Chapter 3 Mirabel's last breath

Natalie POV.

I opened the door.

Maribel fell through.

She hit the floor on her hands and knees. Blood soaked her shirt. Blood in her hair. Blood on the floor under her hands, spreading in a slow ring across the tile.

I caught her before she faceplanted.

"Maribel-"

"Close it." Her voice was wet. "Close the door."

I kicked it shut behind her. Bolts. Wheel. Lock.

The hallway went quiet on the other side. That quiet was wrong. It meant the shooting had stopped. It meant whoever was out there had stopped needing to shoot.

Amelia was on her feet, eyes wide.

"Stay back," I said.

"Nat-"

"Stay back."

I pulled Maribel against the wall and checked her.

Two wounds. One in her side. One high on her shoulder. The shoulder was bad. The side was worse.

"Hold this." I grabbed her hand and pressed it to her side. "Press hard."

She did. Barely. Her fingers were cold.

"Amelia." I didn't look away from Maribel. "Get the first aid kit. Shelf two."

Amelia didn't move.

"Now."

She moved.

The kit was small. Gauze, tape, antiseptic, scissors. I'd repacked it three times since we moved into the packhouse. I knew exactly what was in it and exactly how little of it there was.

I cut Maribel's shirt open and pressed a gauze pad to her shoulder. It went red in seconds. I taped it down and moved to her side. Pressed. Taped. Watched the white turn pink, then red.

The blood kept coming.

"Keep pressing here," I told Amelia.

She pressed.

Her hands were shaking. She pressed anyway.

Maribel's eyes found mine.

"Nat."

"I'm here."

"He..." She coughed. Blood on her lip. "He opened the doors."

"Who."

She swallowed. Her throat worked like she was trying to push the word out.

"Darius."

My chest stopped.

"Darius?"

"My son." Her eyes filled. "My son opened the doors."

I stared at her.

Darius. Maribel's son. The pack's alpha-heir. The man who'd eaten dinner at my table two weeks ago and told Amelia she had the best laugh he'd ever heard.

He'd helped her cut her pancakes.

"No," I said.

"He did."

"He wouldn't-"

"He did." Her grip tightened on my wrist. "Nat. Listen."

"I'm listening."

"Not now." Her voice cracked. "Not here. Listen when I'm-"

She didn't finish.

I pressed harder on her side. The gauze was soaked through.

"Maribel. Stay with me."

Her eyes drifted toward the ceiling. Then back to me.

"East fence," she said.

"What?"

"East fence. Third post." Her voice was thin. "He hid it there."

"Hid what?"

She didn't answer. Her mouth moved. No sound.

"Maribel."

Her grip loosened.

I didn't move.

I sat there with my hands covered in her blood and my fingers pressed against awound that had already given up.

"Maribel."

Nothing.

"Maribel!"

Her chest stopped moving.

I put two fingers to her neck. Nothing. I put my ear to her mouth. Nothing. I pressed my palm flat over her heart and waited.

Nothing.

Amelia made a sound. Small. Choked.

I didn't turn around.

"Nat."

Her voice came from far away.

I still didn't move.

"She's not moving," she whispered.

"No."

"Is she-"

"Yes."

Amelia started to cry.

Quiet. Small. The kind she did when she didn't want anyone to hear.

I wanted to hold her. I couldn't move. My hands were red and Maribel's eyes were open and I couldn't make myself close them.

The safe room smelled like copper.

The TV on the other side of the wall was playing a commercial for laundry detergent.

I don't know how long we sat there.

Long enough that the blood stopped spreading.

Long enough that Amelia stopped crying.

Long enough that my knees went numb from the concrete.

I finally pulled my hands away from Maribel's body. They came away wet. I wiped them on my jeans. The denim went dark.

"Amelia."

She looked up.

"Get your bag."

She stood. She didn't ask why.

I checked the door.

Locked. Bolted. Chained.

I checked the vent.

Nothing moving in the hallway.

I looked at Maribel one more time. Her face was turned toward the wall. Her hair was stuck to her cheek.

I couldn't leave her like that.

I pulled the blanket off the safe-room cot and laid it over her. Head to knees. Like she was sleeping. Like she'd wake up.

She wouldn't.

"Ready," Amelia said.

Her backpack was on. Her shoes were on. She was holding her jacket in one hand.

I grabbed the first aid kit. My knife. The metal box in the corner - the one with the keycard still missing. I didn't know why I took it. Habit, maybe. Proof.

I cracked the door.

The hallway was empty. Bodies at the far end. Smoke near the ceiling.

I stepped out first.

Then I heard it.

Footsteps.

In the hall. Slow. Steady. Coming from the direction of the east wing.

I pushed Amelia back inside and put my body in front of the door.

The footsteps got closer.

Then a voice. Low. Familiar.

"Natalie?"

Darius.

End of Chapter Three