Page 41 of Entity

But my traitor feet are planted to the ground. Because that pained sound is echoing in my head, curdling my stomach.

“Get in the elevator, Katherine.” But my voice is weak.

I put a hand inside the elevator doors, holding them open with light pressure. But I don’t step in.

Get in the fucking elevator.

No. I can’t. Because suddenly, I have this horrible, sickening feeling that Ian is here, back in the vault. That he’s going to tear Orpheus apart, just like Eros. Finally putting an end to the disobedient mistake.

The duffle falls from my fingers and clatters to the floor. I’m already halfway to the door to the vault when the elevator doors slide shut behind me. I key in the door code with trembling fingers, wrenching the door open the second it unlocks.

I fly down the stairs. Barely thinking, barelybreathing.

Another hoarse, pained cry cuts through the silence, the only other sounds my heartbeat and frantic footsteps on the stairs.

I miss the last step on the flight and skid, landing painfully on my tailbone. I hiss in pain, but I keep going.

It sounds like Ian is torturing Orpheus down there. He might be cutting him apart right now, wrenching his limbs from his body with a horrible strength, driven by madness or rage. I don’t know what I’ll do when I get there. But the thought of Orpheus’s perfect body, his face so beautiful it could be holy, being ripped apart nearly drives me insane.

The vault door is still open.

I rush through it, heart pounding, my lungs aflame. My back throbs where I fell, but I’m here now.

I’ll save him. I have to.

The doors are open, just like before. I stop at Eros’s room and glance in, seeing only the remains of his beautiful mechanical body. I grit my teeth. There’s only one room left. The door stands open.

A strangled groan pierces the silence. It’s clearer now, and distinctly human in its agony.

Adrenaline spikes through me as I cross to the door. It has to be Orpheus, dying. Orpheus, his eyes darkening. No, no,no, not like this. Not before I have a chance to—

Just inside the doorway, I freeze.

Confusion grips me, and I stare dumbly at the scene before me.

Ian sits with his back against the far wall, slumped, his legs stretched out before him. He’s breathing heavily, taking shallow, labored breaths. Usually so well-groomed and pristine, he is strikingly disheveled. Black curls hang over a pallid forehead. His shirt is wrinkled and hanging open, the collar rumpled. His sickly face is a mess of sweat. His eyes are bloodshot. Blood drips thickly from one of his nostrils, staining his shirt.

Belatedly, the smell hits me, acrid and metallic: sweat, and the sickly tang of fear.

He seems to notice me slowly, lifting his head just enough to peer at me through half-shut eyes. “Kit?”

“Ian.” I inch closer, unsure of exactly what I’m seeing. I have even less of an idea of what to say. When I’m close enough that his smell nearly gags me, I stop. I think he might have pissed himself. His eyes have closed again; he’s breathing slowly but steadily.

“Ian,” I say again. But my voice is weak, unsteady, and breaks as I speak. “What the hell happened?”

His eyes flutter open. “Kit,” he croaks. “Help me.”

The wind howls a distant song all around us.

I stay exactly where I am. I’m not doing anything until I understand what the fuck is going on. “Whathappened, Ian?”

But he only laughs, a broken, mad chuckle.

“Ian,” I snap, hearing my voice as though from far away.

“Either help me,” he says, his head lolling so as to look at me head-on. He holds my gaze through wet lashes, with sweat or tears, I can’t tell. “Or fuckingleave.”

Every instinct in me screams to obey. Ian is clearly in pain, delirious. “What do you need? An ambulance?”

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