How has it only been mere hours since then?
Further up is the frame of the mirror. My eyes stay there for a long moment, the vision of myself unfocused but waiting just up ahead. I close my eyes. Blackness. An inhale of breath. And finally, light once more.
There’s a profound beat that passes in which I don’t recognize myself. A man stands before me, his short hair not quite reaching his ears. His cheekbones are sharp, and his jaw soft. But there’s steel in his gaze. A flattened chest. A slim figure covered impeccably in the height of men’s fashion. A cravat expertly tied around his neck. A coat ending at his trousers, the tails of which nearly reach his boots.
It takes me a second to put a name to this man.
Charlie.
Arthur’s thumb wipes away the tear that rolls down my cheek. That one and the next. He stands behind me, my sword and my shield, every ounce a Kane, whether by blood or sheer determination.
Arthur presses a kiss to my wet cheek, his hands on my shoulders squeezing once. There’s a hitch in his voice he doesn’t try to disguise. “My husband. Look at you.”
I find Arthur’s hand, holding tight, seeing in the mirror two men who fell in love.
Love.
The most powerful weapon there is.
For no one, not even a god, can take it away.
Part III
Grayson and Ezra
Chapter 19
Grayson
“Drop the weapon, Victor.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“You can, and you will,” I say, keeping my gun level with Victor’s own. I see the moment his eyes flick to the side. “Don’t.”
My best friend’s arm swings to his right, toward the hostage bound in the corner of the room, and I pull the trigger. Red blooms over his chest as he falls in staggered steps to the floor. His knees, first, hitting the now red-tinged wood. His hand, catching his weight. His eyes, looking at me with betrayal.
“Why did you have to do that?” I ask, my voice coming out choked in a way I don’t even have to force. “Why, Victor?”
His smile is pained, his hand at his chest ineffectually blocking the blood still pouring free. “I knew you’d be the end of me, McKayle. One way or another.”
“Was it worth it?” I ask, lowering my gun to my side. His is several feet from him, lying uselessly on the floor.
He laughs almost bitterly. But there’s amusement there. Even facing death, he relishes the fight between us. It’s easy to see.
“I would do it all again.” Victor slumps the moment the last word leaves his mouth, his hand out at his side, red streaked across the floor in a gory visual befitting the villain’s end.
He really did play such a good villain.
“Cut,” comes a voice, followed by a couple of cheers.
I let my smile show. “Please tell me we got it that time?”
“No kidding.” Ezra groans, lifting from the pool of fake blood surrounding him. “This stuff is a mess.”
“Pretty boy doesn’t like the blood?” I tease.
Ezra, no longer Victor, shoots me a scowl that has Harper laughing from the corner of the set.
