Page 365 of Primal

And now this. Gaping, wet, pulsing in time with the walls.

The motherfucker’s still beneath me, trying to wrench his arm free.

He’s grinning. Can’t see but I feel it through the split mask. He thinks he’s won.

His hand shifts—gun rising, aiming up at my face.

Fuck no.

I stagger off him, the chapel tilting.

The knife. My $29.99 Halloween Special.

Already buried in his stomach.

Derek moves—slow, twitchy. One elbow. Then the other. The knife stays where it is—hilt jutting, brown handle stark against his soaked black robe.

My breath shudders. Can’t feel my legs.

“Thirteen.”

Black veins in my vision. I shake my head.

“Almost had me.” He stumbles upright. Yanks the mask off. A cough spliced with a chuckle. The hilt wobbles with each breath. The gun trembles in his grip. “After everything—you think that’s it?”

We face each other. Blood at our feet. He sways. So do I.

“Look at us.” He gestures with the muzzle. “Matching holes. Matching blood. Difference is, I’ve still got the bullets.”

He aims the gun square at my chest. His gaze shifts—past my shoulder.

I turn.

White Lace and the blonde—sobbing, dragging The Void between them, stumbling toward the doors.

bang.

bang.

Two bodies drop, one after the other.

“No,” White Lace screams. “Please—”

bang.

The bullet punches into the wall behind her.

She chokes out a sob.

Derek aims again—one hand braced on the altar.

“Hey!”

The scythe hooks into Derek’s shoulder. He stumbles sideways. The gun flies. Skids across the floor.

Wesley.

That guy was halfway to the exit.