Chapter 89

Chapter 89

I forget how to breathe.

The world lurches sideways. It doesn’t make sense. It can’t make sense. Aemon was just standing. Just fighting. Just alive.

And now—

“No!” I whisper.

I stumble backward. My knees buckle, but Seth grabs my elbow to keep me upright. I yank my arm free.

“No. No. No!” I snarl.

My throat burns. Everything inside me surges to the surface—rage, grief, fear, love. All of it.

I spin to Griffin.

His hands are still pressed to the Ward. His breathing is loud and ragged. Eyes glowing red and wild, locked on his fallen brother.

"Take me," I snarl.

He doesn’t turn. “What?”

“To the gate. Where the blood bags go in. Take me there. Now.”

Griffin finally looks at me. His face twists. I see the terror crawling into his features, the one he hides from the rest of the world. “If another vampire catches your scent—Blake, you’ll die. And Aemon’s hunger—he’s starving. He could kill you himself.”

I don’t hesitate.

“Then let him.”

His nostrils flare. “No! I can’t lose you!”

“Please,” I whisper. “If you ever want me to forgive you for what you did—for what you hid—take me there. Right. Now.”

Something in his expression fractures.

And he moves.

Without another word, Griffin sweeps me into his strong arms and moves faster than thought. The world becomes wind and shadow and fury. I cling to him, heart hammering.

The gate looms into view. Guards, the blood bags—just werewolves and humans—lined up, everything a smear of sound and panic. Griffin doesn’t stop until the edge of the ward knocks him back with a sizzle of violet light.

He snarls, setting me down carefully, like he might crush me if he doesn’t.

He grabs my wrist. His hand shakes for the first time. “Don’t die,” he breathes. “Don’t you fucking die, Blake.”

I squeeze his fingers once.

Then I turn.

The guards barely react before I charge past the blood bags and duck through the gate. It lets me because I’m human.

Turns out their grand ward didn't factor in a human idiot enough to willingly walk in.

The air warps, magic slicing over my skin like knives. Cold and cruel and wrong.

Then I’m inside.

The maze is worse in person. Twisting stone, blood-soaked floors. I run.

My boots slap against the wet stone. My chest burns. I follow the way I memorized earlier when I saw Aemon enter.

I find him in a corridor slick with gore. His long, dark lashes don’t flutter. His lips are pale, almost blue. The wound at his side leaks slowly. The blood pooling beneath him is too dark, too much.

Oh, Goddess!

“No,” I whisper again, dropping to my knees beside him. “My vampire!”

He doesn’t stir.

I grab his face with both hands, my fingers trembling. His skin is cold. So cold. His lashes don’t move.

“I love you, baby,” I whisper, not knowing if it’s the last time I’ll say it.

And then I lift his head and press his mouth to my wrist.

Nothing.

I bite down on my own lip to keep from sobbing. Then I shove my wrist harder against his fangs, slicing the skin open on purpose. My blood spills.

And still, Aemon doesn’t move.

Tears blur my vision. I lean in close, my lips at his ear.

“Please, love. You survived everything else you told me. You don’t get to die like this. You’re my Aemon. Please come back.”

A twitch.

His fingers jerk.

And then—his fangs latch onto my wrist.

I gasp.

He drinks like a man possessed. Feral. His arms snap around me and pull me tight. He shifts, mouth leaving my wrist, sinking deep into the curve of my neck.

His fangs dig deeper.

I arch, pain searing through me, but I don’t fight it.

I won’t.

He needs it.

I feel my blood drain, faster now, like the hunger in him is endless. His wound doesn’t close. My head swims. My fingers go numb.

Across the ward, Griffin screams. “Stop, Aemon! You’ll kill her!”

But Aemon doesn’t stop.

He can’t.

And I don’t want him to.

My hand finds the back of his head. I thread my fingers into his hair and press him close—closer. One last hug. I need to feel him close.

“Live,” I whisper, voice catching. “That’s it. Don’t stop. I-I love you.”

His fangs are still buried in my throat. His hunger is savage now, no longer restrained. His arms tighten around me.

My body slackens.

The pain fades first. Then the heat.

My heartbeat falters.

Aemon grows stronger with every swallow.

I go still in his arms, breath leaving in one slow exhale. My limbs go heavy, unresponsive. My wrist dangles from his shoulder, bloodless. My mouth parts, but there’s no air to take.

And still—he drinks.

His breath is warmer now. His wound has sealed. His strength returns. His body is healing.

But mine is dying.

My pulse stutters once.

Twice.

Then nothing.

Just stillness.

Just silence.

My eyes blur, but I see enough. Aemon—alive. Moving. Breathing.

And as the darkness creeps in and everything falls away, my last thought is quiet, weightless.

He survived.

My lips lift in the faintest smile.

A cold calm settles over me.

And then—

I die in his arms.