Page 155 of Devoured

That bullet—it wasn’t shot by Calix. Calix never picked up that gun.

I hold his last thread tenderly, pouring every ounce of myself into it. It was me. I shot Sinclair Severi. I was protecting myself, and I shot him, and he died a victim. He died a hero. With love in his heart and good memories in his mind. He died with a smile on his face, between the two people he loves most.

Sinclair Severi died knowing that we love him too.

That we will always love him just as much as he loved us.

The rest of the burgundy shimmers out of focus, fading from my fingers before vanishing entirely, and then I’m me again. I’m back in that blood-soaked field, hovering over his body as Calix weeps beside me. I don’t notice the ache in my head, or the acid rolling through my stomach. I don’t notice anything but Sinclair Severi smiling up at us. Holding our hands.

He doesn’t speak again, but he smiles as if he knows. He smiles as if it’s all he ever really wanted.

We love him. And he loves us.

And then he dies. A final, silent breath, and the golden prince closes his eyes forever.

51

VANESSA

I KICK THE GUN AWAY FROM ME.

I send it spiraling into oblivion, wishing I could do more. Wishing I could explode it into a million pieces. Wishing I could change this—break this day—and form it into something better.

Sin is gone.

And I wasn’t powerful enough to save him.

Calix lifts his head to look at me, and his brow furrows as if he knows I’ve done something. He just doesn’t know what. “Vanessa—”

“I couldn’t save him, Calix. I’m so sorry.” Every word is soaked in tears, in rage. “I can’t bring anyone back. I—I tried. But he was already… the bullet was silver. H-his fate was sealed.”

Sinclair Severi is dead.

And I can’t bring him back.

“I know,” Calix says, his voice breaking. His soul cleaving. He drops his head, digging his claws into the earth as if searching for something stable. Something real. Tears still drip from his nose. He doesn’t look at Sin again. He can’t seem to bear it, but I can’t stop looking at him. My entire body shudders at the calm, peaceful expression on Sin’s face.

In a different world, a better world, he could be sleeping.

All around us, bullets continue to fly. Werewolves, officers, faeries continue to collapse. The battle wages on, even as we’re trapped in this horrible moment. Frozen in time. Frozen in grief.

Neither of us can speak. Neither of us can look at the other.

Because Sin is dead. Calix’s entire world—Calix’s whole reason for living—is dead. And I—

I couldn’t save him.

Calix rises first. He offers me a hand. Blood and tears smear across his face. They paint him in scarlet shades of grief, but his chest seems to have healed. Mine too.

“We have to finish this,” he says.

I gaze out at the surrounding horror. Portia tethers officers against the walls with her ivy. Evie races to save werewolves from silver bullets. But they’re vulnerable. We are all vulnerable, and Calix is our strongest fighter. He is a General.

He is the true son of the rightful Wolf Queen.

“Go,” I whisper. “Take Sin’s body—put it where it won’t be harmed. Then help the others. They need you, Calix. We all need you.”

“Cora—”