Page 86 of Obliterated
Noura’s stare doesn’t waver. It only hardens, freezing over like the death sentence it is.
“There are witnesses,” Noura repeats, raising her voice, turning back to the crowd like she’s delivering some divine fucking revelation. “The word of a Watcher holds weight. And the sentence, as such, is carried out.” She raises both arms, her red cloak billowing like spilled blood across the platform. “So it shall be.”
The crowd erupts. A thunderous roar of rage and euphoria and bloodlust. They scream. They cheer. They fucking welcome it, this travesty. This mockery of justice.
And then the gate groans. A deep, grinding shriek of rust and weight. It starts to rise. Slowly, always so fucking slowly. Deliberately. Like it knows it’s opening hell itself.
And I can’t even blame the audience for the hollers, the excited screams. They crave this. They live for it. Because for them, this is all there is. The only break in the monotony. The only thrill in the drudge of survival.
Violence is their theater. Blood, their only godsdamned reprieve.
“Max.”
I snap my gaze to Kieran, to my everything. When his eyes lock onto mine, I see it. The same thing I’ve tried to swallow down. The same thing I thought I’d buried beneath blade and blood and bravado.
It’s there. Right fucking there.
Longing.
Heartbreak.
Love.
If my black, shriveled heart even understands what that is. But if this all-consuming ache tearing through my ribs is what love feels like, this firestorm of fear, fury, and fragile goddamn hope…
Then yeah. I guess I do.
I love him.
“Live, Kieran.Live.” I say the words he explained once to me on a quiet night. The exact words his mother whispered as she bled out in his arms. Her dying wish stitched into his spine.
His magnificent blue eyes go wide, the pain surging forward like a wave, and then it shifts and hardens. That sorrowsharpening into something else. Determination. So pure and blinding, it hits me like a fucking freight train.
“You live, Max,” he breathes. “Please do.”
I lower my head, press our foreheads together, grounding us both in the only thing that matters now. If Roe isn’t on time with whatever he has planned, if this has to be the end—our end—I want him to know.
“If we survive this,” I mutter, so quiet it’s almost not there, “I’m going to say it. Those three words I know you want to hear.” My voice cracks, fuck, and I grit my teeth. “But I need you tolivefirst.”
Then I do what I always do. I put my swords back, grab his throat, tilt his head back, and slam my lips down on his, where they belong.
Just as the red rain starts to fall in a slow drip.
I snap my gaze up, let my hand drop, and frown as the clouds roll over the Pit and the now frenzied crowd that hunkers under tarps. The sirens start to wail and the Walkers behind the gate go absolutely berserk.
But the gate… it stops rising. A lone Walker tries to squeeze through the bottom and only manages to tear itself apart in the effort.
“What the—” I start, but something shifts in the crowd. A ripple. And it isn’t the bloodlust that usually runs through the Touched. No… it’s something else.
Screams and curses rip from the dais. I snap my head up just in time to see Roe—calm as a storm—holding a dagger to Noura’s throat.
Holy shit.
A satisfied smirk ghosts across his face as he leans in and whispers to her. Her eyes blow wide with pure fear. She jerks as if struck, claws at his arm, but his grip is a lock and the blade is an absolute promise.
Hope so fucking raw and stupid blooms in my chest
Because it’s not only him. Watchers are everywhere now,hisWatchers, throwing off cloaks. They were hidden in the audience and are now stepping forward. They force the few fake Watchers to the ground, guns or knives pressed to their backs. Others fan out on the dais, holding several council members under hard control. Not all of them. Some still sit, probably in on Roe’s plan, but the balance has shifted.
