Page 146 of Monstrous Serpent

Garrett gets his foot between us and uses it to push me away before scrambling to his feet, knife raised. He lunges, slashing wide as I’m getting up. “You won’t walk out of here, and my brother will be back where he belongs.”

I lean back just far enough that the tip catches the front of my T-shirt and nothing else. His follow-through leaves him off balance. I plant my feet and throw a cross, my fist connecting with his nose. Cartilage crunches under the impact, and blood pours down his face. “Not happening. Hunter’s not going back to the U.P.”

Garrett staggers half a step, then comes at me again and kicks the outside of my thigh before jabbing the knife forward. I twist and catch his hand, one of my hands clamping over the base of his thumb, the other braced against the pinkie side of his wrist. I wrench hard, and the bones in his wrist snap.

He screams, and the hunting knife falls to the ground. He immediately follows up with his other fist, slamming it into my dick. A strangled shout tears out of me, one knee buckling as my grip on him loosens. He yanks free and dives for the knife. But someone steps on it. Not Killian. Someone wearing a detailed golden wolf mask with ruby eyes.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I scramble to my feet once more. Who the fuck—Wait. Kill is just standing there, focusing on Garrett and me, completely unbothered by whoever the hell this new person is.

Garrett staggers sideways, trying to get to his feet. So, I kick him in the stomach. He folds, dropping back down to his hands and knees, retching.

I grab a fistful of his hair and yank his head back. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going? We’re not done yet.”

“Fuck you, Atlas.”

He grabs my wrist, digging his fingers into the open wounds. Pain flares up my arm, fresh blood flowing. But I don’t let go.

The guy in the wolf mask crouches, picks up the knife, then holds it out to me, handle first.

I take it, turning it over. My hand doesn’t shake, my chest doesn’t constrict.

“You know what's funny, Garrett?” My voice comes out steady. Calm. “You spent your whole life blaming me for taking your brother. But I didn't take him. He wanted out. Wanted to take you with him. Even after you betrayed him that night.”

“He'll never forgive you for this. You kill me, and Hunter will hate you for the rest of—”

“You threatened a child. Our boyfriend’s brother no less. Whatever he might have felt toward you is gone.” My grip tightens on the hilt. “You won't hurt anyone I love again.”

I plunge the blade into the side of his neck and twist.

Garrett’s mouth opens, and a wet, broken gurgle bubbles out as blood wells around the blade, then pulses over my hand in hot, slick beats. His fingers slap at my wrist, nails scraping.

I pull the blade out, then shove his head forward.

He hits the ground face-first, hands flying to his neck—pressing, squeezing. But blood pumps between his fingers in rhythmic surges, coating his wrists, dripping into the dirt.

A thick gurgle rolls out of his mouth. His legs kick once, twice, heels dragging through the leaves. The kicking turns to twitching.

Then stillness.

His hands slide off his throat and flop to the ground.

I stand there, breathing hard, the knife in my hand dripping. Blood coats my fingers, my forearm, and the front of my shirt.

The guy in the wolf mask crosses his arms and shakes his head. “Damn, I didn't believe it when Kill said what you all were capable of. Surprised you haven't invited Novotny to play.”

My eyes widen. “Reed?”

He scoffs. “Who else, shithead? You really think I was letting my boyfriend come by himself?”

Gunshots echo through the forest.

Killian places a hand on my shoulder. “Go. We’ll clean up.”

I nod and take off because Hunter Kincaid told me he loves me, and I'm not losing him.

Not for five minutes. Not for five seconds.