Hi, sweetheart.” She hung a curtain over the shower. Short gray hair curled at her temples.
Stepping out of the way, Zayne turned his back on Kira to give her privacy, but stayed close enough to help her feel safe.
Within seconds, shouting and commotion broke the quiet. He wheeled around in time to catch the woman as she fell. Kira, who had barely opened her eyes this whole time, kicked and thrashed on the ground.
“Don't! Don't!” Kira's voice hitched. Her breathing came too fast. “No!”
“I'm so sorry,” the woman stammered. “Oh, I'm—”
“It's fine,” Zayne said. “Just go. You did nothing wrong.”
Even after the lady rushed from the room, Kira still screamed and kicked water out of the shower.
“It's okay,” he said. “We're alone. No one's here.”
Her head slammed back against the shower wall with a painful thunk, but still, she didn't stop. Kira lost herself to an uncontrollable panic, bashing her head again.
“Stop,” Zayne said. He ripped her forward and caught the back of her head with his hand. “I said stop.”
The command in his voice seemed to snap away the panic. Kira breathed heavily, staring into his eyes again, no longer moving or speaking. Limp hair lay stuck to her face, still covered in thick blood.
Zayne released her only long enough to rip his uniform jacket off and throw it on the ground.
Kira couldn't help it. She'd been dehydrated, starved, and tortured in a sadistic way that only a sick fuck could dream up.
Her unsteady body wavered where she sat, and he took her arm, wincing when he remembered he'd held onto her like this in the basement after the slaughter.
“It's just us.” He feared that she might fight again, because how could she let him touch her after what he did?
Zayne climbed into the shower with her and closed the curtain against the rest of the world.
Sitting behind her, he tugged her to him, legs on either side of her.
She wilted back against him, trembling violently.
With a gentle touch, he crossed her arms over herself, placed her hands against her shoulders, and embraced her tightly.