Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Serena
T he smoke was beginning to burn my throat, the harshness mixing with the salt of my tears as I clung to Anton. I forgot that I was supposed to be furious with him—that I’d stormed away from him just a short time ago. None of that mattered now. Not when my mother was likely inside the burning house.
And the idea that it might be my fault…
My mother. Oh, please, God. I can’t lose her.
A fresh wave of grief crashed over me, tearing through my chest. I refused to believe there might be a world without her in it. The thought hit me like a physical blow, and I sucked in a strangled breath. I wanted to believe she’d made it out, but I knew it was highly unlikely. She never left the house at night. Never. But in the off chance that she had, she would have stayed close. The furthest she would have ventured was to a neighbor. If that were the case, she would know what was happening and she’d be here. But she wasn’t.
I scanned the chaotic scene, searching again for any sign of her. Firefighters rushed back and forth, shouting commands, dragging hoses, and trying desperately to control the blaze. Red and orange flames licked the edged of the windows. The shutters had long since burned, exposing the exterior stucco walls to the intense heat. They cracked and crumbled, giving way to the vulnerable wood beneath that the fire was quick to devour.
Anton cursed under his breath, his hold on me tightening before his entire body went rigid.
“What?” My voice trembled, barely above a whisper.
His gaze was locked on the house. Something dark and dangerous flashed in his expression. Slowly, he lifted his hand, pointing toward the open front door.
“Serena,” he said, his voice low, almost disbelieving. “Look. Inside the front door.”
I followed his gaze. At first, all I saw was destruction. The door hung open, the flames kissing the frame. Smoke billowed out in thick plumes, swirling like ghostly fingers into the night sky.
And then I saw it.
A symbol, spray-painted in bold, black strokes on the wall opposite the entryway.
The snake.
The same one from my father’s journal. The same one Anton had said was scrawled across my motel room door in New York. The same one that had been tattooed on Cade’s neck.
The world tilted beneath me. I shook my head, unable to process what it could mean. Only one thing seemed certain.
This wasn’t an accident.
My fingers clutched Anton’s shoulders desperate for something—anything—to hold onto .
“I’m taking you back to New York,” he said suddenly, his voice hard, leaving no room for argument.
I stiffened, blinking up at him through my tears. “What?”
“You’re not safe here.” His gaze never left the burning house, his jaw clenched tight. “This was no accident, Serena. I think someone did this.”
My mind began to spin just as a sharp pop split the air.
No sooner did the sound register that my body jerked violently. Pain erupted in my shoulder, sharp and burning. A scream ripped from my throat, and my knees buckled.
“Serena!”
Anton’s voice roared, but the pain swallowed everything. I couldn’t think. My breath came in ragged gasps as heat seared through my body, my vision darkening at the edges. There was movement around me—Anton shifting, shouting—but I was barely seeing it. The world blurred into streaks of orange and black—fire and shadows.
“Someone help! She’s been shot!”
My mind fought against the haze, confusion muddling my ability to think.
Shot? Who? Why?
I tried to speak, to force out words, but my lips wouldn’t move. My body was no longer my own. It was nothing more than dead weight sinking into Anton’s hold. The pain spread, radiating down my arm, into my chest and back. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
Anton’s right. I’m not safe.
He was still shouting, but the words were slipping away, fading into nothing. My vision swam, my mind feeling like the pulsing glow of dying embers. I was falling, sinking into the dark.
The last thing I felt was Anton’s hand on my face.
Then, nothing at all.