And in the end, when he fled, we thought we had done it.
Thought we had at least won the battle, if not the war.
Thought the sacrifices—the so very, very many sacrifices—we had made had been worth it.
Until we got back here, to Katmere, and realized we hadn’t been fighting a war at all—or even a battle. No, what had been life-and-death for us, what had brought us to our knees and sent us sinking into an abyss of despair, hadn’t been a battle at all. Instead, it had been little more than a playdate, one meant to keep the children occupied while the adults took care of winning the real war.
I feel like a fool…and a failure. Because even knowing Cyrus can’t be trusted, even knowing he has a plethora of tricks up his sleeve, we fell for it. Worse, some of us even died for it.
Luca died for it, and now Flint has lost his leg.
Judging from the looks on the faces of every single person in the infirmary, I’m not the only one who feels like this. A bitter mix of agony and rage hangs heavy among us. So heavy that there’s barely room to feel anything else—barely room to think anything else.
Marise, the school’s nurse practitioner and only surviving person left at Katmere, rests on one of the hospital beds, bruises and cuts still visible on her arms and cheek, which is testament to how hard she must have fought that her vampire metabolism hasn’t healed her yet. Macy brings her a bottle of blood from the nearby fridge, and Marise nods a thank-you before drinking. Helping out the specialist with Flint obviously took what was left of her strength.
I glance at Flint sitting on a hospital bed in the corner with what’s left of his leg propped up, at the pain etched on a face normally stretched wide with a big, goofy grin, and my stomach pitches. He looks so small, shoulders hunched in pain and grief, that I have to fight the rising bile back down my throat. Sheer will is the only thing keeping me upright at the moment—well, that and Hudson as he wraps an arm around my waist, like he knows I’d fall without his support. His hold, his obvious attempt at comfort, should reassure me. And maybe it would, if he wasn’t currently trembling as badly as I am.
Silence stretches taut as a heartstring among the group of us, until Jaxon clears his throat and says in a voice as rough as we all feel, “We need to talk about Luca. There isn’t much time.”
“Luca?” Marise asks, heartbreak evident in her raspy words. “He didn’t make it?”
“No.” Flint’s answer is as empty as his eyes. “He didn’t.”
“We brought his body back to Katmere,” Mekhi adds.
“Good. He shouldn’t be left on that godforsaken island.” Marise tries to say something else, but her voice cracks in the middle. She clears her throat, tries again. “But you’re right. There isn’t much time.”
“Time for what?” I ask, my gaze going to Byron as he pulls a phone from his front pocket.
“Luca’s parents need to be notified,” he answers as he scrolls. “He has to be buried within twenty-four hours.”
“Twenty-four hours?” I repeat. “That seems awfully fast.”
“It is fast,” Mekhi answers. “But if he’s not sealed in a crypt by then, he’ll disintegrate.”
The harshness of his answer—the harshness of this world—has my breath clogging in my throat.
Of course, we all turn to dust in the end, but how awful for it to happen so quickly. Maybe before Luca’s parents can even get here to see him. Definitely before any of us can wrap our head around the reality that he is really gone.
Before we can even say goodbye.
“Byron’s right,” Macy says quietly. “Luca’s parents deserve the chance to say goodbye.”
“Of course they do,” Hudson agrees in a voice that turns the sudden silence into a pulsing wound. “But we can’t afford to give it to them.”
No one seems to know what to say to that, and instead, we all stare at him, nonplussed. I can’t help wondering if I heard him wrong, and judging from the looks on the others’ faces, they feel the same.
“We have to tell them,” Jaxon states, and it’s clear he’s in no mood to debate the topic.
“What do you mean?” Macy asks at the same time. She doesn’t sound mad, though. Just concerned.
“They need time to take his body to the family crypt,” Byron says, but he has stopped scrolling on his phone—either because he finally found Luca’s parents’ number or because he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “If we don’t call them now, there won’t be anything left of him.”
Hudson eases his arm from around my waist and steps away, and I can’t help but shiver at the loss of his warmth. “I know that,” he replies, crossing his arms. “But they’re vampires, from the Vampire Court. How do we know we can trust them?”
“Their son is dead.” Flint’s voice crackles with indignation as he struggles to stand. I can’t believe he’s up and moving already, but shifters heal fast, even under the most dire of circumstances. Jaxon turns to help him, but Flint throws his hand out in a silent back the hell off, though his gaze never leaves Hudson’s. “You can’t really think they’ll take Cyrus’s side?”
“Is the idea truly that surprising?” Hudson’s face is blank when he turns to Jaxon. “You barely survived your last encounter with our own father.”
“That’s different,” Jaxon snarls.
“Why? Because it’s Cyrus? You actually believe he’s the only one who thinks that way?” Hudson arches a brow. “If he was, there wouldn’t have been so bloody many people to fight on that island.”
Silence stretches until Eden says, “It pains me, but I think Hudson’s right.” She shakes her head. “We don’t know if we can trust Luca’s parents. We don’t know if we can trust anyone.”
“Their son is dead,” Flint repeats emphatically, his gaze narrowing on Eden’s. “They need to know while they still have time to bury him. If you’re all too chickenshit to do it, I will.” He nails Hudson with a heated glare. “Ever think we wouldn’t have to notify them at all if you had done your job?”
I gasp as the words ricochet through my body like a physical blow. It’s obvious he means Hudson’s ability to disintegrate our enemies with a thought, and I want to rage at Flint that he’d even suggest such a thing, let alone expect it, but I also know he’s hurting, and now isn’t the time.
Hudson’s gaze darts to mine, and instead, I try to reassure him with a look that it’s not his fault. But quick as lightning, he focuses back on Flint and throws his arms wide in disbelief. “I was there fighting, same as you.”