Mark of Betrayal (Dark Secrets #3)(152)
Author: A.M. Hudson

The sun turned the base of the clouds red, and thunder rolled over the ocean, raising the waves into a swirl of viscous claws, gripping the rocks below.

Under me, a light flashed out to dawn sailors, warning all of the treacherous beast that lay among the rough seas—Do not dare endure her heart, it screamed, for you will surely be destroyed.

I slowly reached up and yanked David’s locket from my neck. It felt so heavy, weighed down by guilt. I had no right to wear it any longer.

I took another step toward the edge, wiping my hair and the mess of tears from my cheeks, but didn’t look down—couldn’t look toward my fate. The Devil could take me, he could have my ruined soul, but I would not look into his eyes as I fell into his arms.

I closed my eyes, and the wind cried, howled across the planes behind me as my toes edged out over the emptiness. And, holding my breath, I launched myself with a soft step, into the open space of nothing.

Silence.

Peace.

There were no voices here, no tears, no regrets.

The ocean roared louder the closer I came, calling to me, reaching for me like claws of sanction, pounding the rocks with blowing, bursting white foam.

I closed my eyes and lifted my chin, feeling the ocean rip the locket from my fingers as darkness obliterated everything else.

* * *

When you disregard your own heart, you betray the ones you love before you’ve even committed the act.

As the ocean waves washed over this desiccated, abandoned wreck, I waited for death to come—or maybe it was already here, and the agony paralysing me, preventing me from lifting my face out of the drowning waves, was Hell.

The sun had not returned from its prison in the clouds, and the darkness felt empty, scary—like anything could be out there, but nothing worse than what I’d become.

I had to get up. I had to try again. I couldn’t let myself live to tell David what I did with his brother—or what I truly felt for him.

“Let me go?” I asked softly. “If there is a God up there—” I rolled my head, choking on the burning salt water, “—just take me, please?”

A sharp ache and a rushing frost spread over my entire body then. I could feel my limbs being pulled, shifted, moved about by the ocean—could feel the rocks gashing my soggy skin, and I wanted to feel it. I wanted to feel that pain.

When I closed my eyes, I saw a face—David. My David. He looked so scared; his eyes round, ragged, a kind of horror filling them, dragging his soul down behind those tears.

“David?” I whispered. “Why are you crying?”

“Because I lost her,” he said.

I stood beside him on the beach, watching the waves shape the rocks, making that fragile body a part of their imprint for eternity. White cloth shifted as the waters receded, and black tendrils floated out from her head, like snakes on the skull of a beast.

“It will be a good death,” he whispered.

“One suited for the fiend she was.”

“No—she wasn’t evil; she was just a girl,” he said, suddenly squatting beside her, lifting her head. “She just got lost and couldn’t find her way home.”

“What will you do with her?” I asked.

“Help her.”

“No, let her die.” I turned away, disgusted in her.

“I will. But she needs help. She can’t die on her own.” He dropped her head back into the water and held it under. “It’s strange to see her like this—to hate her so much after I loved her.”

“What changed; why did you stop loving her?” I asked.

He looked up. “She betrayed me.”

My eyes flashed open to the dry, open surrounds of the field. The grass remained still, even in the breeze, but my hair lashed out around my face.

I stood under the tree, looking off to the cliffs.

A silhouette appeared over the horizon, stumbling, and as he came closer, time lapsing to show his movements in skipped scenes, I saw his face—saw him holding his breath; lost, unable to cry. He carried a girl so close to his heart she looked like a child, while her bloodied arms hung down loosely from her body, her neck tilted back awkwardly, her dark hair dripping with blood and regret.

“Leave her there, David,” I yelled, watching him pass. “Put her back!”

But he didn’t hear me. He walked forward, knowing what he had to do; knowing nothing else in the world mattered but to make her safe, because he had no idea what he was saving.

His eyes were aged with the pain in his heart, his soul withering under dying hope. He walked with the strength of an eighty-year-old man, and I loved him for that, but hated that, even in death, she brought him pain—the only colour she ever gave his life was in blood.

He started screaming before he even reached the steps to the Great Hall, his voice travelling throughout every corner of the manor. But no one would come. Not if they knew the truth. They would say Let her die.

He fell to his knees, dropping the girl to the polished floor by the table she dined at every night with those who once loved her. He tried to touch her—to make her pain go away, but he just didn’t know where to place his hands. “Oh God.” He covered his mouth. “I should never have left you alone so long. What have I done?”

I stood over him, blinking, watching, wondering if he would cry such deep agony if he knew what she’d done.

“My love.” He calmed, placing a flat hand to her chest, feeling the stillness that accompanied death. “Please. Please don’t be gone. Please.”

All around us then, the sour scent of shock and fear filled the room as, one by one, faces came from the shadows and stared at the bleeding, massacred remains of my once beautiful body.

Each person stood motionless, no one coming to her aide. Perhaps they knew. Perhaps they’d been told what lies would do—how they would destroy, trap, torture any who bathed in the profits.

An eerie silence drew the air in then, like taking a deep breath, as the energy of four familiar beings broke the crowd; I heard them scream, heard them cry, but couldn’t understand it. Why would they do that, when they know what she is? Why did Jason fall to his knees beside his brother and search for a place to touch this girl—a way to hold her? What was it she meant to them that they could cry for her, when she did such terrible things?

David knelt back, closing his eyes, as the people around stared at him and Jason—side by side, both alive. Shock marred any joy they may heave felt as realisation sunk in.

The king had returned.

Mike stepped in then and slipped his hands under my knees and ribs, but Jason held strong long enough to kiss my brow, his lips bloodied as Mike tore me from his arms. I heard none of the yelling, but saw their eyes, their mouths wide as they all screamed at each other, blaming each other—forgetting my broken body, forgetting what needed to be done.