Chapter 10

Rilla’s POV

"Just a few more inches," I whispered to the empty air. "Then it can finally be over."

My palms scraped against the rough gravel of the rooftop. Every inch of movement was a battle against my own failing body. My lungs felt like they were filled with glass, and the sweat on my skin turned cold in the wind. I dragged myself toward the edge, my legs trailing behind like dead weight.

I reached the low concrete wall and hauled myself up. For the first time in six years, the sun actually hit my face. It wasn't the dim, artificial glow of a cell or the flickering lights of a hallway. It was real. The light was golden and heavy, warming my bruised skin. The breeze felt like a hand brushing hair away from my forehead. It was peaceful. It was the kind of quiet I had forgotten existed.

I leaned my head against the ledge and closed my eyes. I needed one last moment. I needed to see him.

I went back to that day. I remembered the weight of him in my arms, a tiny bundle of cloth and warmth. His face was so small, no bigger than the palm of my hand, and he smelled like milk and new life. In that darkness, he was the only thing that made sense. He was my light.

"Rue," I murmured.

I had carried him for nine months, feeling every kick and every quiet stir. I only got to hold him for a single day before they tore him away. That one day was burned into my mind. I could still feel the phantom heat of his tiny body against my chest.

I gripped the edge of the wall, my knuckles turning white.

"I’m sorry, Rue," I choked out. "Mommy is so sorry. I told you I would find you. I promised I would come back and take you home. But I can't do it. I’m just too tired to fight them anymore. This world won."

He would be five now. I pictured him playing in a garden somewhere, maybe running through the grass. I hoped he was strong. I hoped someone was kind to him, someone who didn't see him as a weapon or a mistake.

"Goodbye, my sweet boy," I whispered.

I forced my eyes open. The decision was like a cold stone in my stomach. I pushed my chest over the ledge, my fingers slipping on the concrete. I was ready to fall into the silence.

"Hey!"

The shout cracked through the air. I knew that voice. I didn't turn around. If I looked back, I might hesitate, and I couldn't afford that. Fifteen floors was plenty. Even for a pureblood, a fall like this was a death sentence, especially in the state I was in. I was a shell. I wouldn't survive the impact.

I lunged forward, letting my center of gravity tip over the abyss. One leg cleared the wall. I felt the air rushing up to meet me.

Suddenly, a hand clamped onto my shoulder like a vice. I was yanked backward with enough force to snap my neck. My back slammed into a hard, muscular chest. Thick arms wrapped around me, pinning my limbs to my sides.

I hated how fast they were. I hated the strength of an Alpha.

"Let go!" I screamed, though it came out as a raspy cough.

I struggled, kicking my useless legs, but the grip only tightened. I turned my head and sank my teeth into the arm holding me. I bit down hard, tasting the metallic tang of blood as my fangs pierced the skin. The man didn't even flinch. He just held me tighter, a wall of warm meat and bone that I couldn't break.

"You crazy bitch," a new voice spat.

Philip walked into my line of sight. His face was a mask of pure rage, his eyes glowing with a dark, predatory light. He looked like he wanted to tear me apart with his bare hands. He stepped forward and shoved the man holding me aside.

Before I could breathe, Philip’s hand was around my throat. He lifted me off my feet, his fingers digging into my windpipe. I looked at him, my vision blurring at the edges, but I didn't look away. I didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me blink.

"You want to die so badly?" Philip growled. His voice was low, vibrating through my chest. "Fine. I’ll help you."

He didn't pull me away from the ledge. He pushed me over it.

He held me out over the empty air, suspended by nothing but his grip on my neck. My feet dangled over the fifteen-story drop. I felt the wind whipping at my hair, pulling at my clothes. All he had to do was open his hand.

"Alpha Philip, stop!" someone shouted from the roof entrance. I recognized Romilly’s voice. "We still need her. She’s the only way!"

"Philip, think for a second," another voice said. It was Royal. He sounded worried. "You need her for Rosamund. Think about the goal. Don't throw it away because you're angry."

The mention of that name made Philip pause. His grip loosened just a fraction. I could see the conflict in his eyes. He was thinking of her. He was thinking of his precious, perfect Rosamund.

A bubble of bitter laughter rose in my throat. I let it out, a jagged, broken sound.

"Rosamund?" I wheezed. My voice was thin, but I made sure he heard me. "That... that pathetic girl is still breathing?"

Philip’s eyes narrowed. The air around him seemed to turn cold.

"I should have aimed higher," I whispered, a slow smile spreading across my cracked lips. "I should have put a bullet right through her head."

The silence that followed was terrifying. I could feel the pulse jumping in Philip's hand.

"Philip, don't," Royal warned, stepping closer. "She’s doing this on purpose. She wants you to do it."

Philip didn't look at him. He didn't look at Romilly. He just stared at me with a look of utter loathing.

"You don't deserve another second of life," he said.

He opened his hand.

The support vanished. Gravity took hold, dragging me down into the blue sky. The shouts of the men on the roof grew faint and distant, swallowed by the roar of the wind in my ears. I closed my eyes and smiled.

"Finally," I thought.