Page 64 of Because the Night

He’s dressed in a three-piece suit. Very showy. The way he searches the room and then sneers at me doesn’t improve the situation at all. Should Lucas fail to stop him, the creature is absolutely going to tear me to shreds. And I highly doubt my gun and I could stop one as ancient as him.

“She won’t live to see another night,” he says. “I promise it.”

Lucas’ shrug is nonchalant as fuck. But I am wise to his ways now. Hiding his heart is a given. It’s what this world taught him is safe.

Marc snarls in anger.

The force with which Lucas charges him with his axe is breathtaking. And Marc meets him with a morning star. A type of club with a spiked metal ball attached to the top. Something I have only ever seen in a medieval movie about the crusades.

They’re apparently in no rush, given how long the two have waited to kill each other. Because I can see their movements. Weapons being wielded like they’re extensions of their bodies. Centuries of practice gives the fight a particular grace. Their skill may well be unrivaled by any other, undead or alive. Despite, or maybe due to their dexterity, neither successfully manages to land a blow. And after a minute or two, they step back from the bout, seemingly by unspoken consensuses, and each sets their weapon on the ground.

Marc growls in my general direction. Like he hasn’t got enough going on in his life right now. Then he leaps at Lucas, and the two crash together again. I swear the ground shakes from their fury. Their hands hammer and claw at each other. Demons set loose from Hell couldn’t seek more destruction. The brothers’ hatred for one another is all-consuming. Bone cracks and blood flows, but neither stops or even pauses.

Henry and Benedict must have disposed of the rest of the thugs. Both are wounded, but the rest of our enemies are gone. They don’t interfere in the ongoing fight between the brothers, however. No matter how much I might like them to help. My own complete lack of skill with a gun rules me out, too. Our maker is on his own. He probably wants it this way, but I do not have to like it.

Which is when an unhappy thought occurs to me. There’s a small to medium chance I may have emotions happening when it comes to Lucas. Things beyond irritation and anger and outrage. Because the panic I experience as he faces such peril is extreme. On the verge of a total meltdown on my part. The thing is…I haven’t heard all of his stories. I don’t know as much about him as I would like. And the idea of our time together being brought to an abrupt end is fucking awful. I am this close to messy crying as the two brothers wage war against each other.

Having some sort of feelings for this monster isn’t the worst thing in the world. The idea of us being important to each other. It doesn’t need to mean anything big or unwieldy. This is fine.

Then, a full moment later, as Marc is pummeling his brother’s face, I realize such a thought is absolute nonsense. Just complete rubbish. Because the truth is, I have somehow managed to stumble and fall in love with Lucas. So clumsy of me. But he has my whole, undead heart. I have never felt this way about anyone, living or dead, and I cannot lose him. He has to win. Anything else is untenable.

Just then, Lucas punches his hand through his brother’s chest. Reaching up and under his rib cage to get at his heart. Marc’s face contorts. He shrieks his rage and pain to the room. All of his people are dust, however. There’s no one to come to his aid; no family or friends to help him. He is as alone in this moment as he can be. Lucas all but tears his brother in two. And the bloody body in his hands turns to ash as we watch.

Marc is dead. Deader. And thank fuck for that.

A muscle in the side of Lucas’s jaw shifts, and his cool, clear blue gaze finds mine. Cuts and bruises spread across his skin diminish and change shades. The man has taken a beating. But he’s still here. He’s going to be okay.

We stare at each other for a long minute. There’s a question in his eyes, and for once I don’t turn away or make excuses. Itdoesn’t matter that we’ve only known each other for a week. Or that there’s an age gap between us as wide as the sea. He wants to be with me, and I want to be with him.

Seems there might be something to this soul mate’s thing after all. I don’t know how else to explain it. The slow smile spreading across his lips is everything. We survived. We really are going to be okay. It hardly even matters that our home is in ruins. Pottery pieces scattered on the ground. Paintings pockmarked with bullet holes. And don’t even get me started on all of the beautiful books. Ugh.

I’m not even as upset anymore about him killing me. Because this new life I am living is kind of great. Give or take the occasional outbreaks of excessive violence, etcetera. He definitely requires further ongoing education regarding consent and equality, however.

“You’re smiling,” he says to me.

“Yeah. We’re okay. We’re still here.”

“Of course.”

Lucas might have taken our winning as a given. But I sure as hell had my concerns. I look around the room. “All of your stuff.”

“I have more stuff,” he says.

“So much more.. I’d like to see your brother come back from that,” murmurs Henry, inspecting the pile of ash at their feet.

Lucas just grunts.

“Oh, no,” says a still heavily bleeding Benedict in a sad voice. “Skye didn’t get to shoot anyone.”

Henry sighs. “That is a shame.”

“She shouldn’t have to miss out.” Benedict is seriously aggrieved. “Why don’t you shoot Henry now? I’ll hold him down for you.”

“Very funny,” says Henry.

I just smile. “No. Thank you.”

“I won’t help you dig the bullets out of your stomach and leg if you’re not nice to me, Benedict. I am warning you.”

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