Something is triggered inside of me. Something that belongs to the five-year-old girl who survived a massacre. Something that belongs to Teodora Fetisova, daughter of Lev, last of the Fetisov bloodline.
Something that belongs to a woman who didn’t come this far to die like this.
Kolya couldn’t get me then, but he has me now.
Not for long.
I don’t think about it. I just force my mouth open, that awful taste of sweat touching my tongue.
I bite.
I bite as hard as I can. I bite until I feel the flesh break and I can taste blood. I bite until Kolya screams a horrible howl of pain, and his grip loosens.
It’s enough for me to be able to slip out from under him and drop to the ground. Gabriel doesn’t need me or anyone else to tell him what to do.
“Fire!”
The single word is instantly drowned out by the sound of gunfire. Seemingly endless booms fill the air, and I roll over just in time to watch Kolya jerk back and forth with each bullet that slams into his body, his eyes wide and his mouth slacked open. Red blooms all over him as he staggers backward and then falls into a heap on the dirty floor.
I stay down, my eyes locked onto him, as my nose fills with the now-familiar scent of gunpowder. I want to make sure he’s dead.
I stand up slowly. My legs should be shaking, but they’re not. Instead, I feel calm, stable.
“Thea,” Gabriel says. “You?—”
I glance over my shoulder. “It’s okay.”
He lowers his hand, saying nothing as he walks to my side and kicks Kolya’s gun across the floor.
I approach Kolya, stopping when I’m looming over him. There’s no doubt that he’s dead. His body is still as stone, his mouth slack, his eyes wide. His shirt is soaked in blood.
The man who murdered my family and was going to kill me and my baby is finally dead.
I turn to Gabriel. He puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me up and down with frantic eyes, scanning for any signs of injury.
“Thea.Thea. Look at me. Are you hurt?”
“No.” My voice sounds weird, like it’s coming from a place very far away. “I’m alright, Gabriel.”
His hands find my stomach. He presses both palms flat against me gently. As he holds them there, I realize he’s crying.
Silent tears trickle down his cheek, running into the stubble on his jaw. He doesn’t wipe them away, doesn’t try to hide them. Instead, he just kneels there on the floor next to a dead man with his hands on my belly.
“I thought—” His voice breaks. He clears his throat. “When I didn’t have the shot. When he?—”
“I know.”
“If you had—if the baby?—”
“We’re okay.” I place my hands over his. “We’re here. We’re both here.”
He stands and pulls me into his arms. I grasp him tightly. We’re alive and our baby is alive. The monster who threatened us lies dead on the floor.
I feel safe.
It’s over.
It’s actually over.