Page 82 of Tainted Souls
And in his hand, suspended like a broken doll, is Lexa.
Her legs kick weakly, boots scraping uselessly at nothing. He holds her aloft by the throat with effortless strength, fingers curled around her neck like a noose. Her body trembles, twitching in his grip.
It’s like watching a butterfly pinned alive—fragile, beautiful, and completely at his mercy.
My mind snaps to one name: Revenant.
But when I really look, I see the differences. Revenant’s features are chiseled, almost dignified; the face I’m looking at is much harsher, the cheekbones too pronounced, the jaw squared and brutish, as if it were carved for violence. His eyes are a signature red, too, like Clementine’s.
He is not Revenant, but someone built in the same terrible image.
Another Whiteshade.
Every instinct in me goes sharp—Reaper. “Cain.”
“Ding ding,” he says, his voice lilting like a nursery rhyme twisted sideways. “Tell me, Seraph, was the ambush too obvious, or was it just obvious enough?”
My stomach twists, almost wishing itwereRevenant instead. Cain smirks down at me, as if daring me to try. As if he knows exactly how this ends.
Everything about this screams trap, but I’m already breaking into a run, not taking any chances. Not on Lexa.
I navigate the facility with desperate speed, every step driven by the fear of what I’ll find. As I land on the rooftop with determined feet, the scene that greets me will haunt my nightmares for years to come.
“Let her go!” I shout, aiming my pistol at Cain’s chest. Behind him stand at least twenty vampires, and those are just the ones flanking him. I spot Rhodes and Wei forced to their knees, but Martinez is nowhere in sight. My breath comes in shallow gasps, fast and uneven, forcing myself to stop thinking about what could’ve happened to him.
To everyone else.
Lexa struggles weakly in his grip, blood trickling from her nose and mouth, her eyes wide with pain and fear. “Run,” she mouths at me.
Cain smiles, slow and venomous. His coat is scorched, the fabric clinging to half-healed skin. Burns from gardenia crawlup his neck and across the back of his hand, still in the process of sealing shut. Lexa must’ve fought like hell, but he doesn’t seem the least bit fazed. He doesn’t even seem inconvenienced. If anything, he looksbored, wearing the damage like old jewelry, familiar and unimportant.
As if he’s endured this kind of injury a thousand times before and barely remembers what the pain feels like.
He tightens his hold, nearly choking her. “Put down your weapons, or I’ll crush her windpipe.”
With Lexa’s life hanging literally in his hands, I don’t hesitate.
Slowly, I lower my gun.
“Kick it away,” he commands.
I comply, sending it skidding across the concrete before removing my dagger from its holster and letting it clatter to the ground. Then my crossbow.
He loosens his grip on Lexa just enough to let her draw a ragged breath. “Now we can talk like civilized beings.”
“What do you want?” I ask, unable to suppress the hostility in my voice.
His smile widens, revealing fangs longer and sharper than any I’ve seen before. “I would have thought that was obvious by now.”
“Humor me,” I spit, refusing to shrink away despite the danger.
“I want you,” he says flatly. “More specifically, I want what makes you special, Seraph. Your ability to walk in daylight.”
He doesn’t give me the time to respond. Instead, he shifts his grip, slowly, deliberately, extending his arm out over the rooftop’s edge.
Now Lexa dangles above the drop, with nothing beneath her but gravel five stories down. His fingers are still wrapped around her throat, but just barely. If he lets go, she won’t just suffocate.She will fall. Hard. It’s not a threat spoken aloud. It’s worse. A silent ultimatum that dares me to move, to choose.
“I’ll come with you,” I offer, taking a determined step forward. “If you let everyone else go.”
