Chapter 32
Too Late
IRIS
“C-covington.”
My voice cracks as I stumble backward, tripping over the edge of the rug.
I exaggerate the movement, calling his attention to my feet as I quickly pocket the phone.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I wanted to see you,” he says. As if finding him hiding in the shadows of my apartment is a completely normal occurrence. “It’s remarkably difficult to catch you alone these days, and you never answer my calls.”
He runs a hand through his lily-white hair, tugging at the roots as he smiles.
It looks darker than usual, slick with grease as if he hasn’t showered in days, which the smell rolling off of him all but confirms.
“I was starting to run out of ideas,” he whispers.
I don’t back away as he hovers in front of me. His eyes are wide and red-rimmed, starkly inset in his narrow face, and I get the sense he is expecting me to flee. Maybe even hoping for it.
I would, if I had anywhere to go. But unless I manifest the gift of flight in the next thirty seconds, Covington is standing between me and the only exit.
“I tried everything,” he says. “But he just wouldn’t quit.”
He laughs, but it comes out choppy, like he doesn’t find it funny at all.
“Who? Elliot?” I ask.
“Don’t!” Covington shouts, forming a fist in front of my face. “Don’t say his name.”
His knuckles pale, and his hand clenches as I nod, silent in the face of his rage.
I’ve seen this before, the kind of entitlement that makes men angry. I know better than to antagonize him.
“Gods!” Covington curses. “He’s so persistent. As if he needs you. But I know how to fix it now.”
The room plunges into darkness, leaving me blindly stumbling around the living room until I can no longer feel the plush carpet beneath my feet, and the smell of wet grass and mud clouds around me.
“Covington!” I shout, arms flailing as I try to find my way.
The sound of crunching leaves floats up from underfoot, and I bend, planting my hand to the ground and finding only dirt.
“Covington! What is this? Where are we?”
I blink rapidly, as if it will somehow bring me sight. But the darkness enveloping me is no ordinary darkness.
It feels thick and slimy, like oil on my skin, clinging to me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was moving.
“Back where it all started,” he says, voice coming from inches in front of me.
I scramble back a step, tripping over a rock, but Covington’s voice only follows.
“I figured we deserved a do-over,” he says, this time from just over my shoulder. “Since Grey ruined my plans the first time.”
“First time?” I mutter the words to myself as I try to find my footing, but it’s easier once the darkness begins to fade.
It retreats, revealing a familiar scene.
Moss, towering trees, the faint scent of rain. Almost exactly as it had been that night, the soft glow from the howl now buried alongside Grey.
“You…”
I choke on the words as my stomach churns.
All this time, and he was right in front of me.
“He wasn’t supposed to be here,” he explains. “But it’s okay, this will be just as special.”
Covington takes a few steps back, posturing in the center of the clearing he’s dropped me in, and as he idles, I understand why he was always standing in Deacon’s shadow.
If anyone had seen his, there would have been no hiding what he is.
Covington’s shadow is huge, twice the size it should be, and writhing like worms burrowing into the earth. The telltale mark of a shadow weaver.
“We can be together now,” he says, smiling in earnest.
“I belong to Elliot,” I remind him. “I’m claimed.”
The shadows pooling at his feet grow agitated as I defy his order, and I watch as he rips his shirt from his chest, revealing the thick black tattoos, which are no tattoos at all.
They are moving across his body, lifting off his skin and hanging like black tentacles in the air.
“Not for long,” he clarifies.
My blood runs cold at the look of sheer excitement on his face.
“What have you done?” I snap.
“I fixed it,” he says. “I was really hoping the truth serum would be enough for Cross just to kill him, but…” his eyes roll, and he waves a hand as if this is just a minor nuisance.
“It’s nothing a little nightlock couldn’t handle.
With Cross’s record, they’ll lock him in a dungeon and throw away the key for the rest of eternity, and he’ll be forced by pack rule to give up his claim. Then it’ll be just you and me.”
He smiles once more. This one dripping in lust, so thick I have to clear my throat just to breathe through it.
“I thought Deacon was your friend,” I say, trying to keep him talking.
I have no way of knowing if Dame has picked up, but even if he has, he’ll need time to find me. I need time.
“So did I!” he snaps. “But he knew how I felt about you. He knew! And he still touched you, he still talked to you. He still wanted you!”
His hand sweeps over my face, fingers rough and clammy as he rubs my cheek.
“But it’s okay,” he says. “We can be together now.”
I wrench my face free, backing out of his range.
“What makes you think I would accept your claim?” I hiss.
But I know I have made a grave mistake in underestimating Covington as his shadows retrieve a small vial of mysterious liquid from his pocket. Although not so mysterious that I can’t guess what it is.
“I worked out the kinks,” he says, shaking the tiny bottle. “This is much more potent. Should work just fine.”
“Covington…wait, don’t—”
His shadows reach for me, and I step back. But it’s too late. There’s nowhere to run.
They creep across the earth, tangling in my limbs as he rips me off my feet.
“I did everything!” he shouts. “I was nice to you! I didn’t touch you! I read these stupid books you love so much!” Darkness bleeds over his face, consuming the light behind his eyes. “I punished St. Grey! I took care of deacon! And now I will take care of Cross, and you will be mine!”
His voice pitches lower, almost thunderous, as his words rumble through the clearing.
“You will be mine,” he snaps. “Because I deserve it.”
My breath hitches, and my jaw cracks as his shadows pry my teeth apart, wrenching my mouth open.
“It’s okay, Iris. I know how to make you love me.”
The vial tips, blue-green liquid slipping down my throat as I thrash.
It’s hot, burning to the point my eyes begin to water and my throat starts to close. My limbs heat as the potion moves through me, and I know what should come next. A sweet haze of affection, an itching desire to look at him, and a dying need to say his name. But that’s not what happens.
Instead, the pain spreads, easing down my limbs and bleeding into my chest where it grows.
My body goes limp as he drops me to the earth, and my breathing turns to shallow, desperate breaths as the fog of pain consumes me.
“No! That’s impossible!” Covington shouts. “That’s not fair! It was perfect! Perfect!”
I’m not sure what he’s screaming about. I don’t care anymore. Because while he idles over me, crying about what is fair, there’s a face forming beside me. An angular face with nothing but sorrow in his eyes.
“Hi, Woods,” I greet him, voice shuddering.
“Hey, Iris,” he answers, quieter than usual.
I almost want to curse him and tell him to go away. Tell him I never want to see his face again. But I know he’s only doing his job.
“Coming to collect?” I ask.
He nods in my periphery.
“Busy these days,” I say, as if we’re speaking of something more ordinary and not the grave matter of life and death.
“Yeah.” He nods. “I guess I can thank you for that.”
I shrug. Or at least, I try to.
Whatever Covington gave me is working fast, and I can’t really feel my arms anymore.
“What can I say?” I mutter. “I try to do my part to keep the balance.”
Woods chuckles dryly, and I would laugh too if I could. But I’m pretty sure there’s blood pooling in my mouth from the poison.
Covington is too absorbed in his tantrum to notice me speaking. Even if he could, he probably thinks I’ve lost my mind.
I doubt he can see Woods. Not unless he’s had the great displeasure of witnessing death firsthand. I wish I could say I haven’t. But I’ve known Woods since the day my mother died.
“You here for me?” I ask.
“You know I don’t know,” Woods says. “I just go where the Reaper’s Guild sends me.”
I nod. I know, but I like to ask anyway. Although I’m not sure I even need to ask this time. Covington’s potion has reached my heart, and I can feel it slowing as we speak. It’s too late for me.
“If it’s any consolation,” he says. “I really hope I’m not here for you.”
“Thanks, Woods. It’s not.”
He nods and folds his legs underneath him as he comes to sit in the grass beside me.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll stay with you.”
His hand rests on my back, and I try to make my peace, but it’s difficult, knowing that this is how I die.
At the hands of a man who isn’t even brave enough to ask, but only to take.
Anger sears my insides as I look at Covington lashing out at the trees. If I could move, I’d rip every piece of flesh from his bones. But as the potion doles out its poison, I have no choice but to wait as he bends my body to his will.
Not wanting Covington’s pale and putrid face to be the last thing I see, I close my eyes to find the one that brings me peace.
Elliot.
I search for the threads of our bond, and find them featherlight, barely there. But I reach across them anyway, hoping he can feel me as I start to slip.
I love you.
To my surprise, he answers.
“Iris!”
It takes all my strength just to peel my eyes open, but when I do, I catch the massive blur of black fur sweeping in through the trees.
Hot on his tail are two other wolves, both golden-coated, one with hands, feet, and tail dipped in black, and the other with identical markings made in white. Kitty and Elliot, respectively. Ahead of them, Dred materializes out of the dark, and Elsie winks into sight.
“He’s a shadow-walker!” Dred shouts.
I want to correct him, but I can’t. My head won’t lift from the forest floor, let alone clear long enough for words to form. But it isn’t long before they realize their mistake.
Soundlessly, Covington’s magic crawls over them. Tendrils of smoke curl up from the earth, snaking around their limbs and pulling them down to the ground in one hard jerk.
“Shadow weaver!” Dred corrects.
Kitty whines as she hits the floor, and Dame thrashes against the shadows, but Elliot manages to tear free.
“Elsie!” Dame barks as Elliot claws his way through the shadows pinning him and Kitty. “Light the clearing!”
Elsie is standing directly in front of me, guarding me while the others close in on Covington.
“You enchantress bitch!” he shouts, realizing his power is dead in the sunlight.
They need little direction as they assume a tight formation. Elliot takes the center, with Kitty and Dame flanking him on either side, and Dred taking up the rear, before they break off, driving at him as Elsie’s power swells.
A ball of golden light sprouts from her palms, consuming the clearing in a flash, and leaving Covington exposed and powerless as the others descend on him.
Dame and Kitty each take an arm while Dred grips his ankles and Elliot ropes his hands around his neck.
Wordlessly, they all break away, ripping his limbs from his body with a sickening crunch.
I watch, unblinking, as Elliot keeps his promise and tears Covington into a million pieces. Dame continues shredding him to ribbons, but Elliot breaks away, racing toward me.
I think I hear my heart singing as he kneels before me, bloodied and bruised but whole. As long as he’s whole.
“Iris?” His voice is tight, hurried as his hands rush over me. “Baby, look at me.”
I am. Or at least I think I am, but my vision is starting to splinter, and there are at least three Elliots bending over me. Each of them more beautiful than the last.
There are worse things to see before you die than the man you love.
He’s so gorgeous it almost doesn’t hurt.
Thick lips that carry a peace in every touch. Dark skin, like the sun loved him so much she just couldn’t stop kissing him. And his soft eyes guarding a gentle spirit more resilient than most. I should’ve seen it sooner. But now I do.
As I lie dying in the dirt, I am certain that Elliot Cross loves me.