Protector

Chapter XXVI

I inhaled, my breath catching when an electrifying pain greeted me.

My back.

Christian.

Blood.

His blood.

A shadow loomed over me. Someone touched my arm.

My eyes pried themselves open. My hand wrapped around their throat. The pain pulsing in my back was forgotten, instead replaced with murderous intent so vivid my eyes burned like the fires of Hell. Who are you?

The figure, who took on a stark resemblance to John, pried at my death grip with wide eyes.

"Oh my God! Stop!"

My head whipped around to see John rushing in.

Relief flooded into my bones. My grip on the John-lookalike slackened enough for him to scramble away and gasp for breath, slapping my hand away in his attempt.

I grimaced, clutching the bandages lining my torso. Someone grabbed pillows and set them behind me, nudging me into them. I blinked, finding John at my bedside and his lookalike staring at me before leaving the room.

I sat there, staring at my bandaged hands, at my torso, and the dull but present pulsing running down my back.

The screams of agony, the blistering fire when metal met flesh; the suffocating smell of iron-tangy blood filling my senses; the crushing realization I was going to die.

Despair, rage, pain, death.

When would it ever stop? When would I ever be at peace?

I clutched my head, clenching my jaw as tears rained down my face.

John pulled my hands away before embracing me. "It's okay, Malen'kiy Volk. It's okay, you're safe. I'm here." The former Hunter murmured as I trembled in his grasp. Whether it was from the pain of moving or the agonizing heartache I felt, I didn't know. (Little Wolf)

"H-How is any of this fair?" I cried, "how can he just be gone . . ."

"I'm so sorry," I smelled the faint salt of John's tears. "I'm sorry I couldn't save him."

I hiccupped, pulling away to gaze into the human's eyes. I shook my head and wiped his tears away. "It-It wasn't your fault, John," I swallowed the lump in my throat. "It was mine."

"Malen'kiy Volk . . ." (Little Wolf)

I met John's gaze. His eyes were almost the same shade as . . . as Christian's. "If I had just killed him back then—"

"You can't know that for sure."

"It might have changed something." It was futile. Nothing would change.

A soft smile curled the former Hunter's lips. "We wouldn't have met." He pressed.

"Christian would've lived longer."

"You couldn't have known this would happen. None of us could."

My lack of response earned me a sigh from the former Hunter. He rose from my bedside. "I'll go get you something to eat. You've been out for a while, so you must have quite an appetite."

He turned around a corner, gesturing to someone out of view. He smiled at me before disappearing.

John's lookalike returned, rubbing the side of his neck. He lingered near the threshold, his gaze straying to the decorated grey walls and the lamp beside the bed. "John's been worried about you. He didn't know when, or if, you'd wake up."