Daniel didn't turn to face Julian. He didn't have the courage. Instead, his finger tightened on the trigger, the barrel of his gun still pressed hard against Ren's temple.
"If I'm going to hell today, Vane, I'm taking your soul with me!" Daniel shrieked.
Time seemed to liquefy. Ren saw the hammer of Daniel's gun pull back. He saw the frantic, wide-eyed terror in Julian's face as he lunged. But most of all, he saw Vane.
Vane didn't fire his weapon. He knew the trajectory. He knew that a bullet from his own gun might ricochet in the glass-heavy room.
Without a second of hesitation, the man who had always been a predator became a shield. Vane threw himself across the distance, his massive frame eclipsing the light, shoving Ren out of the chair and toward the floor.
CRACK.
The sound of the gunshot was deafening in the marble hall.
Ren hit the floor, the world spinning. He scrambled to his knees, his breath hitching in a sob, expecting to see Daniel dead.
Daniel was down—Julian had finally reached him, driving a shoulder into the man's chest and sending them both crashing into a glass display.
But Vane… Vane was still standing. Or at least, he was trying to.
He was hunched over, his hand pressed firmly against the center of his chest. Blood—dark, hot, and terrifyingly fast—began to seep through his fingers, staining the white linen of his shirt.
"Vane?" Ren whispered, the word a plea to a god he didn't believe in.
Vane turned his head slowly, his face ashen, his eyes searching for Ren in the chaos. He took one step toward Ren, then his knees gave out. He hit the floor with a heavy thud, the sound echoing louder than the gunshot.
Ren was on him in a second, sliding across the marble, pulling Vane's head into his lap.
"No, no, no... Vane, look at me. Stay with me!"
Vane's breathing was a shallow, wet rasp. He looked up at Ren, and for the first time, there was no master, no monster—just a man. He reached up, his bloodied hand shaking as he touched the silver thorn in Ren's ear.
"No one... will take you away from me," Vane whispered, the words bubbling with a crimson stain at his lips. "Even if that means... I have to die."
"Don't say that! You're Vane Blackwood! You don't die!" Ren screamed, pressing his hands over the wound in Vane's chest, trying to hold the life inside him. The blood was so warm, so much of it, soaking into Ren's shirt, bonding them in the most horrific way possible.
Ren's love for the man flared into something blinding and agonizing. Every mark Vane had left on him, every harsh word, every possessive touch—it all crystallized into a singular, desperate need. He realized then that he didn't just belong to Vane; he was Vane.
Vane's eyes began to glaze over. The hand on Ren's cheek lost its strength, sliding down to rest over Ren's heart. His eyelids fluttered, a long, shaky exhale escaping him.
"Ren..."
And then, Vane's eyes closed, his body going limp in Ren's arms as he succumbed to the overwhelming pain and the loss of blood.
"Wake up, my love! Don't leave me!" Ren's voice tore through the gallery, a primal, gut-wrenching cry of a soul being ripped in half. He rocked Vane's body back and forth, his tears mixing with the blood on Vane's chest.
"Julian! Help him! Please, someone help him!"
Julian scrambled away from the unconscious Daniel, his face pale with horror. He fell to his knees beside them, his hands hovering over his father's body. "We have to get him to the extraction point. The medics are in the basement. Move, Ren! We have to move!"
But Ren couldn't move. He held Vane's head to his chest, his eyes fixed on the man's still face. The world outside was still screaming—the city was still in darkness, the fires were still burning—but for Ren, the entire universe had shrunk to the space between two heartbeats. One that was steady and frantic, and one that had just gone silent.
"You said I was yours," Ren whispered into Vane's ear, his voice breaking. "You said you'd never let me go. Don't you dare lie to me now."