Page 49 of Pretty Poisoned

I kneel beside Layla and go for her throat, thinking I should cover the wound with my hands.

"Don't touch her!" Declan screams. "Don't you fucking touch her! Luca, get her away from her."

Luca grabs me by my arms and hauls me to my feet, then wraps his arms around me with his chest at my back, holding me tightly against his body.

I think that he must have been in shock—that he knows what he's doing, and he's going to help her now. He lies beside her in the grass and smoothes bloody hair away from her face.

"Oh, Layla," he says. "My sweet Layla. You're so beautiful."

"I'm…sorry," she wheezes. "I…love…you."

"I forgive you, honey," he says. "This is the most precious gift. I'll never forget it."

Oh my god. He's not going to help her—it's just like Bridget. No one made a move to do anything.

He was so proud of her.

Luca didn't kill Bridget. Declan made her kill herself. He wanted the sacrifice; he wanted the power.

He runs his hand over her bloody abdomen, then brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean. Then, he leans in and kisses her on the lips, and she smiles before her eyes flutter closed and her rattling breath ceases.

"What is wrong with you!?" I scream. "Call an ambulance! Luca! Luca, please do something!"

"Why do you want to take her choice away from her?" Declan asks. "How cruel would I be to do something like that when she'd just given me the most beautiful gift?"

"Thisis cruel!" I scream. "The way you've treated her is cruel!"

"You don't get to decide that!" he snaps. He grabs the knife from the ground and licks it clean, and when he speaks again, his voice is calm. "And now you've tainted the moment by acting like it's something ugly."

He pulls her body into his, cradling her blood-soaked body against his own, his expression one of peaceful rapture.

He holds her in a way that probably would have healed her if he'd only done it while she was alive. It occurs to me that even as she lay dying, even after she'd given him what he'd called the most beautiful gift, he still couldn't give her those three words she really wanted to hear.

My heart aches for the girl; I can feel it breaking.

Declan says he's never given me any reason not to trust him. But he told me he was capable of love, and I know that's a lie now. The person who smiled at me in the library isn't real.

"It's okay, baby," Luca says. I'd almost forgotten he was there, holding me back. He kisses me on the side of the head. "Everything dies. There's nothing that makes you feel alive quite like witnessing death. But you probably already know that, don't you?"

"I don't—I barely knew him."

"But you felt it, didn't you?" he asks.

"Of course she did," Declan says.

I shake my head. "I don't remember."

He gently lays Layla back on the grass. "We need to take care of this," he says to Luca. "Go get the guys."

Luca releases me and walks toward the house. I hold my breath and take a few steps forward before Declan turns on me, pointing the knife at my throat. "Nope. Sit. You're part of this. You're going to help."

"How am I—" I start. But Iampart of this, aren't I? I look at the bloody, lifeless girl crumpled on the grass and remember what she said to me when she woke me up.

Not only am I a part of this, it's my fault. I gave her the idea.

I'm responsible.

"I didn't—I can't breathe," I force out between shallow breaths. I clutch at my chest with shaky hands, trying to coercemy lungs to cooperate and suck in air, but they refuse. Spots cloud my vision, and I drop down onto the ground.

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