Two minutes. That was all Layla had before the poison would stop her heart. She felt lighter with her body under the influence of such a powerful drug and the way everyone stared at her like she was the world’s greatest horror, only spurred her on. Heavy rage crashed over her and she grabbed the closest person to her.
Dr. Harding cried out in her clutches. Layla snarled. Even as Tobias Saint, Stephen Wayne, and the mayoral candidate watched her with a sick sense of hunger in their eyes. They wanted a monster. So she would be one. Until every last one of them was red with each other’s blood.
Layla wrapped her chains around Dr. Harding’s throat and pulled. Saint bullets rained against her back, but the poison in her newly enforced body prevented them from sinking in. The chains dug into Dr. Harding’s skin, tugging until his flesh tore open, tendons and muscles splitting to reveal his vertebrae. She yanked the chains further, cracking his bones apart and pulling his head from his body. When it tumbled to the ground, Layla turned, blood drenching her front, and pulled her arms apart, snapping the Saint metal. Cuffs still encircled her wrists, but the chains between them were gone, rendering her completely free.
Beyond Stephen Wayne and Tobias Saint, all Layla saw was crimson. They thought they were safe on the balcony, but she would become their nightmare soon enough, once the Saint members scattered about the ballroom floor were destroyed. They tried to step in front of her, but she blew right past them. Blood sprayed as her talons tore into them, their organs spilling through the split flesh. It was an entirely new sensation for Layla: she did not crave blood as much as she just craved death. She truly felt invincible, death incarnate.
Other reapers would not be able to resist so much spilled blood, however. The moment the thought cracked into her mind, Layla sensed movement outside the windows and doors of the theater. Rogue reapers appeared, fangs already bared and bodies braced for a fight as soon as the rest of the armed Saints noticed them. Their arrival had most of the other Saints distracted. Layla knew now was her chance if she was to get to Tobias Saint and Stephen Wayne. They were already beginning to squirm in their seats. Security approached the mayoral candidate now, rushing him out of her line of vision. But the spark of intrigue in his eyes told Layla he was intent on making the wrong choice. Just like Mr. Wayne and Mr. Saint.
She took one step toward them and stopped, her heart thundering in her chest. When she looked down, the talons were already sinking away, her own hands returning to her. That buzz of strength she was getting used to ebbed, leaving her with a sense of dread and immediate panic. Everything in her body seemed to slow. Her vision swam and Layla’s eyes rolled back as she began to collapse.
But someone caught her.
That familiar sweet scent of gardenia and vanilla filled her nose and Layla clutched Elise, knowing if she had to die, she could do so happily in her arms.
“Wake up. You hardheaded beast—I told you not to come,” Elise snapped.
Layla would have laughed if she had the strength. But she could barely muster up a whimper when she felt a pinch in her neck. A rush of adrenaline and relief flooded her body and Layla pulled back to see Elise standing before her with an empty syringe. The antidote Sterling had given her earlier. “You…?”
“We don’t have time. They’re getting away,” Elise said, panicked.
They both turned to see rogue reapers surrounding the entrance Stephen Wayne and Tobias Saint were running toward. Layla sneered, “No, they aren’t.” By now the Saints were greatly outnumbered by the reapers. As Layla approached the crowd of her bloodthirsty allies, she wondered if Elise had anything to do with this. She had told her to run and not only had she come back, but there had been an entire flood of reapers in her wake. Even just opening the doors would have allowed for the blood to seep into the air outside. Perhaps it was just the bloodshed that called the reapers to the scene. Or maybe the Saint girl had more misdeed in her than Layla previously thought.
“Stay here,” Layla commanded before bolting toward the Saint patriarch and his philanthropist partner. The rogue reapers stopped when they saw her, hissing and baring their fangs as Tobias Saint turned a gun on her.
“Do not touch the Saint girl. You can go. I will handle them,” she said to the reapers.
Mr. Saint watched as the rogue reapers backed away, disappearing into the slowly growing fog that crept through the city. Stephen Wayne noticed his distraction and shoved his shoulder into the Saint patriarch, catching the gun when Tobias Saint dropped it.
“We can talk about this, Miss Quinn,” Stephen Wayne breathed. His blond hair was messy, a few strands covering his forehead, which glinted with nervous sweat. “I will be close with the mayor of this city. I can offer you immunity. I can offer you anything you want.”
“Really?” Layla asked. She crossed her arms and smirked. “Will you offer me your death?”
Stephen Wayne paled. He swallowed hard, and his gun arm actually trembled. Of course it did; he stared an agent of hell right in the eye. Blood covered Layla, and her eyes glinted with a wild need for violence. She thanked her reaperhood then, for putting this man in his place, even if it was just for a moment.
“I will give you the actual cure,” Stephen Wayne said quickly.
Layla nodded, but she didn’t believe him. “Bullshit.” She tilted her head to the side and glared. “I’m half-dead, you imbecile. I’m not an idiot.”
A confident rage exploded across Stephen Wayne’s face. “Fully dead now—”
The gun went off, but Layla didn’t flinch. The bullet flew past her as Tobias Saint kicked Stephen Wayne’s ankle, throwing him off-balance. The gun slid across the hardwood and out of sight. Both men were suddenly on the floor, tearing at each other. Tobias Saint threw the first punch. “Asshole. I put everything on the line for you, and this is how you repay me?” He pounded into Stephen Wayne’s face so hard, the man’s skin went from pale to bloody in mere moments.
Layla grabbed a handful of Tobias Saint’s coat and pulled him off Stephen Wayne. She threw him onto his back, her knee pressing into his sternum until he gasped for breath. “You should have known better than to trust him,” Layla hissed. “I don’t feel sorry for you at all. Idiot.”
Mr. Saint’s jaw tightened, but the fear in his eyes overrode every ounce of confidence he tried to boast. “I’m not the villain,” he gritted out.
“You are.” Layla backhanded him so hard, blood flew from his mouth. “You owe your daughter an apology,” she spat.
Confusion muddled his features for a moment. Then that stupid, vile smile returned. And Layla knew this man was a true monster, inside and out. When he looked at Elise, he didn’t see his child. Layla recognized that spiteful look in his eyes; she saw it every time she looked in the mirror. The Saint patriarch had no daughter; to him, Elise represented the amalgamation of his own faults. Nothing Elise did would ever be good enough to him because he had already failed himself. The thought made Layla so angry, she was sure her blood boiled in her veins. How dare he damage a soul as untainted and innocent as Elise’s. How dare he ruin her—
Blood gurgled out of Tobias Saint’s mouth as he laughed. Layla looked down, realizing then that her hands were crushing his throat. She pressed her fingers deeper into his neck, but the air shifted behind her, drawing her attention away from him.
“Let him go.” Sterling’s stern voice turned her around. He stood several feet away, but his gun pointed straight for her heart.
Layla laughed roughly. She would entertain him. For now. She released Mr. Saint and turned to Sterling. “You would rather protect this man than your own friend?” Layla asked.
Sterling’s eyes shifted. He tightened his grip on the gun and stepped closer to her. “You know what it’s like to lose family. I would never risk it again. Not if I could stop it.”
“There is no risk, Sterling,” Layla said. “You’ve already lost them.” Her fangs sprung free right as his gun went off. But before the bullet found her, something slammed Layla’s body to the floor. She winced, her head spinning from the scent of Elise and blood. So much blood.
The Saint heiress lay on the ground a few feet away, her hand pressed against her chest. Sterling lowered his gun, a horrified look on his face as he realized just where his bullet had ended up.
Elise’s blood filled Layla’s nose—it filled every part of Layla. She sat up, rolling Elise onto her back. The wound was in the center of her chest, right beside her heart—if it had not grazed her on entrance. Layla cursed. Sterling moved to tend to Tobias Saint, and Layla thought she saw pain flash in his eyes while he hesitated between the Saint patriarch and Elise, but she hardly noticed. Layla was too focused on the light quickly leaving Elise’s eyes.
“Why?” Layla shrieked. “Why, why, why would you do that?” She ripped Elise’s dress open.
Elise whimpered, her body shaking with pain. “Layla, I’m sorry—”
“Stop talking. You’re not dying,” Layla said hurriedly. All Layla could think about was Elise. Her blood, her pain, her shallow breathing. Ignoring the gnawing desire she had for Elise’s blood felt impossible, but she did it anyway. The one thing keeping Layla focused, preventing her collapse, was the slowing heartbeat right beneath her fingertips. Layla shoved the fingers of one hand into Elise’s mouth and with the other scrambled around her chest for the wound. Pearls, slippery and wet, tangled her up. Layla tore those free and reached into her gaping chest wound. Elise clamped down around Layla’s fingers, screaming so hard, Layla couldn’t even feel the pain of her teeth digging into her fingers.
Once she found the bullet, she pulled her hands back and dropped it onto the floor. Blood poured freely from Elise’s chest. Her eyes rolled back and her head lolled to the side. Layla gripped her chin. “Saint—” she said, frantic. Elise had not bitten her fingers hard enough to draw blood. Layla cursed. She lifted her wrist to her mouth and tore it open with her teeth. Blood spilled onto Elise’s wound. But her split skin wasn’t closing fast enough.
Layla felt drained after only a few moments. Soon, she would join Elise in death if a miracle didn’t make itself out of her blood. Layla drew closer to Elise, tears welling in her eyes. She touched her face, pulling her back to her. “Come on.” Her voice broke. “Elise.”
Her muscles ached. Blood loss had Layla feeling both empty and weighed down at once, but she sat up straighter and clasped her hands over Elise’s newly scarred skin. She put every last bit of her strength into chest compressions. Blood pooled around them both, soaking the pearls and the glass that had rained onto the floor. Layla cursed the tears that continued to fall from her eyes, knowing they only drained her further. Tears won’t save her, Layla thought fiercely.
“Elise,” Layla said again, her voice stronger than before. “Please, Lisey.”
A faint pulse grew stronger with each passing compression. Though blood rushed in her ears so loudly, Layla couldn’t tell if she was actually helping. She gazed at Elise through eyes bleary with exhaust and nearly collapsed when she saw her cheeks warming up and her eyelids fluttering with life.
Elise coughed then, gasping for breath. Layla stopped the compressions and cupped her cheek. “Elise,” she pleaded frantically. The reveal of Elise’s now bright eyes electrified Layla’s heart. She tried to pull Elise into her arms, but her body gave out, and she fell on top of her. Layla pressed her face into Elise’s neck and cried.