Page 44 of Blood and Wine

I pull myself up and stagger toward the door. The first key I try doesn’t work.

A deep, menacing growl makes my skin prickle. Will rises to his feet. I think his color looks better already, but it’s hard to tell with the blood smeared all over his face.

“Shit.” I try another key, and it turns in the lock. “Thank God...” The door swings inward and I move with it, creating a small cage for myself between the door and the bars behind it.

Will surges, grasping the silver-coated bars in front of me, then draws back, hissing. His hands blister, though I can see his wrists are already healing.

“Will, it’s me,” I tell him. “It’s Mariah. You’re free now.”

He brings his face close to the bars. I can smell Lilliana’s blood all over his mouth.

“Go,” I say. “Feed. Make them pay for what they’ve done to you.”

His nostrils flare. He cocks his head, his expression feral, his fangs long and sharp. He’s clearly not himself, but a piece of him must still be in there somewhere.

“Please,” I whisper, sending waves of calm toward him. “I love you, and I know you love me. Don’t do this.”

A glimmer of recognition shines in his gaze. Small and fleeting, but strong enough to divert his attention. He turns from me like an ocean liner changing course, stepping out of the cage he’s been trapped in for who knows how long.

He sniffs the air. I hold my breath, praying he won’t be lured back in my direction by the cut on my wrist. He kicks at the exterior door until it flies off its hinges into the corridor.

As he races off into the darkness, I release my breath and let myself sink onto the concrete.

I count my breaths and wait for the fear to dissipate. But when I close my eyes, all I see is blood. Dripping down walls. Pooling around Lilliana’s lifeless body. A vision of Edward loading a silver-tipped bolt into a crossbow.

Of course, I think. The crossbow from Edward’s office. He wouldn’t keep a vampire in his house without anticipating worst-case scenarios.

I have to warn Will.

Adrenaline pumping, I make my way around Lilliana’s corpse. Will warned me not to follow him, but I can’t just sit here and allow Edward to kill him. I scan the shelves of medical equipment until I find a roll of gauze and some adhesive. My cut has already begun to coagulate but sneaking up on Will with blood dripping down my arm sounds like a recipe for suicide.

I find a jug of peroxide and pour some over my cut, wincing at the sting. I clean my arm off, then wrap a strip of gauze around my wrist and secure it with tape.

Will’s bloody footprints are easy to follow up the stairs. I move quickly and quietly, skittish as a mouse in a house full of cats. The footprints cross each other, but I note a distinct trail leading to the kitchen.

The trail eventually thickens into a smear.

Propping the back door open is Christopher’s body—or most of it, at least. I don’t notice how unnaturally far his right leg is from the rest of him until I’m standing directly over his corpse. His normally smug face is blank and pale as marble, his neck shredded so badly his head is almost completely separated from his shoulders.

I wonder what it means that I’m not disturbed or horrified by the carnage Will’s capable of. Maybe it just hasn’t sunk in yet, or maybe I am my father’s daughter.

Heartless. Cruel. Detached.

But how can I be heartless if I’m willing to risk my life for the man I love?

A scream pierces the eerie quiet. I race toward the sound, heading in the direction of the foyer. I come upon Will kneeling over Chastity, his fist in her hair and his teeth at her neck.

She sees me, and her face twists in anger. I’m supposed to be dead, but I’m not, and now her son is dead, and Will is free.

It doesn’t take a genius to work out the math, and Chastity’s hardly a genius.

Will rips a chunk of flesh from her neck. She wails. His tongue snakes out to savor the blood pouring down her chest. He fastens his mouth over the hole in her throat and drinks deeply, as her cries dwindle.

An awareness whispers at my ear. I look up to see Edward at the third-floor railing, aiming his crossbow at Will’s back.

He fires.

“No!” I reach out my hand, hurling all of my love and despair toward the silver-tipped bolt.

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