Chapter 40
Lirael
I stared at him through my tears—tears of rage, I told myself, nothing else—completely lost. What the fuck was he talking about? Why was he—
His teeth found my earlobe, biting down with just enough pressure to make me gasp, the sensation hovering somewhere between pleasure and pain, and I wanted to hate that too but my body was still trembling and my mind was still spinning and I couldn't seem to hold onto any thought except what the hell just happened.
"But I'd burn the whole world," he whispered against my skin, "if it meant keeping you."
Then, like a puppet with cut strings, his body simply gave out. His full weight collapsed against me, driving me back against the wall, and I realized with a jolt that he'd lost consciousness—truly this time, not another manipulation. His head lolled against my shoulder, dead weight, and I had to brace my legs to keep us both from sliding to the floor.
For a moment I just stood there, shaking, his blood and mine mixing on my lips, his words echoing in my head. Then survival instinct kicked back in and I managed to shift his weight enough that we both slid down the wall in a semi-controlled fall. His head ended up in my lap, body sprawled across the floor, and I could feel how wrong his temperature was even through my ruined dress.
My hand found the back of his neck to check his pulse and I jerked back at the fever burning in his skin. He was burning up, temperature far higher than any human could survive, breathing shallow and rapid.
He was dying. Despite everything—the experiments, the supernatural healing, the beast inside him—he was actually dying.
And I'd just let him kiss me. Had let him steal my first kiss, had felt my body respond to his touch, had been too weak and too stupid to stop him even when I'd had the chance.
Idiot. Fucking idiot. You should have killed him. Should have let him die.
But my hands were already checking his wound, already trying to assess the damage, and I couldn't tell if that made me weak or strong or just pathetically confused.
The sound of rotors cut through the night—distant at first, then growing rapidly louder. I looked up to see lights approaching through the darkness, multiple helicopters converging on our position. The Onyx Guard. Marcus had gotten through.
Within minutes, the beach was swarming with armed men in tactical gear. Marcus appeared in the doorway of the fishing shack, and behind him I could see medics with equipment, a stretcher team already moving.
His eyes took in the scene—Sebastian unconscious and sprawled across my lap, blood everywhere, both our mouths stained, my face streaked with tears I hadn't even realized I'd shed.
Something complicated flickered across his expression—surprise, maybe, or concern, or judgment—but his voice remained perfectly professional when he spoke. "Status report."
I eased Sebastian's head off my lap as carefully as I could, my hands steadier than I expected them to be. "The bullet wound reopened. Significant blood loss." I met Marcus's eyes and kept my voice level. "The ammunition was poisoned. I've done what I could for emergency treatment, but he needs proper medical attention immediately."
Marcus gestured and the medical team rushed in, moving with practiced efficiency. One of them—a woman with silver streaks in her dark hair—knelt beside Sebastian and began a rapid assessment. "Pulse thready, respirations shallow. Temperature forty-one point three Celsius. He's in shock and approaching transformation threshold."
"Stabilize him for transport," Marcus ordered. "We have a fully equipped medical bay on the primary helicopter. Move."
They lifted Sebastian onto the stretcher with careful precision, securing him with straps designed for supernatural strength. I started to stand, my legs shaky, and Marcus's hand appeared at my elbow, steadying me.
"Can you walk?"
"Yes."
"Good. You're coming with us. The co-pilot is already secured in the secondary helicopter." His eyes scanned my face, noting the split lip, the raw skin where Sebastian had torn away the prosthetics, the way I was still shaking. "Are you injured?"
"No." The lie came automatically. What was I supposed to say? Your boss just forced himself on me and I'm not sure if I want to kill him or—
I cut off the thought viciously.
"Let's move," Marcus said, and I followed him out into the night.
The beach was a hive of activity—armed guards establishing a perimeter, medics tending to the co-pilot, teams already beginning to salvage what they could from the wreckage. The primary helicopter sat in the center of it all, rotors still spinning, side door open to reveal a compact medical bay inside.
They loaded Sebastian's stretcher first, the medical team climbing in after him and immediately hooking him up to monitors and IV lines. I could hear the rapid beeping of his heart rate, see the concerned looks the medics exchanged.
Marcus guided me to the helicopter, helped me climb in. The interior was surprisingly spacious, with Sebastian's stretcher secured in the center and jump seats along both sides. I took the seat closest to the door, as far from Sebastian as I could get, while Marcus settled across from me.
The rotors increased their pitch and we lifted off, the fishing shack and the beach falling away below us. Through the window I could see the other helicopters following, a formation of lights cutting through the darkness.
"ETA to Ark City?" the lead medic asked.
"Forty minutes," Marcus replied. "Black Tower has been notified. Full surgical team standing by."
I watched the medics work on Sebastian, their movements sure and practiced. One of them was carefully cleaning the wound with something that didn't react to his corrosive blood—some kind of specialized solution. Another was adjusting the IV drip, adding medications I couldn't identify.
"His temperature's still climbing," the silver-haired medic said. "Forty-one point seven. If we can't bring it down soon, the transformation will be inevitable."
"Do what you have to do," Marcus said quietly. "Just keep him alive."
I stared at Sebastian's unconscious face, at the way his features kept shifting slightly as the beast tried to surface, at the monitors showing his vital signs growing more erratic. My lips still throbbed where he'd bitten me. I could still taste his blood mixed with mine.
I should be glad he's dying. Should be hoping he doesn't make it.
But my hands were clenched so tight my nails were cutting into my palms, and I couldn't look away from those monitors, couldn't stop tracking every change in his heart rate, his breathing, his temperature.
---
The helicopter's medical bay thrummed with controlled chaos—monitors shrieking, the lead medic's hands moving in desperate precision over Sebastian's chest, Marcus barking orders—but all I could focus on was that weight of ammunition and the emergency door three meters away.
I tested the zip-ties around my wrists, feeling the plastic bite and give slightly when I twisted right. Marcus stood near the cockpit, back to me, coordinating with the pilot. The medical team was entirely focused on keeping Sebastian alive, fighting wounds that kept reopening. The emergency door had a manual release—I could see the red handle—and parachutes were stored overhead in compartments marked with reflective tape.
Three seconds to stand. Five to reach the door. Ten to grab a chute before anyone stops me.
My muscles coiled. This was it. My only chance. Once we landed at Black Tower, I'd be buried so deep in his security I'd never see daylight again.
I started to rise, slowly, reaching for the magazine, and Sebastian's eyes snapped open.
Not amber. Not even the predatory gold I'd seen before. Something else entirely—molten fire that seemed to pierce straight through my skull. His gaze locked onto me with such precision I froze mid-motion, half-standing.
"Sir, stay still—" The lead medic reached for him, but Sebastian moved faster than anyone that injured should, shoving her aside as he struggled against the restraints.
"Sebastian, don't—" Marcus stepped forward, but Sebastian was already reaching into his jacket, movements jerky but driven by pure instinct.
The antique pocket watch appeared in his palm. His thumb found a hidden catch and pressed hard. I heard a soft click.
A silver chain erupted from the mechanism like a striking snake, impossibly thin but moving with viper speed. I jerked back, tried to throw myself toward the door, but the chain wrapped my left wrist and locked, the clasp sealing with mechanical finality. The other end coiled around Sebastian's right wrist, the links adjusting until we were connected by maybe half a meter of gleaming metal.
"This time," Sebastian rasped, voice barely human, somewhere between growl and laugh, "I see where you run."
His eyes rolled back and he collapsed, unconscious, leaving me staring at the chain in pure disbelief.