Chapter Thirty-Two
Kayden
I'm out of the car before it stops, boots hitting gravel, something tight and painful flaring in my chest. Some dead-end nowhere place, concrete husks and shadows, like the set of every bad horror film.
I don't yell for her. I'm not an idiot. Predators don't announce themselves.
I clear the perimeter first—eyes scanning corners, ears tuned to every creak of metal and crunch of stone. If someone's lying in wait, they won't get the jump on me.
Asher's right behind me, silent, scanning with the same focus. We move like we used to in bloodier times: a glance, a nod, a wordless agreement.
We breach the warehouse.
It's empty. But the smell hits me like a punch to the gut.
Blood.
And not just any blood. Her blood.
Dread coils so tight inside me that my whole body feels like a wound.
Across the cracked concrete, there's a pool of crimson, like a crime scene waiting for chalk outlines. But no body. No Sage.
"It could be another nymph," Asher says, but his voice is brittle. He doesn't believe it any more than I do.
My eyes catch a streak of red weaving out a side door. A trail.
We share another glance. Then we follow.
Outside—
She's there.
Her body slumped in the grass like a fallen angel, enormous red flowers blooming around her. Nature's morbid poetry. A supernatural Ophelia.
But I'm not letting this be her funeral. No way.
I'm at her side in seconds, dropping to my knees and hauling her into my arms.
"Sage," I whisper.
There's a heartbeat. Faint, but there. The wound in her abdomen is a gaping horror, blood still pulsing out. It makes me dizzy—the scent, the sight—but I force myself to stay steady.
No monster. Not now. Not with her.
"Sage," I say again, louder this time. My voice cracks.
Her eyes flutter open. They find me slowly, unfocused. Then she smiles. Smiles. And it guts me like nothing else ever has.
"You're gonna be all right," I choke out. "Okay? We're getting you to Eira—"
She shakes her head weakly.
"I love you, Kayden," she whispers. Her gaze flicks upward to Asher, frozen beside us, rigid as stone. "I love you too, Asher. I love you both. I'm… I'm sorry."
"No," I snap, but it comes out a plea. "No, you're not saying goodbye. I won't let you."
I turn to Asher, desperation bleeding through. "Snap out of it, Ash. We have to do something. You always know what to do!"
But he just stares at her, his frown deepening, hands curled into fists. I know that look. He's thinking he's about to lose another life under his protection. Another soul slipping away. And for once, he's as lost as I am.
I clutch Sage tighter, as if I can anchor her here with me.
"Who did this to you?" I growl, but my voice trembles.
"Doesn't matter," she breathes, her gaze slipping in and out of focus.
"Why, Sage?" Asher's voice snaps like a whip. "Why did you come here alone?"
Her eyes lift to his, and I almost wish they didn't. They're so full of sorrow it feels like a blade in my gut. She's cold and fragile.
"Because… I wanted to save everyone," she whispers. "It's stupid, I know. And I lied. I know. I'm sorry—"
"Save the apologies for later, sunshine," I cut in, my voice rough yet breaking. "You're going to have a lot of penance to do for this. Can I pick you up? Can you handle it?"
She gives me a weak smile. "Kayden… I can feel it—"
"No."
"It's okay…"
"I said no!" The raw yell tears out of me. I bite into my own wrist without thinking, shove it toward her mouth. "Drink."
"Vampire blood…" she murmurs, eyes flicking to my bleeding skin. "It's toxic… for me."
"That's what they told you. You don't know for sure. Try." My voice cracks on the last word. "Please."
She nods faintly, and I press my wrist to her lips. She frowns, but drinks anyway, slow and trembling.
I whip my head toward Asher. "Whatever PTSD trance you're in, snap out of it, brother. Give her your blood. Both of us should."
He swallows, eyes haunted. He doesn't believe it'll work, but he does it anyway. Opens his wrist and holds it out to her, his expression absent, like he's trapped in a nightmare he can't wake from.
Well, screw him. Screw everyone.
I'll drag her back from the gates of the afterlife myself if I have to.
She drinks. A flicker of life. Hope.
Then… her hands slide off. Her body sags in my arms, the warmth leaching away like water through fingers.
"I'm… sorry," she whispers, lips slick with our blood.
And then she goes still.
She dies in my arms.
And I can't stop it.
"Don't you dare! No!" The roar rips out of me, echoing into the gray sky above. My voice is ragged, breaking apart.
The rain starts up, soaking us all, washing her blood into the soil. Red blossoms spread under her like open wounds.
I want to tear them out. Tear the earth up with my bare hands. Destroy everything. But all I do is clutch her tighter against me, rocking her like a child, whispering the same broken plea over and over.
"Please don't die. Please don't die."
I don't know how long it lasts. Rain pouring. Time gone. My body numb except for the hollow where she should be breathing.
Finally, Asher moves. His voice is low, cracked. "We have to go."
I don't move. "She was under our protection," I rasp, staring at her face.
"I know," he says. His stone mask fractures just enough to show heartbreak underneath. "I know."
We're both bleeding. Both gutted.
But he's right.
In a daze, I rise, Sage's body in my arms. The weight of her is wrong. Heavy and light at the same time.
We leave that dreadful place in silence, two predators carrying their failure, hoping that maybe, this is a nightmare we'll wake from.
When we get home, I carry her to the back garden and lay her down among the flowers.
"She likes it out here," I murmur, voice hollow.
Asher nods once and disappears into the house, his silence louder than my scream. I stand there for a moment, staring at her—the stillness of her face, the unnatural quiet of her chest. It's too much. It's final. If I look any longer, I'll break.
And I can't break.
Not yet. Not until I find who did this. Not until I tear them apart, limb by limb, scream by scream.
Revenge is the only thing keeping me moving right now. And I swear, I won't stop until every last one of them pays.