Page 25 of Slayer

“Why does it have to be you?” I choke, the words tearing free as I bury my mouth against the hollow of his throat. “Why are you the one they take from me?”

The sound that rips out of my chest is raw, feral—nothing human in it. A guttural cry I don’t recognize as my own.

His fingers twitch weakly against my side, and his lips brush my cheek, barely there. “I can’t wait…” His voice softens, each word thinner than the last. “… To see you again, Nes.”

His eyes flutter, struggling to hold onto mine. But then they drift closed. His chest rises weakly as he exhales.

“No,” I whisper. “Stay. Please just stay.” But I know better. I know this is the time, while he's lost consciousness from blood loss and pain, is barely still alive. He deserves to die by my blade, not theirs. He wouldn’t want to go down by enemy hands.

My hand shakes as I slide the beautiful dagger he made me out of my leathers at my thigh, the blade wet with seawater, my reflection in it warped. The sea laps at my body, cold and insistent, as if urging me on.

“I’ll see you soon, my love.” My voice breaks completely. I breathe, my mouth brushing his.

The blade slides into his heart. His body jerks once, a sharp, helpless motion, and his final breath rattles out against my lips, a soft, broken sound that dies between us. Then there is nothing. No warmth in his eyes. No breath. No Maddoc.

His weight collapses fully into my arms. The sea surges forward, rushing around us, washing over his blood, pulling it away in dark, swirling ribbons with streaks of gold swallowing the red. I clutch him to my chest and rock in the surf, the water inching higher, as if the ocean herself is trying to take him from me one last time.

I let out a cry so loud, so piercing it feels like shards of glass down my throat. My Maddoc is gone.

And he still never heard me say it back.

Chapter fourteen

Revenge

I hold Maddoc in my arms for hours. The weight of him is unbearable, but his death is my punishment to bear. His body is cold and slack against mine, heavy with blood and saltwater. His head rests against my shoulder, lifeless. I rock him as if it might undo what has already been done. I sit on the shoreline, unmoving, letting the tide curl around us, letting the sea claim what it can while moonlight bleeds across the coast.

The ocean and I are at a ceasefire. The sirens have granted me the mercy of this one goodbye. I’m only sitting where the ocean kisses the shoreline, small waves brushing up on Maddoc’s body and my own.

The ocean’s glow around me was soft at first, then brighter, warm, reverent, and alive. The water recognizes my grief and answers it, light spilling through the waves and wrapping my skin, my ribs, my heart. It feels feral and holy all at once, like the sea is baring its teeth at the darkness for daring to touch me. It welcomes me home.

The glow shields me from the midnight depths beyond—from the dark that waits just offshore, endless and suffocating, hungry for what remains of me. I never knew I would glow like this inside the ocean. Never knew it would hold me when I have nothing left. That it would grieve with me.

I am ready to let the sirens take me, to let this end. I have never known a pain like this. It's raw. It's unrelenting. It claws through my chest until breathing feels like punishment.

My fingers itch for the blade that he forged, that pierced his own heart. Some instinctive part of me thinks pain might drown out this hollow, screaming absence.

Anything must be better than this. A sharp blow to the gut, the kind that steals the air from my lungs, leaves me coughing, folded inward. A strike to the side of my head that would leave me dazed and blinking, unsure of where I am, my skull split open with sound and light. Anything physical. Anything finite. I can survive anything instead of this.

This heartbreak is why humanity is dangerous. It’s why I was trained to keep it at arm’s length and never to let it take hold—because once it does, it does not loosen its grip. It does not release you. It only asks what you are willing to lose.

So many thoughts claw for space, but only one rises above the rest. Silas. He will pay for this. Tonight. He will die knowing exactly who I am, what he caged, what he underestimated, and what he unleashed upon the world. He will learn that monsters are not born. They are forged.

I will take the Academy. Every slayer will kneel or burn. By sunrise, they will not just fear me.

They will worship me.

I rise, saltwater and blood alike dripping from my sodden cloak. My gaze drops to Maddoc, tears following. I refuse to let the sea claim him, so I drag his body toward the trees, my arms screaming in protest, and build a crude firepit around him with shaking hands and brush from the forest. I will scatter his ashes later—somewhere that’s worthy of him. He deserves a chosen goodbye.

I fish a match from the pocket near my breast and test it between my fingers, silently begging it to ignite despite the hours of waterlog.

I strike it against a strip of bark near my boot. It catches, the small fire trembling in the coastal breeze, but it holds. I toss it into the kindling. The flames catch the dry brush small and spread quickly. I stand numbly, watching the fire take him.

Maddoc blooms into a burst of orange, red, and yellow—terrible and beautiful all at once. Heat warps the air. His face, swollen and bloodied, is still his as the fire begins its work, unmaking him piece by piece. I do not look away. Hot tears carve paths down the sides of my face, falling one after another.

I let the fire witness me. Let the world take note. This is where mercy ends. The game has just changed. No more innocents will die from the actions of wicked men.

“I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve this.” I let out a sob. “They will all die. That is a promise.” I stand there just watching, feeling the warmth of the flames, his warmth, one last time. Fuck, this hurts.