Romance

  Celena&#39;s Perspective
  “…He’s dead.”
  That voice—using Brett’s vocal cords to form utterly alien, icy syllables—kept echoing in my skull. It was like a rusted manacle, tightening with every reverberation, crushing my lungs, squeezing my heart until it felt ready to burst.
  Some part of me had known. From the very beginning… a corner of my mind, the most rational and coldest corner, had whispered it, over and over: *He’s not coming back.*
  But knowing was one thing. Hearing it confirmed, in that flat, cruel tone, from that familiar face… that was another.
  Brett. The person who had grown up beside me.
  He was gone.
  Erased. As if he’d never been.
  A candle snuffed by the wind. That’s what the monster had said.
  I stood rooted to the cold, damp concrete, surrounded by scattered bodies and a clotting reek of blood. But I couldn’t feel the cold, couldn’t smell the rot. The worl

  Jacob&#39;s Perspective
  The low, steady rumble of the engine was the only comforting thing left in the world. My knuckles were white on the steering wheel, my eyes fixed on the grey interstate stretching ahead. In the rearview mirror, the ruins shrank rapidly, finally vanishing behind the rolling horizon.
  It was over.
  For us, at least. The monster in Brett&#39;s skin, its bloody accounts with the witches, the Hunters, and every other scavenger drawn to the stink… they could sort it out themselves. I didn&#39;t give a damn anymore. We had our answer—the cold, brutal truth. That was enough. Digging any deeper wouldn&#39;t bring anything back except maybe getting Celena or both of us killed.
  Now, it was time to go home. My and Celena&#39;s home. A place with a door we could lock, shutting out the whole fucked-up world for a while.
  The blue line on the GPS crept steadily forward,

  Jacob&#39;s Perspective
  The stench of the sewer—a mix of decay and fresh blood—clung to the back of my throat like a piece of rotting meat. Celena and I moved in a low crouch, feeling our way along the damp, slime-covered walls of the pipe. From deeper within came the sounds of a struggle: impacts, scraping, and a shrill, inhuman shriek that made the hackles on my wolf-spirit rise. The beam from my flashlight cut through the darkness, illuminating streaks of dark, viscous fluid slowly dripping down the curved walls.
  &quot;Slow,&quot; I breathed, pulling Celena back, my own throat tight. &quot;Around the bend.&quot;
  We pressed ourselves against the cold concrete at the turn, edging just enough to see. The flashlight beam swept across the scene, and my stomach clenched hard.
  We&#39;d found it. Or rather, we&#39;d found the aftermath.
  It was worse than we&#39;d imagined.
  The f

Celena&#39;s Perspective
  “…He’s dead.”
  That voice—using Brett’s vocal cords to form utterly alien, icy syllables—kept echoing in my skull. It was like a rusted manacle, tightening with every reverberation, crushing my lungs, squeezing my heart until it felt ready to burst.
  Some part of me had known. From the very beginning… a corner of my mind, the most rational and coldest corner, had whispered it, over and over: *He’s not coming back.*
  But knowing was one thing. Hearing it confirmed, in that flat, cruel tone, from that familiar face… that was another.
  Brett. The person who had grown up beside me.
  He was gone.
  Erased. As if he’d never been.
  A candle snuffed by the wind. That’s what the monster had said.
  I stood rooted to the cold, damp concrete, surrounded by scattered bodies and a clotting reek of blood. But I couldn’t feel the cold, couldn’t smell the rot. The world had dissolved into a blurred, buzzing grey. Jacob’s hand was still clamped around my arm, s

Chapter 240