Page 144 of Cruel Malady: A Necrosis of the Mind

“I know,” he says. “This is the only choice you can make. I don’t think I’m capable of being the man who deserves you. I’m too greedy. I’ll hurt and maim and kill to keep you, and will feel no regret. I’ll never stop, Blakely.”

His mouth tips into that endearing, boyish smile—the one that first made me notice how beautiful he was, and also made me loathe him. I think I knew from the start that, if only I was capable, I could fall for Alex.

But we became too dark, too twisted, and I don’t know how to move past all the pain and damage we’ve caused…especially to each other.

London saysawakening. Grayson claimsrebirth. Alex believes necrosis can kill enough brain cells to alter us, as if it’s as simple as letting a piece of me die. The piece I’d have to sacrifice is the one which has kept my moral sense on track, even when I had no empathy to guide me.

My conscience.

I’m not sure what would be born in its place. How could I trust that Alex and I wouldn’t fall so far down the rabbit hole we’d be lost forever?

We’d have each other.

A goddamn tear slips down my cheek, and Alex gathers it with his thumb.

“Ask me to kiss you,” he says.

Leave it up to this twisted asshole to get his way on his fucking death bed.

My lips quiver as I lean into him and whisper across his lips. “Kiss me, Alex.”

He grasps the back of my neck and brings my mouth to his. His lips are soft but firm, conveying the torn emotions thrumming through the both of us. The kiss starts as a slow simmer, then he infuses it with blistering heat, building into a passionate fire destined to consume. I’m left breathless as I match his intensity.

Suddenly, he stills and, as I pull away, I read the shock in his widening eyes. I move back so he can sit forward, his gaze dropping between us to where the needle punctures his arm. The empty syringe rests in my hand, my thumb depressing the plunger.

As his gaze lifts, his features draw together in confusion. “Blakely?”

My name asks every question, demands every answer.

“Because I don’t have a choice,” I admit to him. I touch his face gently, trying to detect if the antidote is working. “Because I love you. And I’m too selfish to let you go.”

The sickness within me refuses to lose him. It dominates rationality, my conscience—even my sense of justice, where I still crave revenge on Alex. All of it pales to my need to keep him with me.

As Alex stares at me in wonder, some other desperate emotion passes across his face, and he again looks down at the syringe.

“What is it?” I ask. My heartbeat flutters erratically in my pulse.

He removes the needle and holds up the barrel, analyzing the remainder of the contents. “It’s clear,” he says, as if answering some internal question. He pushes a drop of fluid onto his finger and tastes it.

At his prolonged silence, I drag in a breath, impatience striking my nerves like flint. “Alex…?”

“It’s water.”

My heart drops, my lungs clawing for air as an icy sensation trickles through my veins, leaving me cold. “He tricked us…lied to us?” But even as I voice my fears aloud, I know it’s pointless.

Grayson likes to toy with his victims.

Alex said this would end bloody.

I start to stand, to do…something,anything. Call for help. Call London and scream—but Alex grabs my hand, preventing me from caving into panic.

“There are no symptoms,” he says, trying to reach me. “I don’t have any symptoms, and it’s been—” he glances at his pocket watch “—but I still can’t see that far.”

As adrenaline crests, I tear my hand free and look at the time. “Eleven minutes.”

Realization slices deep, and I search for the phone. I’m typing a text to Grayson as I see three little dots appear. I wait with bated breath for his message.

It’s exceedingly ridiculous, don’t you think, that I’d have access to a military-grade nerve agent? Really, I gave Alex far more credit. But sometimes, you don’t need to be extreme to get extreme results.

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