It's a fact that you can't help who you fall in love with. And for Rosaline Davenport and him, it definitely shouldn't have been each other.
Because, sometimes, love stories have blood on them.
[warning: this is the mother of all slow-burns]
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【 03.
Three
Khoon 】
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[ Khoon • blood ]
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ZACHARY’S HEART SKIPS several beats before it leaps to his throat and lodges itself there. Another shot rings out into the air, and this time his body reacts, one arm flying around Felix and pulling him close before his legs duck and lower him to the hard ground, taking Felix with him.
He forces out the sound of people screaming, of racing footsteps shaking the ground, and turns his face toward Felix, wincing when he feels one of the glass shards stuck in his neck dig further into his skin. “Felix,” he breathes out shakily, trying not to think about the warm liquid running down the cuts on his own neck and arms. “Felix, are you okay?”
“Zach, I’m fine,” Felix grunts out, shuffling on the floor and trying to sit up. “You pulled me down without warning—I think I cracked an elbow.”
“Stay down,” Zachary hisses, dragging the other guy back by his collar. “I’m not risking a bullet to the back of your head.”
Felix obliges, and Zachary can feel his friend’s body tensing, as if in fear of a third gunshot. He himself focuses on taking deep breaths, trying to calm his erratic heart. What the hell just happened?
“I can’t hear any more bullets; I think he’s gone,” Felix whispers after a while. “You think someone called the cops?”
“The mansion has an alarm system,” he mutters, “Father or Mother would’ve hit the emergency button; help would be here anytime now.”
And then he freezes, all over again. Because even though everyone here present can be in danger, this is still the Thorne mansion. Sebastian and Mehreen Hawthorne’s home. His parents’ home. Zachary’s mind races, one dot joining another one, forming connecting lines that lay out all sorts of theories in his head even in all the chaos burning around him. The guests at this party can be targeted anywhere, right? So, why here? Unless it isn’t about the guests, but the hosts. The residents of this house.
“Shit,” Zachary curses under his breath, a severe pounding in his ears. “Felix, I need to go.”
“What?” Felix yells. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?! You said yourself the shooter may be—”
“Stay down,” he orders, and then Zachary is on his feet, bolting through the open patio doors, one completely fine and the other shattered into shards, not feeling the pieces of glass cut into his flesh and ooze out more blood with every swing of his limbs.
