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My breath caught. Despite the fact that he couldn’t make love to me, I knew he put my life before his. I just hadn’t heard it stated so bluntly before. He wasn’t lying. This was the raw, honest truth. He’d kill for me. He’d die for me. In a way, it made things easier, since I felt the same way about him.
Lawrence nodded. “Then you know how I feel.”
“There’s a difference. Your wife is already dead. And nothing you do now will bring her back. The man responsible for her death is gone. You killed him. You had your revenge. It’s over.”
Lawrence was silent for so long I thought Declan had finally gotten through to him, shown him the futility of what he was doing here.
“You think this is over?” he finally said. “It’s not. It’s just begun.”
He turned toward me, and whatever life, whatever hope, I’d seen in those black eyes was gone. This was a man who had nothing to live for. Just rage and pain that he wanted to share.
He came at me fast, and I stumbled back from him, twisting my ankle and falling to the ground. I screamed just as Declan caught his arm, stopping the sharp stake only a few inches from it being a death blow to my heart. Declan’s expression was strained as he fought to pull Lawrence away from me.
“Get out of here now!” Declan snapped over his shoulder at me. “Get to the sunlight!”
If I left, he’d die. I felt the truth of it deep in my gut.
I shook off the fear and panic, knowing I had to do something to help. I scanned my surroundings. There wasn’t much in the warehouse—nothing useful, anyway. Cement floors. Large wooden crates stacked against the wall by the door. The scent of sawdust. That was it. If there was another security camera in here, it was hidden. Not that it would do us any good. Whoever monitored that downstairs was likely dead. We were on our own.
I screamed when the stake arched through the air and stabbed into Declan, piercing his shoulder. Declan let out a sharp snarl of pain.
“First I kill you.” Lawrence pulled out the bloody stake. “Then I kill the woman. I can resist the Nightshade enough to do it. You’re both murderers. You both deserve to die.”
He kicked Declan hard in the leg that had just been broken, and Declan went down hard, crashing to the ground. Blood gushed from the stake wound.
Lawrence turned toward me, moving so fast I didn’t have a chance to take another step back. He grabbed my shirt and pulled me closer. I fought against him, slamming my fist into his face, my knee into his groin.
Bleeding and injured, Declan grabbed hold of Lawrence’s ankle. The vampire kicked him hard in the face and Declan landed on his back. Lawrence crouched down over his prone form, his silver stake aimed for Declan’s heart this time.
I launched myself at him. Normally my blood was my weapon. This time it was my entire body. Not quite as deadly, but effective enough as a diversion. I caught his shoulders and pulled him off Declan. We both hit the ground hard. The stake skittered away on the cement floor.
Lawrence snarled and rose up above me. He clamped his hands around my throat and squeezed hard enough to cut off my breath. I reached out for the stake, felt just the edge of it against my fingertips, but it was out of reach.
It was too late, anyway. I was going to die.
TEN
“Jill! No!” Declan yelled.
Black spots appeared before my eyes, and my hands dropped to my sides.
Lawrence’s face blurred. “There’s no other way this can end. The moment you were injected with the Nightshade, you had a death sentence. Victor couldn’t help you, even if he wanted to. I think you already knew that.”
He was right. I’d been grasping hold of sand with every solution I’d chased after, watching as it slipped through my fingers. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t given up yet and accepted my impending death without wasting energy trying to fight it. The Nightshade was a lot like Lawrence. It wasn’t letting go until I finally stopped breathing. Until my heart stopped beating. Until my poisoned black blood went still in my veins.
Something about being with Declan—it was enough to keep me going. He was a warrior, this kind of thing was his life. He didn’t know any different.
The Declan in my dream—the glimpse I’d had of him if he’d never been touched by death and darkness and violence. He was clean and handsome and unscarred.
But I wouldn’t choose him over the Declan I already knew.
It was my last thought before more darkness spread across my vision.
There was a loud bang. Lawrence jerked backward, and his grip on me loosened. I tried to focus enough to see that there was now a spot of red on his chest. He looked up.
“You’re dead,” Lawrence said, then he jerked again as another bullet hit him squarely in the chest.
Someone came into my peripheral vision—it was Jackson, with a gun held in his right hand. He was covered in blood; he was leaving a trail of it as he walked toward us. And there was something wrong with his left arm, which hung awkwardly at his side, as though no longer fully attached to his body.
