“It had to happen,” he replies quietly.
“What the fuck does that mean? None of it had to happen. You didn’t have to say yes. You didn’t have to let them do any of that.”
“Yes, I did.” He shudders. “Just like I am going to let this happen.”
I pull up the hem of my dress enough so I can unsheathe the knife strapped to my thigh. I can’t listen to this bullshit, because that’s what this is. These are mind games to confuse me and distract me from piercing this fucker’s heart. He deserves everything that is going to happen to him.
He swallows when he sees the blade but doesn’t try to run.
“I’ve known about that night since I was twenty-three,” he starts, tapping his forehead. “Have you ever looked death in the face?”
“Yes, obviously.”
“Didn’t you try to run?”
“I was drugged, Darren. Your friend Pat saw to that.” I sneer. “But when I face death again, I’ll put up one hell of a fucking fight.”
He shrugs and nods, apathetic gestures from a man staring down the blade of a knife. “It sounds crazy, but I know this is the end of my life. There is no future I can see beyond this point. All roads I’ve chosen land me here in the end.”
“So, you’re fucking psychic? Then why did you run?” I ask, bored and annoyed with this weird conversation while Miles is out there. He could be on his way to fucking Cuba right now on his family’s yacht as this man tries to convince me he saw the future.
“Instinct?” Darren shrugs again. “You can’t fight fate, but my gut thought I should try.”
“Fate doesn’t excuse what you did. You still had a fucking choice,” I seethe.
“You’re right and wrong. Every choice I’ve made in life led me to that night. I chose to accept the money because I knew my days were numbered. I also chose to make sure Pat didn’t do even more fucked up shit to you. You can only fight it so much.”
“You disgust me,” I hiss, advancing forward.
Darren doesn’t move and that makes me angrier. I don’t want to risk this dress over a physical altercation, except fuck this rotting feeling in the pit of my stomach keeps growing. I don’t pity this shit bag. I don’t. He deserves to spend eternity suffering. He deserves whatever hell his soul will suffer through Love’s ancient powers.
“As I should.”
The knife cuts through his shirt and slips between his ribs with ease. He doesn’t make another sound, he can’t. I’ve punctured his lung. My teeth grit together, my limbs shake as the power surges through them. It’s a fight to get it through me, to feel the burn and see the pink glow from my chest. Darren closes his eyes, and a tear slips down his cheek. That disgusting feeling in my stomach doesn’t budge as I twist the knife higher and puncture his heart.
Once the ebb of power has rushed back to me, I step to the side to make sure my dress stays clean and remove my knife. Darren Gross crumbles to the ground, dead.
Love hums in my mind, satisfied.
“Only one remains.”
“What did he mean that he knew?” I ask. “H-he was human.”
“Humans are profound conductors of magic, sweet one. You channel our magic even now. Sometimes, that magic can linger even once the source has left. It would seem he still possessed an amount that gave him a prophetic vision of his own death.”
“God, this supernatural shit is fucked.”
Love doesn’t respond, but I need to get back. Not because Miles is a flight risk, but because Orthia is a fight risk. It wouldn’t look good to have her tearing down every room in search of us. Whether I want to be a part of this tier of Gwenmore society or not, the last thing we need is to cause a scene that gets Darren’s body discovered before we’re gone for the night. I wipe the blade clean on his trousers and secure it back to my thigh holster.
The toilets next to this closet are empty, so I can quickly check my dress and wash my hands. I walk back into the small room as Orthia is about to open the door. We collide and I feel Love switch between us. It’s jarring, and I’m not sure why they’ve done it. The pit in my stomach grows larger, and my stomach growls as if eating will fill the void.
My wife frowns. “Let’s get you some food.”
I don’t bother to protest. Food won’t fix this feeling, it never has, but something to keep my energy up for Miles would be good. We head for the main hall again. The auction hasn’t progressed much further, from what I can tell. The small display of the donation goal has only increased by about ten percent. The catering staff wander around tables between each presentation, refilling drinks and dropping off new plates. Orthia leads us to our table, where Charlotte and Marcus sit with a few other people who look like they might be Marcus’s family… pack?
And Teddy, of course, who looks uncharacteristically sad when we sit down again.
Orthia pulls out my chair for me before she grabs hold of the nearest server. I don’t hear what she tells the guy, but he blanches enough for me to know it’s a threat.
