March from Darkness | ✓ (to be edited)

TWENTY-FIVE

Before the chapter begins, I want to thank the sweet and talented BecomeEthereal for creating all-new covers for me.

DEMITRI

"I'm leaving, Dom."

His eyes widened slightly as I stood before him, placing my gun and the patch from my jacket that marked me as his right-hand on the edge of the bed.

"What do you mean you're leaving?" He gaped at me. "Dem, you can't just-"

"I have to, Dominick," I interrupted. "I'm sorry, I really am, but I have to leave."

Dom's bright blue eyes widened in disbelief as I stepped back, taking out my pocket knife and bringing the blade to my palm. Right as I pressed the tip into the sensitive skin, Dom's hand fell over mine, grabbing my wrist. My eyes snapped up to him as those strange blue eyes glared at me. "Demitri, you cannot leave. You know what the punishment is for leaving."

I squared my shoulders, pulling my hand from his grasp. "And I'm more than willing to pay that price."

I felt more than a bit guilty at leaving the brotherhood, leaving the man who had helped me for so many years, leaving the family that had helped shape me from the disgusting little girl I had been brought here as and into the man I was today. The man in front of me had become more of a brother to me than my own had been. He genuinely cared for me and my well-being, and I knew for a fact that if he had his way, he would have kept me out of this life. Unfortunately, caring for me also meant that he had to keep an even tougher front when it came to our rivals, which, in turn, meant that I had to be protected and put to use.

"Look," he started, "I know that it's been hard on you since Ko-"

"This has nothing to do with that!" I snapped, briefly taking him back before he just looked pissed. I rarely yelled at him, I rarely ever raised my voice in general. I sighed heavily before I took in a deep breath and continued, in a quieter tone. "This has nothing to do with that, Dom. I can't stay here. I don't know what will happen if I do, but I have to move. I don't want any of you to get hurt because of something that is beyond all of our controls."

He laughed for a moment before he sobered a little. "Dem, nothing is beyond our control, not even death."

"This is the one thing that might actually be," I warned. "I refuse to be responsible for you all actually dying."

"Okay, now you're scaring me, dude. What's wrong?"

Did I trust him enough to tell him? Would he even believe me if I told him the truth? Maybe he'd see me as crazy and unstable enough that he would just let me leave. I certainly felt crazy enough, and I was the one it affected.

Before I could stop myself, I sat down on the bed in front of him and told him everything. I told him about what actually happened to me in Vermont, what actually happened to my parents, not the story I had made up about running away from my abusive family; what had actually happened to Koralai; what had subsequently happened to Roland; everything. I left nothing out, told him every single particular.

As my real story went on, I saw him go through various stages of denial: disbelief, anger, heartache, betrayal, enjoyment, all wrapped into one single session of emotional and verbal vomiting. Sometime during the middle of my story, he had moved from where he had stood and had begun pacing in front of me, his hand cupping the bottom half of his face in thought.

When I was done, finally, he just stared at me, his eyes blank, expression neutral, like he didn't know how he was supposed to feel. I kept my eyes downcast most of the time, feeling ashamed that everything I had ever built with this person was built on a mound of lies. He took me in, thinking I had run away from an abusive family; he hadn't known I had killed my family for their abuses. I had told him that I had found Koralai dead in our apartment two months ago, which wasn't entirely false, but I had left out the part that I had killed her. We had all found Roland dead, supposedly killed by our primary rivals, which wasn't totally unbelievable; I hadn't told him that I had been the one to slit the fucker's throat, watched him choke on his blood while I stood, emotionless, over his body.