“Then it’s a mercy killing.”
Burst blood vessels filled the whites of Johnathan’s eyes.
Reese gripped the blade.
Agony contorted Johnathan’s features, and ichor replaced his tears.
Phillips was right. They would never make it to Luca in time, even if they knew his exact location.
And if giving Johnathan blood didn’t work, at least Reese could say he tried. A claim he couldn’t make all the other times he’d left someone to suffer.
Reese dragged the blade across the palm of his fist, and blood welled up between his fingers.
He moved closer.
Johnathan grabbed his forearm. “Don’t.”
“She said it would help.” Reese thought for a moment Phillips might have lied, then tendrils of ichor snaked from the crater growing in Johnathan’s chest, reaching for Reese.
“She’s right, isn’t she?”
Green and yellow bruises discolored Johnathan’s cheeks.
“If it will help, why won’t you let me?”
“She’s right.” Johnathan’s voice crumbled. “It’s always about blood.”
Reese tried to get closer. “Then let me—”
Johnathan held him back.
“My brother bit you. But it’s not my blood mixed with yours. You do this, it could blood tie us.”
Reese tried to swallow. “Then what else can I do?”
Johnathan’s silence gave Reese the answer.
“You saidcould. Notwould. That means there’s a chance it won’t. What are the probabilities? Numbers. I need numbers.” With numbers, Reese could weigh the risks.
Johnathan’s lips cracked.
“Twenty-five, fifty? What’s the percentage? I need to know because it’s a hundred percent certain you will die if I don’t at least try.”
“Take him Phillipsss—” The side of Johnathan’s neck split. “Awwaaa—”
There was no emotion in Phillip's voice when she answered. “That’s his choice to make.”
The anger in Johnathan’s eyes almost survived the white film rushing over the lens.
Johnathan’s hand shriveled, and his grip fell away. The flesh of his fingertips crumbled, exposing bone.
Reese swung his hand over the wound in Johnathan’s chest, leaving a trail of blood droplets. He opened his fingers, but the pressure of making a fist had almost stopped the bleeding. The few sprinkles disappeared into the ichor.
“Goddamn it.” Reese tried to cut his palm again, but his hands shook too much.
Phillips took the knife from Reese and swiped it across Reese’s forearm. A new flow of blood waterfalled into the open wound, and black threads seized Reese’s wrist.
But they didn’t flow gently over his skin like they did to Luca. They swarmed Reese’s hand and burrowed into the wound. Ice seared his veins, invisible ants crawled through his muscles, wove around his tendons, and razor-bladed his lungs, leaving no room for air.