Chapter 160: Mouthwash 2

BONNIE

When it came to Ryker, he hesitated. He looked at me, his eyes red-rimmed and wet, and for a moment I saw the boy he must have been before the violence, before the disillusionment.

"I hope it hurts," he whispered to me, so quietly only I could hear. "I hope it burns."

Then he turned to Madeline and nodded, once, sharp and jerky. "Sure. I consent. Let’s get this over with."

Madeline’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes softened slightly. She placed the bowl on a nearby table and held up the knife. "Each of you must offer a drop of blood. The bond requires a physical anchor."

The others lined up, cutting their palms and letting the red drops fall into the bowl. The sound was soft, rhythmic, like rain on stone.

I took it too, even though it wasn’t necessary for me. I took a deep breath with the blade in my hands and, without hesitation, sliced across my palm, squeezing my fist to let the blood flow. It hurt, but it was a clean pain, honest and deserved.

Ryker went last. He tossed the knife aside, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, and spat into the bowl. The sound was wet and deliberate, his blood mixing with the others as he stared down at it without a trace of hesitation.

Madeline got the bowl back and raised it in both hands, her eyes closing, and her lips moving in a language I didn’t recognize. The air in the room grew heavy, pressing against my skin like a physical weight. My blood seemed to sing in my veins, resonating with whatever she was calling forth.

"By blood and truth," she intoned, her voice taking on a resonant quality that seemed to come from everywhere at once, "let the loyal stand and the treacherous fall. Let the bond be sealed."

She lowered the bowl, and the moment the last syllable left her lips, the magic snapped into place.

It felt like a hook catching behind my sternum, a line connecting me to every other person in the room. I could feel them, faint but distinct, like echoes in a vast hall. Bradley’s presence was a solid wall of duty and resolve. The other sentinels were flickering candles of fear and loyalty. And Ryker...

Ryker screamed.

It wasn’t a sound of pain, exactly. It was a sound of recognition, of something inside him breaking apart under the weight of the truth. He clutched at his chest, his face going white, then red, then a terrible purple. He coughed, and blood sprayed from his mouth, dark and arterial, splattering across the front of his uniform.

"No," I gasped, rushing forward, my hands already glowing blue with healing light. "No, no, no—"

I reached him as he collapsed to his knees, my hands pressing against his chest, trying to push the light into him, trying to hold his life in his body by sheer force of will. But he shoved me away, his palm striking my shoulder with surprising strength, sending me sprawling backward.

"Don’t," he choked out, blood bubbling at his lips. "Don’t you dare... heal me. It is not like it will do much."

"Ryker, please," I begged, scrambling back to him, tears blurring my vision. "Let me help you. I can fix this. I can—"

"You can’t fix what’s broken," he wheezed, his eyes finding mine one last time. They were clearing, the madness burning away to reveal something terrible and honest underneath. "It’s better this way. Better than living in your world. In their privileged world."

He turned his head, looking at Bradley, at the other sentinels, at the ceiling where the lights hummed with sterile indifference.

"Fuck you," he whispered, the words barely audible, wet and rattling. "Fuck you all. Fuck the sheep. Fuck the Beta. Fuck the King." His eyes found me again, and the corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "And fuck you too, Bonner... Well, I guess it is Bonnie now. I hope it hurts. I hope it..."

He coughed again, a great, wracking spasm that shook his whole frame, and then he went still. His eyes stayed open, fixed on some point beyond the ceiling, beyond the room, beyond us all. The blood stopped flowing from his mouth. The tension left his body.

He was gone.

I sat there on my knees, my hands still glowing uselessly, my face wet with tears I hadn’t realized I was crying. The room was silent except for my ragged breathing and the shifting of feet as the other sentinels backed away from the body.

Bradley stepped forward, his boots stopping just beside Ryker’s outstretched hand. He looked down at the dead man with an expression I couldn’t read, something between regret and resignation.

"Well," Bradley murmured, his voice quiet in the sudden stillness. "I suppose that answers the question of who the traitor was and it clears your name."

"He does not have magic," I muttered. "I know he does not."

He looked up at me, his eyes hard but not unkind. "But he did do something against the crown. He will be checked, of course. But... He made his choice. You tried to save him. That’s more than he deserved, and more than he wanted."

I stared at Ryker’s face, at the peace that had settled over his features in death, and I wondered if he had finally found the justice he’d been looking for, or if he had simply escaped the only way he knew how.

The magic of the soul bond hummed in my chest, a cold reminder that truth, once demanded, could not be unmade. Ryker had been guilty of something—perhaps only of despair, perhaps of something more concrete—and the magic had judged him for it.

I wiped my face with my sleeve, smearing blood and tears across my skin, and I stood up on shaking legs. The others were watching me, waiting to see if I would break, if I would scream, if I would lose control again.

I didn’t. I just stood there, looking at the body of a man who had hated me, who had blamed me, who had died cursing my name, and I felt the weight of it settle into my bones like lead.

Tonight, I would tell Lysander everything. Because if I didn’t, if I kept carrying these secrets until they poisoned me from the inside out, I would end up just like Ryker. Broken. Alone. Dying with hate on my lips instead of love.

I couldn’t let that happen.

"Get him out of here," Bradley ordered, his voice returning to its usual clipped authority. "And someone get her some water. She looks like she’s about to collapse."

I didn’t argue. I just let them lead me to a chair, my eyes still fixed on Ryker’s empty gaze, and I tried to remember how to breathe.