before the poison—this so-called CL-152—claims him entirely? How long will it be before nothing we do wakes him?
Panic slams my heart against my ribcage. “Name your price for the antidote.”
“You assume we have one.”
“No one is insane enough to create something so destructive without a way to reverse the damage—not even Keely. So, let me ask you again: how much?”
The backpack at my feet tips over when he gives it a soft kick, as if he’s testing its contents. “How much do you think his life is worth when he’s bound to wake up, realize that his body no longer does what it once could, and despises you forever?”
Damien wanted to live, to know happiness, and I . . . There’s no other way. Dr. Matthews has kept Damien living by a thread for all these months and that was when the poison was somewhat contained. Now, it’s devoured his body, possibly even his mind. There’s no chance of searching for an alternative when the clock is ticking down and time is not on our side.
I’ll bear his hate, if I must.
I’ll carry the weight of it for the rest of my life, knowing that I did everything that I could to let him feel the sun—even if it means that, in the end, the two of us together will only ever be a memory.
Trapping my bottom lip beneath my teeth, I nod my chin toward my knees. “There’s a hundred-K in the bag.”
“You’re having me stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong, Miss Carrigan.” That sinister voice lowers and lowers some more, drawing closer as he bends to snatch the backpack from the floor. “We all pay a price. The question is—what’s yours?”
Tension steels my muscles. “How much more do you want? Twenty thousand? Fifty?”
“No.”
“Then—”
“The hundred will do,” he replies smoothly, “as well as a favor for a life spared.”
A favor.
My gut twists with unease, and I fight the overwhelming urge to seek out Keely, who’s gone completely mute. He’s a man buried in my past, a face that I hoped to never see again. A reminder, however much I loathe it, that once upon a time, I spent my days giving out bits and pieces of myself in order to earn my father favors from various members of Parliament.
I walked away from that life.
Yet here I am, ten years later, on the precipice of re-opening the door to keep the man I love alive.
The courage in my bones threatens to wilt while tears threaten to bloom. “You’re the devil,” I breathe, choking on the words.
“And you’re desperate. Meanwhile, every second that you sit here, he dies a little more. Fate’s a fickle bitch, isn’t she?”
“Rowena, there are other ways. You don’t have to—”
I cut off Isla with a raised hand.
Turning my head, heedless of the pistol that follows, I stare at up at the man with the heartless gaze. “You won’t ever have my body,” I utter, my throat tight, “but you’ll have any other favor asked.”
“Then it looks like you’ll have your antidote after all.”
I wait until he’s stepped away, his broad shoulders cutting around Saxon’s tall frame, before demanding, “Who did I sell my soul to?”
The devil pauses, revealing only his profile when he peers back. His dark eyes are narrowed, his sullen mouth flat and untroubled by the chaos he’s unleashed. Then he smiles, just the smallest hitch of his lips, and I feel like I’ve been doused in ice.
“Baron Hastings. But you, Miss Carrigan . . . you can call me the Reaper.”
47
Rowena
The antidote is little more than a nondescript blue liquid, but I carry its clear, plastic bottle to Holly Village like it has the ability to cure the world.
“We’ll need Matthews to keep Damien sedated,” says Saxon from my left, his hand already stretching out past my shoulder to shove the front door open for me and Isla. “If what Hastings said is true, we can’t risk him waking up before we’ve assessed every—”
“Where the fuck have you been?”
Guy.
He stands in the entry hall with his legs spread and arms crossed, frustration chasing a ravaged path across his hawkish features. With only his body, he blocks all access to the corridor leading to Sara’s medical room.
“Move.”
At my roughly uttered command, his blue eyes fix pointedly on me. “Wrong answer. The lot of you disappeared hours ago, so let me ask again—where have you been?”
“Doing what needs to be done to keep Damien alive.” Clamping my fingers tight around the plastic bottle,