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This entire time, she wasn’t dead. She’s not the dead one at all. She’s been what’s sustained me here. She’s the marrow. She’s my marrow. Kyrie didn’t start as a killer—she was made. And I helped make her.
“Your sounds are mine,” Jack hisses, and before I realize what’s happening, he’s pushing my damp panties into my open mouth. I look down my body at the fierce command in Jack’s eyes, whimpering at the erotic taste of my own arousal. He pushes the last of the fabric past my lips and holds my jaw shut with his thumb. “They are only mine. Now come on my fucking tongue and keep quiet.”
But the decisive difference is that I wouldn’t just kill for Kyrie—I would give my life. Hell, I’d even let her take it.
“But look around you, lille mejer. You are not unwanted. You are not alone. You are unique.” Jack bends his head until his eyes are level with mine and I have no choice but to meet their sharpened determination. “You are a bright and blinding light in the dark. Luminous. And I’m sorry I made you feel like anything less than that.”
“Jeg vil være alt for dig, elskede,” he says, and then presses his lips to mine.
“Min lysende stjerne,”
“Min elskede.”
“You let Trevor Winters take my family. You will not take my angel too.”
The steady beat of her heart appears on the screen. And mine beats for the very first fucking time.
