Page 55 of Blood Descendants
I get two seconds to actually take the man’s face in, telling myself to commit it to memory so I can unquestionably point him out in the crowd later. Black hair. Gray eyes. Uneven facial hair. A scar going down the left side of his face.
But he grins at me predatorily, victory gleaming in his eyes.
“Get your fucking hand off my fiancée.”
The words are spoken in an unforgiving snarl. And movement over my right shoulder pulls my eyes for a fraction of a second before there’s a sickening wet crunch.
Ares’ fist buries itself into the man’s chest. My eyes widen as I take it in. Ares’ hand is gone. Fully submerged. The cracking sounds of bone fill my ears. The man sucks in a wet gasp.
Ares yanks his hand back, and I’ve never, ever heard such a sound. Wet ripping, tearing. Separation. Shredding of tissue.
Ares stands there, his eyes burning a violent, glowing red, with a wrecked heart in his hand. His breathing huffs ragged and savage.
The man stands there for just one second, horrified shock etched over his face. And then he collapses to the ground, a limp mass of limbs on the floor, blood spilling out of him.
And I have no words as I watch the color drain out of his body, and he turns completely gray.
“Finally,” a voice cuts through what I realize was complete silence. I look up to see every eye in the room turned to Ares, but it was Sysco who spoke. “Demetri was such a dick. Had it coming.”
The room is silent, every eye in the room fixed on the barely contained rage that is Ares, a man’s heart gripped in his hand.
“Let it be a warning,” he says, and his voice is ice. It sends a shiver down the length of my body. “Put your hands on Lana, and it’ll be the last thing you do.”
I feel numb. Cold. Frozen.
Is this shock?
But as I look at Ares, reality starts connecting just a little.
Red. Ares’ hand is coated in red.
I wait for it. For my vision to tunnel. For my breathing to speed up. For the panic to climb up my throat.
Since my mom and sister were murdered, I see blood, and I shut down.
This is the most blood I’ve seen since that day. It’s dripping from Ares’ hand. It’s pooling on the floor.
But all I feel is shock.
“Always knew Augustus’ line had a flare for the dramatic,” Giovanni says, but it sounds like a compliment. It’s confirmed when he winks in Ares’ direction and turns back to the party.
And like this is nothing more than an argument, the rest of the party continues on. Conversations resume. The music turns back on. And it’s as if everything is normal, and there isn’t a body on the floor and blood pooling on the polished wood.
“Lana.”
My name comes from Ares’ lips in panicked shock.
My eyes rise back to meet his. He’s staring at me with wide, alarmed eyes. As if he’s suddenly remembered what happened the last time I saw blood.
He’s searching me for signs of passing out. Of the oncoming panic attack.
Where the hell is it? I search myself internally for the signs of any of it.
My eyes slip back down to Ares’ blood soaked hand.
I am in shock. But I don’t feel like I’m about to lose it.
“I…” my mouth opens, but I can’t find words in my brain. So, I just shake my head. No. That’s not right. I nod.
