CHAPTER 127: DRENCHED IN BLOOD ( KILLIAN’S POV )

"This is the house."

"We need to hurry. The police will be here any minute!"

"Why are you here anyway?"

"Because I was there when he announced Luther’s location. Like h-ll I was gonna let you save him alone!"

Claus pointed to the back seats where Damian was holding theatrically his belly as he was trying to keep whatever lunch he had inside.

I appreciated the gesture, but I would have been appreciating more if he would have stayed at home.

The last thing I needed was a barely pregnant drama queen moaning and b-tching about the car ride, the humidity of air or any other absolutely unimportant reason.

He wasn’t really complaining though.

Just wobbling from left to right as I would drive through curves, holding himself tight, but not saying a word.

It was a horrifying scene to be honest.

Damian was always a complainer, disliking everything that happened around him- no matter what.

So seeing him this quiet felt like a bad omen.

"Are you ok there, D.?"

He nodded, holding his hand to his mouth. Didn’t look at me. Didn’t really acknowledge me.

Maybe he was just car sick.

The important thing is that I am getting closer and closer to Luther.

Would he be mad at me for leaving him alone that morning at the hotel?

Or would he be jealous about my engagement with Damian?

I could feel my heart beating out of my throat. My eardrums were clogged, but I don’t think it was the pressure from the mountain road. My hands were twitching on the wheel.

Excitement. Fear. Impatience.

The streets seemed never-ending.

The more trees we passed, the higher on the highway we got, the more my foot pressed the acceleration paddle, I could barely breathe.

My vision got dizzier and dizzier as my breath got stuck in my lungs. I was getting high on the feeling of seeing Luther again.

Sadly, the same thing was happening to the blonde 6’1" mess in my passenger seat.

I could see Claus’s jagged breath misting my car windows, fogging my judgment in the process as well.

This blonde idiot is going to ruin my reunion even worse than my very pregnant fiancée who was gulping and choking on his own vomit in the backseat.

Should I crash the car?

I could hit a curb to make Damian wobble behind Claus than crash the car on the passenger side.

That would solve two headaches in one. I could just get Luther and run away.

He doesn’t have that many options anyway: me or the evil gnome.

At least he knows I won’t kill him. Or hurt him.

But he has feelings for the gnome.

What should I do?

What should I do?

"Dude, unlock the car! We’re already here!

"

"Huh?"

Oh. We’re already here.

So much for my evil plan, I guess.

That’s not important now. That blonde b-stard is already running towards the house.

I need to hurry. I need to catch up to him.

I need to get to Luther first.

"Killian, I don’t feel so good..."

Damian was holding his stomach tight. Sweat was dripping from his face. His plump lips were curved in a painful grimace as saliva gathered in the corners of his mouth.

He must truly be in pain.

How annoying.

"What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?"

"My stomach. My stomach is hurting so much. The baby! What if I am miscarrying?"

I carefully get Damian out of the car. He was truly looking rough.

I placed his body down on the wet grass. His eyes were unfocused and his breath was ragged.

F-ck.

He might actually lose the baby.

I need to see if he is spotting.

My hands drift slowly to his tights as I carefully open them. No trace of blood. Thank God, the baby was safe!

But why was he feeling so sick?

Should I leave my pheromones loose? Would that be soothing for him?

But if I am not the father, that might actually affect the baby?

"Killian, I am sorry..."

"Not a good time, D., focus on breathing!"

"My baby..."

"The baby is fine. There is no spotting so you’re not miscarrying. At least not yet. Focus on breathing! It’s fine, I got you!"

"I’m scared..."

"It’s ok. It’s ok. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you!"

Damian broke down in my arms, loud, gasping cries ripping from his chest like he’d been holding them back for too long.

His fingers twisted in my shirt, clinging to me like he might fall apart if he let go.

I held him close, heart pounding, helpless as his sobs shook his whole body.

His long blonde hair spilled over my arm, soft and wild, and his face was pressed into my neck, hot with tears.

Don’t have time for this, but what am I supposed to do?

If he loses the baby, I lose everything.

Wealth.

Power.

Respect.

All in the barely developed haands of a conglomerate of cells- not even a fetus yet.

"Are you feeling a little better?"

He nodded slightly and clawed my shirt even harder, trapping me there.

Luther is just a few feet away in that house, but I can’t reach him. I’m trapped here.

"You want to go to him, don’t you?"

"Don’t talk. Just breathe."

"I bet you hate my touch."

"Would you love the touch of the man who took advantage of your body without your consent?"

"I love your touch..."

"I never forced myself on you, Damian."

Damian let out a humorless laugh, sharp and cracked, echoing in the open night air like it didn’t belong to him.

The sound froze me—my whole body tensed, every muscle pulled tight. I looked at him, but he wasn’t really there; his blue eyes were locked somewhere far away, glinting with something cold and raw. His hair clung to his face, damp from the sweat and wild, and that broken laugh kept playing in my head long after it stopped.

"You always knew my feelings, Killian. Every time you needed to impress one of your sponsors, you used my body as a token of negotiation. You used me until my body gave up. Isn’t that kind of the same thing I did to you too?"

"You could have said no."

"What if I were to say no? You would have disposed of me. Don’t play the victim with me now that you got a taste of your own medicine."

Before I could answer, Claus exited the house drenched in blood with a lost focus.

Luther.

Where is Luther?

Is he dead?

Damian’s fingers clutched at my arm, desperate, but I pulled free. He cried out, crumpling to the wet grass, hands wrapping around his stomach as his sobs broke through the night.

I didn’t look back.

I ran.

Luther’s dead body hovering my thoughts, making my heart beat out my chest and my breath stuck in my throat.

The ground was slick under my boots, mud kicking up with every step. My heart pounded, every breath sharp.

Claus was on his knees, drenched in blood—his own or someone else’s, I couldn’t tell. His eyes were wide and unfocused, staring through everything. His hands shook violently, fingers twitching like they didn’t know what to do. His chest rose and fell too fast, unsteady. I dropped beside him, grabbed his shoulders, but he didn’t react.

His lips were parted slightly, his jaw locked, as if trying to speak and failing.

Behind me, I could still hear Damian crying, the sound distant now but cutting through everything.

My hands tightened on Claus. He blinked, slow, lost. The blood was everywhere—his arms, his face, soaking into his shirt. I shook him once, hard.

He flinched, finally breathing. I stayed there, grounding him, even as my pulse raced, even as Damian’s cries echoed across the field.

"Luther- Where is Luther?"

"Luther..."

"Claus, focus! Whose blood is this?"

"Tom’s..."

"Tom’s?"

F-ck.

I don’t have time for this.

I shoved the door open and stepped inside.

The scent hit me instantly—sharp chemicals, thick blood. It clung to the air, heavy and rancid. I covered my mouth with the back of my hand and moved forward, boots echoing on the tile.

The floor was smeared with dark footprints and half-dried streaks of red.

Room by room, I pushed through, each one colder than the last. Empty beds, overturned trays, streaks of blood on the walls. The smell grew stronger with every step, thick enough to taste.

I kept going.

Then I found it.

The door at the end of the hallway was half open, light spilling out onto the floor. The stench was unbearable now. I pushed the door fully open and froze.

In the center of the room, under a harsh ceiling light, was Tom.

He was lying on a surgical table, motionless. His chest rose and fell, barely. His body had been cut open and sewn back together, jagged lines of thick black thread holding his skin shut. Blood soaked the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso, dripping slowly onto the floor beneath him.

The table legs were rusted. There was no equipment nearby. Just him.

I took a step forward and almost slipped, catching myself on the edge of a metal tray stand.

The floor was slick with blood. I stared at Tom—his face pale, lips parted, eyes fluttering but not quite open. His breathing was shallow and uneven. His fingers twitched weakly at his side.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry.

I couldn’t think. I could only move closer, one careful step at a time, trying not to fall, trying not to look at the wounds too closely.

"What did Emiliano do to you?..."

Tom mumbled still unconscious:

"Luther dying..."

"What?"