Page 140 of A Steeping of Blood
“We did have a good love story, didn’t we?” he whispered.
She was shaking her head, tears dripping down her chin to her sari. She wanted to shoot him again. To see him shake with laughter at her antics. To feel his smile curving against her skin.
“I had forgotten what it was like to live until you,” he said. “I forgot what it was like to have purpose.” He looked behind her. “It was a pleasure, Jin.” Then tilted his head to the side to look at Laith. “Can’t say the same.”
Laith dipped his chin. “Thank you, Andoni.”
“I’m not doing this for you.”
“I know.”
No, he was doing this for her. Hadn’t he told her as much?I would die for you, darling. She had simply never imagined a world in which he would have to, for Arthie always saved herself.
Matteo met her gaze one last time. His green eyes were bright, at peace.
Then he pushed her toward Jin and Laith and leaped into the fray. Arthie ran for him, her sari shimmering cruelly out of the corner of her eye. Jin caught her, held her, even as she heaved and thrashed against him. The vampires roared as Matteo reached them. He toppled two in one fell swoop, only for them to rise back up again. He tore his claws down another’s chest with a snarl. They were fighting back. They were hurting him. Each gash across his skin was a bullet through her, each one numbing her to the bone.
But it was working.
He was slowing them down.
“Jin! Arthie!” Laith called behind him as the dynamite hissed and popped.
“No,” Arthie whispered, tears blurring her vision.
“I’m sorry, Arthie. I’m sorry,” Jin was saying, over and over again, his voice cracking when he saw her face. He pulled her behind him, forcing her to run. They reached the bunker door as the dynamite fell quiet, and Arthie turned back one last time to see the Ripper vampires overwhelming Matteo, climbing over him, she saw them rip through his chest, and she found a strange, sick sense of comfort that he wouldn’t live, that he wouldn’t suffer beneath that rubble for an eternity.
Then Jin was pulling her through the door and sealing Matteo inside as the explosion rocked the earth and the tunnel collapsed, her heart crumbling with it.
57FLICK
Flick stayed back. She wanted to watch Lady Linden’s face when the explosion went off and terror froze her features. The lords and ladies of society were pointing fingers. The Council was turning their scorn toward her. Would they oust her on the spot?
What wouldshedo?
Flick’s answer came soon enough. She almost laughed when Lady Linden pulled out her tiny revolver, the very same she’d killed Jin with. What was a pistol against the masses? But Flick knew better than to underestimate the woman she once called mother. The Ram had killed Arthie’s parents and Jin’s, she had ruined Matteo’s life, destroyed Laith, stolen a mother from Flick.
She wouldn’t let her ravage anything else.
As the Ram’s black-clad forces fell upon the guests, and the Athereum vampires launched into battle, Flick threw herself at Lady Linden. She screamed, but Flick held on tight, struggling until she toppled her to the floor. Lady Linden jabbed her elbow into Flick’s ribs, digging deep until Flick was gasping for air, turning a pained and panicked gaze to hers.
Her mother faltered for the barest second. She looked different, somehow. Younger, almost, than when she’d lather on every cosmetic before ever leaving her room. As if her makeup worked in reverse, painting her older.
No, she looked like she was sculpted from stone. Realization sank into Flick’s chest, throwing her off-kilter.
She tried to move, but Lady Linden yanked her again with staggering strength. The revolver was trapped between them. Flick wrenched away, struggling with both hands to stop Lady Linden from pulling the gun free. She wrapped her legs around Flick’s, flipping them so Flick was on top of her. Then she threw Flick off, brought her finger to the trigger—
And fired.
58JIN
Jin had never seen his sister cry. He had never felt so deep a pain ripping through him as when he saw the tears tracking down Arthie’s face. For she was the strong one, the put-together one, not him. He pulled her behind him, knowing their work was not over. Knowing they could not let Matteo’s death go in vain.
Then he heard the gunshot.
He knew that sound: the Ram’s tiny revolver that had killed him, that had killed his parents. He barreled around the corner and wrenched to a halt. The Ram was rising to her feet, a body in front of her, wrapped in crimson splendor and white bandages.
Flick.
