Lahat ng Kabanata ng His Sworn Enemy; His Deepest Desire : Kabanata 81 - Kabanata 86

TRISTAN“What’s going to happen now?” Eric asked, his eyes puffy. He’d been rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms and groaning into his palms until a few seconds ago. He looked utterly disheveled. How a man could become so reduced in a manner of moments, simply because the one he loved had been taken away…I understood it. But I didn’t want to allow myself to go down that path. All I could do right now was see how I could get to William. And Caleb. FAST.I couldn’t say that I knew much of my brother—I’d abandoned almost every single thing that tied me so that I could focus on running the company. Losing my father had not been easy—but if there was one thing I knew about Caleb, it was that he needed help. He was much too unstable to left alone by himself for too long.I was sad, and broken, but I was angry and that was good. Right now, I channeled that anger into a small stream that had me flexing my wrist in small movements. I was not going to lose focus of what needed to be d

My head felt like a miniature sun was going off in it, imploding, exploding… way too loud and bright. All I could think of was the sound of meat crunching down a staircase and the sharp, clean break of bone… the strong metal scent of blood, and Tristan’s voice drilling into my ears as he crushed my bones in a hug.“You’re going to be alright, William. It’s alright. You’re going to be alright…”My eyes couldn’t leave the sight on the floor, Caleb on the floor, head bashed in terribly and bleeding, a woman that looked familiar to me, in cuffs, crying, “Caleb! Caleb, no!”Adam stepped into view, cutting off my vision.“Tristan,” he rushed to slip an arm under his boss. “You’re hurt?”“I’m fine,” Tristan brushed him away. He was still trying to keep me straight and hold me up. “William’s hurt bad. Can you get paramedic? Damn it, Adam, I’m fine. I’ll survive. It’s just a shoulder wound. Get the medics.”I zoned everything out. The million swarming cop cars and the cacophony of their wailin

My breath misted out in front of me as I moved, booted heels clopping against the cold interlocked streets of Paris. It was beautiful this time of year, and impossibly cold, too. I shivered slightly against the cold wind that blew again, hugging my tan trench coat around myself even tighter.I thought I heard someone—something familiar, and turned around, my breaths exhaling into the air with a cold imprecise clarity that frosted the air just in front of me. A picturesque view met my eyes.Pale-faced, fast-speaking French people who moved about, twisting and bowing their heads, nodding in conversation, shivering in the cold and folding their arms and stuffing them in their armpits, others cuddling and pretending they were in some cinematic effect, the tall hazy outline of the Eiffel tower in the background and the occasional honk of a car.I exhaled again and brought my gloved hands to my lips.“They don’t talk about how cold it is in Paris,” a voice said behind