Page 142 of Never a Hero

‘No,’ Joan ground out. Nick couldn’t kill the King. Eleanor couldn’t create that timeline, even if it meant bringing back the Graves.

‘I know,’ Nick said to Joan, his gaze steady. Joan took a relieved breath. They were on the same page about that, at least. ‘We saw the world that you want to create,’ Nick said to Eleanor seriously. ‘None of us is going to help you make it.’

‘Well, I didn’t expect you would,’ Eleanor said to him. ‘Not without an incentive.’ She bent to pick up one of the discarded guns. The King snarled but seemed unable to stop her now.

‘I think you need me alive more than you need me dead,’ Nick said.

‘True,’ Eleanor said. ‘But I don’t need her alive.’ The muzzle of the gun moved to Joan. ‘I brought you here for a reason too, Joan.’

Joan didn’t even have a chance to react, to feel scared. Nick hurled the knife—not at the King, but at Eleanor—lethal and accurate.

It should have struck Eleanor in the chest, but it stopped in midair, the hilt quivering like the shaft of a shot arrow. It had hit an invisible barrier and stuck there. Behind Eleanor, the Ali woman had her hands raised. She’d been ready for it.

Eleanor had barely flinched. ‘Oh, Nick,’ she said softly. ‘You’re rather predictable too.’

Nick stalked up to the barrier, his dark eyes on her. He looked as dangerous as any of the powerful people Eleanor had brought with her.

Eleanor only smiled. She put her hand on the barrier, where the point of the blade was. ‘You know,’ she said, her tone nostalgic, ‘I had you for a long time.’ Joan felt her own eyes narrow at that. ‘Not just our three weeks together at Holland House,’ Eleanor said. ‘I had you for years last time. We got to know each other very well. I know what you’re like when you’re pushed to the limit. I pushed you to those limits.’ Her intimate tone made Joan’s stomach turn. ‘I pushed you beyond them. I know everything you’re capable of. I know you stripped to the core and raw.’

‘I don’t remember you at all,’ Nick said coldly.

Eleanor seemed to react slightly to his tone. She shrugged it off. ‘You don’t need to remember. I know you. And I know you’re going to take that knife and kill the King.’ Her mouth twisted slightly. ‘Or I’m going to kill my sister.’

‘You can’t kill him,’ Joan whispered to Nick. To her relief, Nick nodded slightly in acknowledgement. Joan released a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

Joan glanced at the King. Trapped in place like the rest of them, he seemed more beast than man now, growling and struggling like a bear.

‘I’m going to count to three,’ Eleanor said to Nick. ‘And then you’ll choose.’ She put her other hand on the gun, steadying her aim.

Ruth said something to Eleanor. She sounded desperate, but Joan couldn’t make out the words; couldn’t really hear anything but her own pounding heart. She took a ragged breath. She wished she could move. Her feet had stuck down a little too close together, and her left calf was starting to cramp.

‘Nick,’ Aaron said. ‘Don’t do this!’

Joan turned to him. Aaron’s grey eyes were just like they’d been at the market—thundercloud dark. He usually dampened his visible emotions, but Joan could see anger and helplessness—and something more.

‘It’s okay,’ Joan whispered to him. She wanted to tell Aaron how glad she was that they’d reconciled in this timeline; how glad she was to have seen him again. How much she’d missed him. But she couldn’t find the words. ‘It has to be this way.’

Aaron looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he reached for her hand. Joan closed her eyes and held on tight, grateful for the comfort of his touch.

‘One,’ Eleanor said.

Joan gripped Aaron’s hand. Nick wasn’t going to kill the King. He’d never usher in a timeline where monsters ruled. He’d never allow humans to suffer. And the knowledge of that was weirdly calming. Joan took a deep breath.

‘Two,’ Eleanor said.

Nick would have stopped Eleanor in the previous timeline—that was what Astrid had said. And he was going to stop her now too. Eleanor had picked the wrong person for this role. She didn’t understand that Nick always chose the greater good. Always.

‘Three,’ Eleanor said, and Joan opened her eyes.

With a growl, Nick wrenched the knife from the air. He threw it viciously, and Joan flinched away from the anticipated pain.

But there was no pain.

The knife flew past her to the King.

For a long, long moment, Joan was frozen. The wash of water filled the silence.

She couldn’t understand what she was seeing. The knife was embedded in the King’s chest, blood blooming across his shirt.

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