46. CHAPTER 46 #2
Very subtly, he ran his thumb in a soft circle against her throat.
The steely grip on her shoulder felt like desperation now.
That fleeting touch eased along her broken edges, the power of his comfort on her raw, gaping wound so relieving it hurt more than anything else had.
Hurt in a way that let her know she was alive and not lost forever.
“Lower.” The Phaedra's voice buzzed in her gut.
“No.” Kira didn't recognize her own breathy plea. “N-no.”
The stench of blood bore into her mind, never to leave.
Her memory flipped through every touch and look and moment of care they shared.
Zayne plucking the little sprout, the warmth of his chest after the icy tank, his finger trailing her jaw the night they met.
Time after time, his ice melted just for her as he looked into her eyes, even when she hadn't seen that it was happening.
She heard his head crack against the skull of the soldier who tried to kill her.
Zayne would do anything to protect her.
He cared about her.
He cared in a way she didn't have words for but felt in the marrow of her bones.
He couldn't smash her face into this bloody floor.
He couldn't.
He wouldn't.
And if he did, if he ripped his own soul open like in the north. If he buried her in the blood of the Followers, he'd inflict wounds on himself certain to never heal.
Strength didn't feel possible right now, but that just let her see more clearly. The Phaedra watched, and Zayne hesitated. Any longer and he would give his heart away to the most ruthless man in the empire.
The Phaedra would know Zayne chose Kira over him.
It all ended here if he refused.
And Kira wasn't going to become another scar etched into his spirit like the names inside his tree.
Acceptance settled over the horror and pain.
Kira defied her own limits to lower herself into the sticky blood crawling up her throat, and soon her cheek, until she lay flat on the ground while the gore consumed her.
Quietly now, because she didn't have the strength to sob, Kira cried with her eyes and mouth pinched tight to protect against the blood.
Against the image of the dead man.
She was locked in the tank again, drowning in warm blood.
The Phaedra strolled to her, boots squeaking. “The blood of the innocent…” He knelt and ran a delicate touch along the warmth, smearing her cheek. The softness of his fingers revolted her. “May it cleanse you of your sin.”
Sobs racked her shoulders.
“You should apologize to them. I tried so hard to save them while you stubbornly refused.”
The words wanted to spill from her lips.
Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.
Forever, sorry.
Not for the reasons the Phaedra claimed, but because what had she ever done to help? Those news articles she posted in the alleyways of Ciondo wouldn't even soak up the blood in this room.
What had she really done for anyone?
Useless.
Sorry.
The worst sins screamed from within her. She wasn't ready to hear that accusing voice. She couldn't survive it. But soon its cries rang through her.
Kira lived, and so these people died.
—SORRY—
While the Phaedra used her to hunt down and slaughter the Followers, she'd softened her heart to the family helping him do it.
Her stare lifted to Zayne once more. To the hardness he wore.
The utter lack of emotion. He risked his life fighting against the Phaedra, but still he stood in this room, boots soaked in blood.
Even if the waters within him were warmer than those outside, they were still bitterly cold.
He made them cold to survive in this empire and fight from within.
To play right into the Phaedra's hands while believing he made a difference.
And he stopped Kira from doing the one thing that might have saved these people.
But Kira didn't blame him.
Zayne took nothing good for himself, not a second of comfort or relief, giving all he had for his war against the Phaedra.
That made it even more tragic to see him fall into this trap over and over.
Should she hate him?
Should she hate herself?
And her mother?
Her mother had done this because of her.
The pain tugged her away from her body again.
The Phaedra's voice lowered to a growl. “Take the bitch to her other victims.”
Those hands she yearned for grabbed her, and it was the first time she didn't crave his touch.
Kira relived the moment in the tank when she realized she'd have to choose to die again and again.
The Phaedra expected her to bow before each person he killed and lie in pools of their blood to satisfy his lust for revenge.
But this time there was no escape. No one to rip her from the tank. No way for her to flee.
Zayne didn't save her this time. He dragged her through the blood and lowered her beside a corpse.
This was happening, and no one in the empire could stop it.
And every second she'd spent fearing what might one day come was realized over and over, until their blood drenched her body and soul and every strand of her hair.
The cruelty of Zayne being the one to do it sliced away at the tender, vulnerable parts of her, until she lost her hold on herself. Until she was drowning in a tank of blood, unable to see, speak, feel, hear.
Death.
Blood.
Agony.
But not regret.
Kira's words carried power, and she refused to ask her mom to kill anyone.
Only a single ember of life burned within her, and it was consumed entirely in destroying the Phaedra.
It didn't matter if he broke her, or if he used Zayne to do it. Kira would never be his.
Her rebellion would never be his.
Even when she no longer felt anything.
Kira didn't remember it ending. Didn't know it had. She no longer felt herself, but only the blood soaking her body. She was aware only of the Phaedra looking down on her, carrying centuries of power.
“You have been reborn.” His narrowed brows etched a shadow over his face. “Go and sin no more.”