Page 107 of Our Little Monster
Nox and Thorne left to go hunt, and I had asked her cousin to step out and give me a minute alone with her. The silence was thick, save for the occasional creak of the cabin settling into its own skin.
It had been three days. Three long, agonizing days since we watched Serina's life slip away and, in desperation, we bit her, letting our venom seep into her veins.
Time had never meant anything to me before.
I had known Serina only a blink in the existence that awaited me and yet these three days had seemed to stretch on forever.
Maybe we were too late? No, I couldn't let myself think that way.
The only reason we believed there was still a chance was because her body never started decomposing. But I had never heard of someone turning after their heart had already stopped.
My hands clenched into fists, the nails biting into my palms.
She had to come back to us. She just had to.
A memory flickered, uninvited: Serina laughing, her eyes lighting up like stars as we sat in the diner, how she admitted her love for us.
Her look of surprise funneled her admission straight to my soul. She blushed; her skin had been so bright, alive—she had been alive. Her spirit too fierce to be contained. And now, this unnatural quiet that surrounded her seemed like a cruel joke.
I knew what we had done was selfish, but the thought of losing her, the reality of a world without Serina's fire and defiance, was unbearable. Each hour that ticked by stole another piece of hope.
“Please,” I breathed out, my voice barely audible.
The word was a plea to whatever forces governed the line between life and death and everything in between. I held her hand, my thumb running over her knuckles soothingly.
My heart ached with the need to feel her warmth again, to hear her voice.
We hadn't discussed turning her. There had been no talk of eternities together or what our futures might hold.
Maybe she had accepted her mortality, maybe she had made peace with the end in a way we couldn't comprehend. The thought sent a fresh wave of sorrow through me.
Had we been so blinded by our love for her that we ignored her right to choose?
“I’m so sorry, Serina,” I gritted out, the words spilling from my lips raw and heavy. “For the choice we made for you, for not being fast enough to protect you from—” my voice broke off.
Could she hear me? If she woke, would she forgive us?
Would she understand that our actions, however reckless, were borne of love, of an all-consuming need not to lose her?
I sat there, looking down at her, grappling with the weight of our decision. It was then that I made a silent vow. If Serina returned to us, I would spend every moment showing her how much she meant to us—to me.
“Come back, love,” I pleaded quietly to the empty room, my voice breaking as I placed a soft kiss against her forehead. “You can hate me, kill me if you like… just please come back.”
I pushed open the door to the small, wood-paneled bedroom where Serina lay, her chest barely moving with each shallow breath.
She wasbreathing. The wounds that had marred her flesh were now nothing but ghostly reminders on her otherwise unblemished skin. She was changing, the venom working silently beneath the surface.
Sam sat hunched in a chair beside the bed, her eyes fixed on Serina's still face. Her cousin had been silent and withdrawn since we'd been here. I lingered by the doorway, not wanting to intrude on her quiet thoughts.
I watched Sam's throat work as she swallowed back emotions she couldn't voice, her hands clenched into fists as if holding onto something slipping through her fingers. I understood that grip, that desperate clench; we were all holding onto hope with white-knuckled intensity.
Now we knew she would live… but would she forgive us?
I approached the bed carefully, my gaze never leaving Serina. The room was dark, and curtains covered the windows; the only light was the lamp by the bed casting a warm glow on her peaceful face.
In that moment, bathed in the soft light, she looked more like a slumbering angel than a creature caught between life and death.
On the other side of the bed, Thorne hadn't moved an inch. He might as well have been a statue, if not for the gentle motion of his fingers caressing Serina's knuckles. His eyes never strayed from her face, ignoring everything else swirling around him.
