Page 156 of A Fate so Cruel

The male lunged at him again, rage renewed, but Rion tackled him, wrestled for dominance, then pinned the male to the ground. The male spit in Rion’s face, snapping his teeth as he shouted obscenities and cursed him to the deepest level of hell.

Rion had heard it all before. Heard the other words, too. Monster. Demon. Abomination.

Rion slammed his blade through the male’s chest and twisted. A soft gasp, then the male fell limp. Rion stood, sucking down breath and tilted his head up to the stars. A brisk wind picked up, hitting the blood and sweat coating his skin.

He wiped them away, smearing droplets across his cheeks. It didn’t matter, he’d clean up once he was back in his room. He’d receive a letter from Alec tomorrow demanding he answer for the deaths of those left in the street.

But Rion would simply throw it away. Just like he had all the others.

A near silent gasp had Rion pivoting toward the alley, ready to defend himself yet again. The feline was gone, but the half-breed stared at him with wide eyes, frozen to the spot. Rion wasn’t even sure he was breathing. Rion’s lips parted. He’d forgotten the male was there, caked in his own filth, and he’d just seen . . . a monster. He’d just seen a monster.

Rion’s gaze traveled over the bodies at his feet. The half-breed’s horror-struck eyes followed and for a split second, guilt washed through him. This male had already been through so much and he’d had to witness this, too.

Rion took one step toward the male, and the half-breed scrambled back. A sob escaped his too-thin frame, and Rion halted. Moments ago, the male might have accepted his offer, but not now. Not after what he’d just witnessed.

Footsteps echoed off the pavement, coming in fast. Rion pivoted again, ready for another group to strike out. He lifted his magic. Adjusted the grip on his sword.

Saoirse skidded around the corner, one hand braced against the wall, chest heaving, and froze when their eyes locked. She wore her casual attire today, a simple pair of slacks and a shirt. She always carried at least one weapon. Today, it was a set of knives in her belt.

She surveyed him, then her gaze dropped to the male at his feet. He expected her brows to furrow. For her to reprimand him for not holding back, as she’d done so many times before.

A sharp intake of breath told him this was different.

His sister gripped her chest, then stumbled forward, one arm outstretched as if she could reach the male from where she stood.

Fear engulfed him.

Rion stepped back, his heart thundering as Saoirse crossed the short distance and fell to her knees, landing right in the puddle of the male’s blood. He watched her caress the male’s face, then her fingers reached for his neck. A broken sob tore from her throat when she didn’t find a pulse.

Saoirse draped herself over the body as if she could protect him, then an anguished cry escaped his sister’s lips.

Rion stepped back. Stumbled.

Saoirse.

She clutched the male’s tunic so hard her knuckles turned white. Her shoulders shook, rising and falling as despair tore through her body.

Rion’s breath came faster and pain speared through his heart, ripping open the emotions he’d buried for the last decade.

Saoirse.

A door cracked open nearby. Someone stepped into the blood-soaked street. Rion looked at his hands. At the blood coating them, then back to his sister’s shaking body.

She shifted, trying to sit up, then Rion ran. Ran faster than he’d ever run in his entire life. He couldn’t face her. Couldn’t bear to see the same look on her face that so many others had given him. He could take being called a monster from everyone else. But if Saoirse looked at him that way . . . Rion’s heart lodged in his throat. He couldn’t—he couldn’t—he—

Rion rounded the next corner and collided with another body. Both went to the ground, rolling, and the Fae cursed, turning on him in anger before realizing who he was.

Fear. Always so much fear. Rion scrambled back to his feet and kept running. His leg throbbed. The small cuts and lacerations across his body burned. But he couldn’t stop. He needed to get as far away from the city as possible. As far away from her.

Saoirse. Had he finally done it? Had he lost her forever? Why hadn’t he ever considered it before? She’d grown up in Nàdair. She’d trained, gone to school, had friends and a life outside of him. How many others had he taken from her? How many friends had he forced her to bury?

And gods, what if that male had meant more? What if—

Rion bolted through the same hole in the redwoods he always used to escape. His leg twitched and Rion stumbled again, but he forced his body up and kept running. Ran from Nàdair. Ran from the responsibility and anger and rage that had driven him for the last decade.

A monster.

Gods, he really was a monster.

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