Chapter 58
Electra
Gael raises his palms. “Electra, darlin’…”
His term of endearment makes my molars gnash. “Back the fuck away from him, Gael.”
“Hunters want our destruction. This boy”—he jabs his thumb in Reeve’s direction—“used you, yet you remain intent on protectin’ him?” Gael’s elocution is painstakingly slow, the kind meant for someone he clearly considers dense. “Sweetheart, you need—”
“Stop with the sweethearts and the darlins’ and the daughters! And fucking step away from him,” I bite out.
“They want to destroy our magic…our goddess. Don’t you care about Gaea?”
“Asks the man who had me shot,” I sneer.
“Only to keep you safe!”
A dark laugh slips out of me, but it’s cut short by the crimson slick on his blade.
Rage coils through me, devouring my restraint, and I squeeze a bullet into his still-lifted palm. His fingers jerk open, releasing the knife that clatters onto the large, gray tiles. And then I shoot him in the shoulder, jerking his body away from Reeve.
The sight that awaits me stops my rancorous heart. The Hunter’s eyes are glazed and his head lolling to the side. Blood leaks out of his nose, his mouth, his neck. It paints his pale skin, saturates his white T-shirt, and streaks his gray sweatpants.
As Gael curses under his breath, I croak, “Reeve?”
He doesn’t react to his name, so I call him by his other name—the one he misled me with.
“Cillian?”
I get no reaction.
“Reeve!” I shout, lunging toward him and tossing my gun to bracket his drooping face.
His blood has pooled around those white high-tops he loves as much as the woman whose initials grace the leather.
“You leave me no choice,” Gael drawls, a second before a brutal pressure crushes my lungs.
I spin around, magic gathering at my fingertips. Gael slaps my hands aside, then yanks so hard it feels like he’s dragging my lungs up my throat.
I scramble for the gun I tossed, but the murderer must’ve moved it, because it’s nowhere near me.
I push to my feet, the effort so monumental I teeter. But I don’t fall.
I think of Ines, letting her hard lessons fuel my legs and fortify my spine.
Just as I charge the prick who made me, a gunshot cracks through the air.