Chapter 12: Where the Bullet Landed
340 Words
The world didn’t end in silence.
It ended in ringing. Deafening. Blinding.
Lucien hit the ground with a bone-shattering thud. He tasted copper—his own blood, maybe Alder’s. His vision blurred, smoke burning his eyes as he tried to crawl, to breathe.
Somewhere near him, a body dropped. Hard.
He turned his head. Slow. Painfully slow.
> Zarek.
On one knee, gun still clutched in his hand, breathing like a cornered animal. But he was alive. Blood on his jaw. A s***h on his shoulder. Nothing fatal.
Not him.
Lucien’s gaze darted to the man slumped against the wall.
Alder.
Blood poured from his chest in waves. Zarek hadn’t missed.
Alder was laughing.
Laughing.
> “You still… got that perfect aim,” Alder coughed. Blood painted his lips red. “Romantic bastard…”
Zarek approached, slow and terrifying, like death itself wrapped in leather and bruises.
> “You talk too much,” he growled, and kicked the gun from Alder’s hand.
Alder didn’t flinch. He just looked past Zarek—at Lucien.
> “I warned him… didn’t I?” he rasped. “He still picked you.”
His head rolled to the side. His smile was the last thing that died.
And then it was over.
The room was silent. Too silent.
Zarek dropped his gun. Fell to his knees beside Lucien. His hands touched Lucien’s face—gently, almost afraid.
> “Lucien,” he breathed. “Look at me. You with me?”
Lucien blinked, and then tears spilled from his lashes. He grabbed Zarek’s vest and buried his face in it.
> “You came…”
> “Of course I came,” Zarek whispered. “I told you. There’s no place you’ll ever be that I won’t follow.”
Lucien sobbed. Not from fear. Not from pain. From the terrifying relief of still being alive in his arms.
Zarek pressed his forehead to Lucien’s.
> “He’s dead,” Zarek whispered. “We’re free.”
Lucien didn’t answer.
He just kissed him.
- Writer
