“To make sure it’s a nightmare.”
“It’s not.” His voice is harsh, all dark and businesslike. Usually, that would send me running. Now, it does nothing compared to the horror invading my bones.
He puts me down, grabs my elbow, and drags me with him inside the mansion. I try to free myself, but there’s no reasoning with my buffalo of a brother.
“What’s going—well, fuck.” Gareth stops near the entrance and studies all the blood decorating us. “Are you okay?”
“Nikolai,” Jeremy lets out through gritted teeth. “We have to make sure he’s okay. The crazy fucker had his throat sliced to keep from becoming my weakness.”
“Holy fuck.” Gareth retrieves his phone and storms toward the door. “I’m on it.”
“Where’s Kill?” Jeremy shouts, but Gareth has already left.
“A nightmare,” I murmur, half conscious, half trapped in a loop. “It’s just a nightmare. It can only be a nightmare.”
“Looking for me?” Killian appears at the top of the stairs, tilting his head to the side, narrowing his eyes on me. “Did you really shoot Creighton?”
My murmurs come to a halt and I stare, dumbfounded. Could Killian also have been in my nightmare?
“How did you know so fast?” Jeremy asks.
“Glyndon just called me, crying because her cousin is about to die. I don’t really appreciate it when someone makes my little rabbit cry, Annika.”
“I didn’t.” I shake my head frantically. “It’s only a nightmare. Jer was stabbed and it was also a nightmare.”
My brother releases a long breath. “She’s not herself. You go strengthen security. I’ll take care of her and join you.”
“I’m fine. Totally fine, and it was only a nightmare.”
Jeremy practically drags me up the stairs and into my room. The room Creighton came into that first night.
The night after which we got close.
The night I recognized him by the look in his eyes only because he was a god. My god. And I reached for him anyway.
I knew it was forbidden, but I touched that god, and now I’m being punished for it.
“Annika…Annika? Annika!”
I jerk out of my daze at my brother’s harsh voice, and the nightmare that just refuses to end filters back into the immediate reality.
Jeremy’s grabbing my shoulders, his eyes searching mine. “Will you be okay?”
My gaze flits to the blood on his T-shirt. It’s not as red as the pool from earlier, but it’s there. I touch it with my dirty hand, my fingers clenching and unclenching.
“This is a nightmare, too. You’re not bleeding, Jer.”
He winces, and then removes my hold. “I’ll survive. I don’t think he really wanted to hurt me.”
A sob tears from my throat as reality comes crashing down on me in all vivid red.
“He…he didn’t?” My voice breaks as wetness soaks my cheeks and neck.
Jer shakes his head.
“Then…then…then why…why did I pull that trigger? Tell me, Jer! If I wasn’t going to save you, if I didn’t have to, why did I pull it?”
“Because he wanted you to, Anoushka.” Jeremy’s voice softens, and my brother’s voice doesn’t soften. “He looked to be in pain and resolved to see it all…end.”
“No…” I sob, hitting my brother’s chest. “Ah…ah… This…hurts. Why does it hurt? Ah…make it stop hurting. There was a lot of blood, Jer. What if he…？ What if… What…”
The word knots and chokes me, refusing to be said out loud.
My brother pulls me close to his chest with his good arm and I cry.
I just cry and cry until I think I have no tears left. Until I think I’m going to faint from the amount of pain that’s wrecking my chest.
The image of red and his pale face haunts me.
The face that might never get life back because I ended it.
With my own hands, I fucking ended it.
When my tears turn into hiccups, Jer takes me to the bathroom, by my hand, like when I was a toddler and fell down and dirtied myself.
He turns on the faucet and patiently scrubs my hands of all the blood.
Scrub.
Scrub.
Scrub.
All the red washes down the drain in a haunting symphony of crimson against white. But the evidence remains beneath my nails, clinging to my fingers, refusing to vanish.
Then Jeremy washes my face and combs his fingers through my tangled, dirty hair. After he’s done, he leads me back to my room.