Page 174 of Primal

It’s White Lace. Rachel. The girl we pulled from the chapel.

Lying a few feet from the exit. Arms limp. Head tilted toward the gates like she tried to crawl and didn’t make it.

The second Wesley lets go, my knees almost buckle. I stagger, catch myself against a tree.

“Wes—” I rasp, but he’s already jogging ahead.

“Be careful,” Payton calls after him, voice too steady to be real.

Wesley reaches Rachel. Drops to a crouch. His fingers press to her throat.

He looks back, shakes his head.

Payton makes a sound. Quiet, broken. Like the wind got knocked out of her.

A shape rises behind Wesley.

Black robes. Blade gleaming.

“Behind—”

Payton screams. “Wesley!”

He turns—

The knife flashes—one slash, so fast I almost miss it.

Wesley spins toward us—a red gash across his throat. Jaw slack. Blinking. His hand lifts, fingers brushing the wound.

His knees hit the dirt.

Looming over him—Derek. Mask gone, his face a ruin of blood and fury. He’s smiling.

Smiling.

“Death comes for us all. Even you, Grim.”

“Payton. Give me the gun.”

But she’s already moving. Aiming.

And here I am. Too weak to even lift a finger as Wesley chokes on his own blood.

Fuck. I lurch after her.

Brass rains around her as she fires.

Five shots.

Three go wide.

One grazes Derek’s arm—the knife drops.

The last punches into his ribs. He jolts. Slumps against the iron gates.

Payton sways, chest heaving, the gun wavering in her grip.

click.