Page 8 of Blood that Burns
“You’ll never forgive me,” he whispers.
My shoulders tense and dread pools low in my gut.
“W-what happened?” I ask again, not sure I want to hear it.
Not sure I can handle whatever he’s about to say.
“I killed her.”
I feel the blood drain from my face as my heart pounds against my chest, a war drum ready to burst free and seek revenge on the world if my greatest fear comes to pass.
“Who?” The question is near inaudible, my fear mounting with every second.
“Stacey.” The name sounds ripped from his chest, and my head jerks back slightly.
The skin at my eyes pulls taut as I try and fail to recall who the hell Stacey is. I have no memory of a girl by that name ever being mentioned.
Not that I’m entirely unaffected that anyone lost their life, but why would Marcellus think I wouldn’t be able to forgive him for the death of a stranger?
When I don’t say anything, he turns his body, his face looking up into mine.
“Stacey has been Marina’s companion. Another victim of the auction.”
My breath hitches, chills skating over my sensitive skin.
“Her companion?” I ask, confusion warring with other unnamed emotions.
“She was formally under my protection. Well... more of a chess piece. But I never wanted her life to end.” A sob rips through the room as he continues to pour out the details. “Julian arranged for her to be taken to Bellamy Manor to spend time with Marina. They bonded during the auction.”
I don’t have to know the extent of their relationship to know that Marina will be devastated. Enduring something like the vampire auction would create a bond I’m incapable of understanding—thankfully so. Marina has already gone through too much, and now this.
Marc’s eyes close tightly. “I didn’t have a choice, Maggie. I didn’t.” His voice cracks, and my heart shatters for him.
“She was destined to die,” he continues. “But if I hadn’t stepped in, her end would’ve been painful. She would’ve been turned, and she didn’t want that. I did what I could to make it quick. I—”
His words trail off, pain and loathing lacing every word.
I don’t know if Marcellus will ever forgive himself.
“Then you did her a favor.”
He makes a strangled noise. “That’s not how anyone else will see it.”
Tears stream down his face, and I’m not sure how to react. He’s breaking right in front of me. Without overthinking it, I drape myself over him, giving him the only comfort I can offer.
We stay like this on the cold wood floor, silent and grieving in solidarity.
Marcellus hurts for the girl whose life was lost at his hands.
I hurt for the broken man under me.