Page 97 of The Arbiter
I collapse against the table, my forehead resting on the cold metal next to his hand. I did it. I crossed the line. I didn't save him; I ended him. And the worst part, the part that makes me want to scream until my lungs fail, is that I know Deimos is smiling in the dark.
The heavy double doors of the autopsy room hiss open. I don't move. I don't need to look up to know who it is. I can smell the ozone and the cigarette smoke, the scent of the man who just dismantled my soul.
"Well done, Madeline," his voice drifts over me, low and terrifyingly tender.
"Welcome to the real world."
I spin to him. In one sudden, desperate movement, I grab the gun from his holster. Deimos doesn't flinch. He doesn't even move back. He just watches with those cold, obsidian eyes as I press the barrel against the expensive silk of his waistcoat, right over his heart.
"Stay back!"
I scream, my voice cracking, echoing off the tiled walls like a wounded animal.
"Don't you touch me! Don't you ever fucking touch me again!"
My breathing is ragged, my vision blurred by tears that feel like acid. Behind me, Bryan’s body is finally still, but the silence of the room is screaming.
"I’m calling the police, Deimos," I gasp, the finger white against the trigger.
"Detective is looking for Bryan. I’ll tell them everything. The vault, the bunker, the murders... I’ll watch them drag you out of here in chains!"
A slow, devastatingly calm smile spreads across his face. It isn't a smile of amusement; it’s the smile of a man who has already accounted for every variable, every heartbeat, and every threat.
He reaches out, his gloved fingers gently, almost tenderly, brushing a stray hair from my forehead, ignoring the gun pressed against his chest. I flinch away from his touch.
"The police, Madeline?"
He whispers, his voice a low, melodic vibration.
"Detective? The man who couldn't find a kidnapping victim in his own basement? You think the law is a shield. It’s a cobweb. And I am the thing that lives in the center of it."
He leans in closer, his scent, sandalwood and cold rain, filling my senses, making my stomach churn with a mixture of terror and a sick, twisted familiarity.
"Go ahead. Scream," he says, his eyes locking onto mine with a hypnotic, lethal intensity.
"Call for the police. But before the first officer reaches this door, I want you to think about someone else. Someone who isn't protected by a badge or a basement full of dead bodies."
My heart skips a beat. The air in the room suddenly feels sub-zero.
"Lucy," he murmurs, the name a soft threat.
I freeze. The gun shakes so hard I’m afraid I’ll drop it next to the scalpel.
"She’s at her apartment right now, isn't she?"
Deimos continues, his voice dropping to a silk-smooth crawl.
"Reading a book. Drinking tea. Thinking her best friend is okay at work. My men are already in the hallway, Madeline. One word from me. One 'unfortunate' interaction with the police, and Lucy becomes the next 'negligent' soul I have to remove from your perimeter."
The barrel slips from my fingers, clattering uselessly onto the tiles. The fight drains out of me, leaving nothing but a hollow,paralyzing dread. He hasn't just taken my peace; he’s taken my exits.
"You wouldn't," I breathe, my voice failing.
Deimos’s hand shifts to my waist, a possessive, iron grip that makes it clear I have no agency left. He tilts my head back, forcing me to meet his gaze, and for a moment, I see only the void. The same hollow, fractured darkness that resides in the man who sired him.
"You wouldn't," I repeat, my voice a broken, brittle whisper.
"You can't be this cruel. Not to her."
