The blade sinks in with a wet, grinding resistance that I feel all the way up my arm and into my shoulder. His blood is hot, disgustingly hot. It spills over my fingers and down the bone handle in a rush.
Stephen's mouth opens.
No sound comes out.
His single eye is still wide with surprise. Like he genuinely didn't think I had it in me to fight back.
I rip the knife free.
Blood arcs from the wound and Stephen staggers backward. His hip hits the railing. The weakened metal buckles outward with a screech and for one suspended moment he hangs there, one hand clutching his throat.
His body tips backward over the railing and drops.
I watch him go.
He falls in silence, or maybe I've just lost my hearing from the roar of the fire and the blood pounding in my ears. He drops through the smoke and the churning orange light, his hair catching flame before he hits the stage. The burning curtain folds over him like a shroud.
The crescent scar on my neck screams.
It hurts so fucking bad, for a second, I think he shot me in the throat somehow. I double over on the catwalk, puking my guts up, both hands gripping the railing and the bloody knife clattering against the grating. My knees buckle.
The incomplete mark isdying.
The bond severing, the biological tether between my body and his snapping like a rope pulled past its breaking point.
It hurts so much I can't see.
Can't breathe.
The smoke is in my lungs. In my eyes. The catwalk is swaying and the metal is groaning and the fire is climbing and I'm going to pass out on a catwalk in a burning opera house and…
Arms.
Strong arms wrapping around my ribs, hauling me upright, pulling me against a massive chest.
"I've got you." Phoenix's voice, thick with smoke. "Bells, I've got you. Hold on to me."
I can't. My fingers are slick with blood and my arms won't cooperate and my vision is pulsing in and out like a strobe light.
He doesn't need me to hold on.
He lifts me against his body and moves.
I'm barely aware of anything but the sound of metal being pried apart, Raf shouting over the roar, and then cold air hitting my face hard enough to make me shiver in spite of the heat. I suck it in, my lungs convulsing as they try to expel the smoke and take in oxygen simultaneously. I'm coughing so hard my ribs cramp.
"Raf!" Phoenix shouts. "Here!"
Hands take me. Different hands. Calloused in different places, grip tighter, more urgent. Raf pulls me against his body and I feel his heartbeat jackrabbiting against my cheek.
"Bells." His voice breaks. "Fucking hell?—"
He's saying other things. In English, in Spanish. I can't parse any of it. The world is tilting like crazy and the rooftop gravel bites my knees because my legs aren't working.
Then Rex is there, his arms closing around me from behind. He's panting and bleeding, and when I look up at him, he looks fucking terrified as he snarls my name, the feral light in his one working eye burning brighter than the flames.
My head falls back.
The full moon hangs above us, impossibly bright against the dark sky stained orange by the smoky fire consuming the opera house below. Behind and below us, the building roars and crackles and the sirens are getting closer and the whole fucking world is burning.