Page 43 of Don't Bite The Boss
The fighting is intense but disjointed. Solomon’s vampires are distracted by the many humans who are stumbling around, screaming, confused, wounded, getting in the way and helping us by diverting the minions from the real danger. A couple of humans accidentally fall to my silver stars, but the rest do their deadly work as I make my way, as we all make our way, with lethal intent, to surround Solomon.
Despite all the chaos around us, it is as though we six are the only people in the world, as we step closer to him, and he smiles.
“Ah, Pru, still mine, always mine,” he wheezes. I see he has more than his fair share of bullet holes in his clothing, but fear has blocked my throat with a lump the size of a grapefruit, and I cannot reply.
“She was never yours. And you are not going to chase us any longer,” Serena says quietly, from behind him.
He spins, but not fast enough, as she and Christopher each rip off an arm.
Their strength is impressive, as is their speed, and I step back, eyes wide, as howling in rage he makes to lunge towards me, fangs drawn, when Charlotte and Nick shoot in from the side and take off his legs.
The scene before us, his crazed laughter as he lays amid his limbs in a pool of blood, is macabre and horrifying. And yet, he deserves no less. He deserves to suffer a great deal more, but there is no time, would never be enough time to make up for all the pain and suffering he has caused in this world.
Still frightened, but also determined, I kneel down to him and grip his face in my hands, and squeeze, as I look one last time into his cold, dead eyes.
“This is for Tess,” I whisper, as his head explodes, and he turns to dust.
For several long seconds after, we all stand motionless, oblivious to the continuing gunfire, the screech of tyres, the sirens and sobs, staring down at the pile of dust before us, before Christopher wakes us from our shock at finally, finally ending a threat that had haunted us all our long lives.
“Where is my brother?”
His head in my lap, blood pooling in my skirt, both his and mine, I sob until I can sob no more.
To find him after so long, only to lose him now, is cruel beyond anything I have ever suffered. I know now, why Tess chose the path she chose this morning, the pain, the pain is just too much to endure.
Beside me, Christopher sobs in Serena’s arms, and Nick and Charlotte look on, unable to do anything to comfort me, or Tristan’s twin, who is now, for the first time ever, without one whom he has been linked with, since in utero, by blood.
My pain, my desolation, now turns to anger, anger at Christopher for risking his brother’s life in this ridiculous gambit, anger at myself for not telling Tristan I loved him too.
Perhaps if that conversation had been followed to its logical conclusion. I might have suggested he turn, to ensure he was safe during this attack. But it was too soon, too soon for my wounded pride to admit that to him yet – to ask something so permanent of one who had only just confessed their love.
And, by the time we had killed Solomon and returned to the altar, it was too late.
Hearing my name called, I look up, my eyes shrouded by tears, as Serena carefully lifts him away from me, and pulls me to my feet.
“I can’t even begin to imagine how you are feeling,” she whispers.
I am numb, broken, as she takes me into her arms and holds me.
“Please take me home,” I whisper, “to Tess.”
Nodding, she leads me from the church, pushing her way past the police cordon’s, refusing to stop no matter how much they order, ignoring the flashing of the paparazzi’s cameras. Serena is steel, nothing will slow her, nothing will stop her.
I turn at one stage and see the others trailing silently behind, Tristan in Christopher’s arms.
The private ambulance that is waiting to take us to the airfield holds medical staff, and we are all treated by Christopher’s physicians during the drive. I barely notice the level of coordination that had gone into setting this trap for Solomon, the contingencies that have been put in place. And I barely notice, nor acknowledge the doctor who treats me. My eyes never leave my dead lover’s face.
When we reach the plane, Christopher lays his brother down gently on the bed, straightening his limp arms and legs, brushing the hair off his forehead with a tenderness I have never seen in him.
“Can I stay with him, please?” I whisper.
He turns without answering.
As the bedroom door quietly closes, I lay down beside the man who stole my heart, place my head on his chest, and close my eyes. I want to die too. But the doctor had removed the bullets, seven of them, from my torso and chest; I am healing now, even if I don’t want to.
I close my eyes and imagine Tristan alive, running his hand through my hair as he liked to do, and I imagine it so hard, it feels real.
“I’m losing my mind now, Mr Bear,” I whisper, “see what you’ve done to me.”
