47. CHAPTER 47
Zayne
The Capital
Kallum, Ciondo
Zayne stared at the empty doorway where the soldiers hauled Kira away back to the prison. He wished he'd been the one to die in this room. How could he drag Kira through the blood?
What kind of monster did that to anyone, especially someone like her?
It didn't matter that Zayne did the only thing he could to save her. That attacking the soldiers and defying the Phaedra would have killed her. He didn't care about reason, only that he'd covered her in the blood of the innocent, and he deserved to die a slow, agonizing death.
The night Kira asked him to kiss her, he said he wouldn't touch her with bloody hands, and now look at them. Zayne hurt her far worse than he feared that night.
What happened here would change her forever.
What if it crushed the fiery life in her eyes? Destroyed her resilient hope? What if Kira also died in this room, even though that she still breathed and walked the earth?
“It's unpleasant work,” the Phaedra said. “I'm proud of you for standing strong.”
He didn't feel human anymore when he turned around and looked at the emperor. “I'm at your service, my Phaedra.” Every sticky drop of blood on his skin burned.
“Good boy.” The Phaedra gripped his face hard enough to draw fresh blood from his injured lip.
“I crave your compliance like a drug. Every time I catch your wild spirit, it’s better than the last. But I can't be patient with you much longer.
If you test me, I'll make you kill her. Then you'll live with that forever.”
“Yes, Phaedra.”
“The prisoner needs time to purify herself. You won't see her for three days.”
Too much could happen in three days.
He nearly lost control of his hands like they could move on their own.
Nearly wrapped them around the bastard's throat and crushed his windpipe.
The roar beat against Zayne's chest, demanding he unleash it and teach the Phaedra what happened to anyone who fucked with Kira.
Who used her and insulted her and attacked her heart.
Did the Phaedra even use Kira for the Followers now? Or had this become a new personal obsession? To break the woman who refused to bend to him.
“She's quite fond of you,” the Phaedra said. “Turn her, and you can keep her. There's no reason to kill someone you care about if they can be controlled. Just keep her in line. It's for her own good.”
Wrath, rage, fury—every facet of hate pummeled his insides until each bone ached and every fiber of muscle strained, and it took more restraint than he'd ever needed to hold himself back.
The Phaedra stroked the back of his head. “Clean yourself up. Take a few days to rest.”
It sickened Zayne to walk out of the room where so many lay dead. He felt like he returned from the pits of hell when he stepped out into daylight.
His driver waited for him, apparently. He climbed into the car, covered in blood. This time, the man didn't ask any questions or attempt conversation.
“Sorry for the mess,” Zayne said once they arrived at his apartment.
He walked through his front door, desperate to return to Kira instead. Three days… Three days without knowing if she'd emotionally survive what just happened. But then Kira wouldn't want to see him ever again, anyway. It might have been a gift, not a punishment, to separate them.
“Babe?”
What remained of his heart dropped. “Mel?”
Terror lit her eyes when she walked into the room. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
“No. I just need a shower.”
Walking closer, Mellie reached for his uniform jacket.
“Don't,” he said. “It'll get all over you.”
“It's okay.” She unfastened a button anyway. “I can get blood on my hands too.”
Only once Zayne ensured no blood remained anywhere on him, including under his nails, did he travel to see his mom. He needed to break the news to her before she found out another way. This, right after losing Kira, would destroy her.
But how could he look at her after killing her elder?
Zayne shot him.
That he found the strength to go to Mom made him feel even more guilty, because after doing such a horrible thing, he shouldn't be able to go on. Look at what he'd done to Kira.
He sickened himself.
“Mom.” He called out to her from the base of the stairs. A door opened and closed on another floor. “Did you sleep last night?”
If she were sleep-deprived from worrying about Kira, the news would hit even harder. He didn't want her to collapse. Zayne would rather take pure PXI every morning and night for the rest of his life than deliver this news to Mom.
His father met him at the top of the stairs, and the sight of him stoked Zayne's rage. “Father.” Zayne sniffed. That smell. “Are you drunk?”
“Son…” His voice trembled. When did the voice of the High General ever tremble?
Zayne's body acted before his mind could. He shoved past him and tore into his parents' bedroom, slowing at the darkness. Mom always kept the curtains open during the day.
His father slipped in front of him and took his shoulders right when he spotted Mom lying on the bed.
“Wait, son.”
“Mom.” The shock had been too much. She didn't even respond. Damn it, his father should have told him she knew.
“Zayne.” His father clasped his shoulders, but he broke away to kneel at her side.
She looked so pale.
So pale and so still.
Something was wrong.
His thoughts dulled.
He tried to make his mouth work and ask if she was okay.
Nothing felt right.
Fear ripped through him. He reached out to shake her awake, but his hands grabbed swollen ice instead of skin.
Zayne fell back from her, landing against his father's legs. Fists of fear squeezed his heart, his mind struggling to catch up.
Kneeling, his father wrapped his arm around Zayne's chest, holding him tight. “I've got you, son.”
Dad didn't hold them.
The embrace awakened horror inside him, contracting his muscles and flooding him with energy to fight, except no one was attacking him.
“Mom,” Zayne said, something warm and wet sliding down his face. Had he not washed off all the blood? Was he still stuck in that basement with Kira? Stuck in his nightmares?
“Your mother was at the church.” Tears choked his father’s voice. He’d never heard him cry. “No one knew… I didn’t know… I'm sorry…”
“No.” Zayne shoved his father away again and crawled to her bedside, gripping the blanket. “She’s here. She’s fine. She looks fine. Mom?”
“She’s dead, Zayne.”
He bowed forward. “She promised to stay home. She wasn't at the church.”
Zayne grabbed his mom's legs through the blankets. This was a mistake. A misunderstanding.
“Isn’t there something we can do? We haven’t tried anything yet.” Zayne closed his eyes.
Nothing he said made sense, did it? He was in shock.
His breath caught at the realization.
He was in shock because this was real. His mom was really dead. And dead was dead. It was too late to try anything.
“Am I awake?” Zayne whispered, gripping her leg harder. “She's really gone?”
He wasn't prepared to hear the answer. He never would be.
Sorrow gripped his father’s voice. “Your mom is dead, son.”
Zayne doubled over. “I need… I need to do something.”
“Do what? You need to sit down and take a minute to process this.” His father pulled out the chair from the small desk against the wall, his voice calm despite the grief on his expression. “Please, sit down. Get off the ground.”
Zayne groaned and ignored his father. His thoughts were clearing and, as they did, the pain filled his heart, first in spurts, and then in gushing streams that stole his breath away.
PXI must have flowed through his veins, bursting against every capillary and artery, and setting every nerve on fire.
Nothing relieved a pain like this.
Nothing.
He'd die.
He was sure of it.
Hoped for it.
If he had anyone to pray to, then he'd pray for it. Pray to finally end all this.
It hurt so badly to look at Mom's face, but he needed to be with her. She looked familiar but not entirely like herself.
“You should be smiling. You’re always smiling.
” He reached out and touched the lines creasing the corners of her mouth, carved by years of laughing with them—her young days crawling on the floor to play, and then tear-filled goodbyes that she still smiled through.
His eyes stung. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I told you I’d take care of you. ”
“She wore a disguise at the church,” his father said. “They didn’t recognize her.”
The world tilted at the thought of the Phaedra’s boots squeaking on the floor beside the Elder’s corpse. At the blood he'd cleaned from under his nails.
“They didn’t take the time to know the civilians they slaughtered.” His voice trembled. “We’re indiscriminate killers. That’s why she’s gone.”
Silence sucked the air from the room. What right did either of them have to say nothing at a time like this?
He shot to his feet, glowering at his father from beneath tightly twisted brows.
How could he not check on Mom before allowing this hit?
The question burned in his throat. He wanted so badly to ask it.
To see the suffering on his father’s face as he stood to account for the blood on his hands, his own wife’s blood.
But Zayne didn’t have the cruelty to do that to his father, no matter how much he deserved it.
“How long have you known?” Zayne asked.
Guilt shadowed his face. “Three hours.”
“Three…” Zayne struggled to hold down the roar pushing up against his throat.
“I had to get the answers first. I had to figure out how to tell you all that your mother is dead.”
“Mom is dead. There. That’s how you say it, immediately after you find out.”
“You have every right to be angry,” his father said.
“What does it help?” He massaged the ache in his chest. None of this made sense.
The finality of it, the suddenness. How could this have happened?
Zayne would never hear her voice again. Shock ripped his mind between reason and insanity.
“This just can't be right. There must be a mistake.
Mom said she'd stay home. She wouldn't lie to me.”
His father looked at him with pity.