Chapter 35 Kinda Killer #3
The steel streaks toward me, aimed at my heart. I move quickly, but the blade lands in my chest, just to the right.
I pull it out and throw the bloody dagger right back. It hits Alec in the arm.
Hogan steps back—out of Alec’s way. Alec leaves the dagger in his arm as he runs and tackles me to the ground. His knees press into my arms, and his hands wrap around my neck.
Then, from behind, Lucian approaches and pulls the dagger from his shoulder, dragging it across his throat. Blood dribbles down from my attacker onto my chest as he dies.
The room explodes with screams. Lucian drags the body off me while Alec’s friends stalk toward us, probably with deadly intent.
I step back. Search the room. Hogan is gone.
Is he watching still?
I grab Lucian’s hand and try to run, but from the other side of the room, more students move closer. Some from Psychology class and Folk I remember from last year.
Lucian’s hand tightens around mine. Then he lets me go.
Shadows rush through the room, moving toward our attackers. But I can’t use blood right now. Not if Hogan is watching.
At my sides, I clench and unclench my hands. The blood is all around me, rushing through my veins, in my heart and head. I could take any of them, right here. Lucian does. Multiple kids fall—injured, but not dead, I don’t think.
But each time one falls, another joins from the corners of the ballroom. We’re only pissing them off.
A bolt of lightning slashes through the room, hitting a chandelier. It crashes near the far right wall, sending shards across the floor.
I move away from the glass but skid on the wine-soaked tiles. I twist, landing on my knees to keep the attackers at bay. But the shards splinter deep into my skin, crushing against my bone as the crowd appears over me.
Multiple kids grab my left wrist, another group grabbing the right. They yank me up, something popping and burning in my shoulder. I wouldn’t be surprised if they pulled it out of its socket.
They twist my wrists at such awkward angles it feels like my joints are remolding. More bodies crowd around me, glass crunching under their shoes. Their breath is hot on my skin, and their sweat smears along my body.
With nothing but thought, I lash out, finding blood. I try not to kill whoever I grab—but something pops. Blood sprays through the room, warm as it lands on my chest and arms. One of the kids holding me crumples to the floor. The rest look at one another, finally worried about what I’ll do to them.
I grit my teeth, scanning the room. To my left, six attackers flank Lucian.
And to my far right, Aralia is pressed to the polished floor, a knee in her cheek.
A boy wraps both hands around Lucian’s neck. They’re so close I could nearly reach out and touch Lucian, if my hands weren’t strapped behind my back.
“Use them and I’ll snap your neck,” I hear the boy say.
I notice the shadows swirling around the room.
Lucian uses them anyway. The shadows surge like a black tide, coiling around my attackers. Several are pressed back. The lights above us flicker.
“We’ll put a sword through each of her legs and hands!” a shout rings close to my ear—straight to my brain. “Then in her torso, her skull, and her heart.”
They think they can hurt me. I’ve shown them nothing but mercy so far.
But the chill of Lucian’s shadows subsides and the darkness retreats to the corners of the room on his command.
Lucian stops fighting—for me.
He didn’t need to.
As I look between Lucian and Aralia, my rage builds. How can they do this to them? Me, sure, maybe if they knew who I was. But they don’t, and still, they fight. They hold back a prince. They hold back my friend. These kids have no right to treat them this way. What did they do, other than dance?
I tortured a girl. I could have blinded Jermoine. I might have. It was a nasty wound under his eye. But I could have done worse.
The rage builds.
And when a set of hands tightens around Aralia’s neck—her body helpless on the floor—it breaks.
A scream escapes my lips. I know its purpose: to hurt the people who are hurting my friends. The hands clutching my arms and legs loosen, letting me go. The bodies holding Lucian and Aralia go limp. They fall, blood dripping on the floor, a puddle beside me, staining my hair.
I don’t know where it’s coming from.
A scream, curdling my blood, echoes through the room. Everyone still standing, except for Aralia and Lucian, runs—all away from me.
When I stand, looking down at the scene around me, I notice the hearts scattered across the floor. Hearts, bloody but no longer bleeding. All these bodies, dead. I did this, and the sight of the raw, glistening organs makes my stomach turn. At least twenty people, dead.
Why am I so good at death?
The stench of blood twists in my gut. The hearts are still warm on the floor.
Instead of puking, the hearts light on fire. I didn’t mean to. The heat sears my face anyway—my intentions be damned—burning my eyes.
And instead of trying to do something good, I run, dodging the overturned tables and blood-stained floors.