Chapter 72

“Before they could reach him, his car flew over a guardrail into the river. They’re searching for him now, but it doesn’t look good.”

I’m hit with panic. “You’re talking about Ethan?”

He looks from Ansel to me. He catches sight of my arm and pauses. Then he nods.

Ansel watches me, almost helplessly, as I take off out of the room. I shove my way past Henry and race down the corridor.

I fly into the chauffeur's office. By luck, he’s nowhere in sight. The light’s on and there’s a full mug of tea, like he just stepped out. I rummage in the drawer where he handed me the car key from for my trip into town. I grab a random one, and then run through the hall to one of the side doors.

The gravel crunches under my feet as I make my way to the line-up of cars. I hit “unlock” and bolt to the one that lights up.

I drive like a bat out of hell until I come to the road that runs along the river. My heart is in my stomach.

Ada? Can you tell anything?

Ansel may have severed my link with Ethan, but I know Ada might sense something from Ethan’s wolf.

I’m met with crickets.

It should worry me, but I’m too frantic.

I’ll deal with that later.

I hit a hill, and as I start to descend it, I see a huge line of cars. The gammas, but also, civilians, police, and an ambulance.

Next, I see the twisted guardrail. It’s a sickening sight.

I pull up alongside the road and get out. I push my way past the gammas, who seem to recognize me.

Ethan’s car is flipped upside down in the river, still swollen from the heavy downpour we got a few nights ago.

Wolves are patrolling down the river bank, trying to catch his scent.

Suddenly, there’s a loud splash. I rush forward to see, but a police officer catches me.

“Back up,” she says. Then she yells at the citizens trying to line up closer at the scene. “Get back,” she yells at them.

“Prince Ansel’s men were chasing him,” says a lady behind me. “I saw the whole thing. They nearly ran me off the road, too.”

I turn around. The whole crowd of people is staring at her, too, wondering what to make of it.

“I was coming in from the opposite direction,” says a balding man in a flannel shirt. “That man had a whole fleet of cars chasing him.”

My breath quickens. I clench my jaw in anger.

Standing off to the side, several yards away, I notice a small, brown-eyed boy. He looks frightened and shaky.

Feet pound up the river bank. A group of men come, hurriedly carrying Ethan’s body, I realize, with a thud in my stomach, as two EMTs race towards them.

They place the soaked, muddied, body on the ground and begin to work rapidly. I’m filled with fear. I can make out Ethan’s legs and arms, hanging loosely to his side. The paramedics are yelling “clear” and then we hear the jolt from a defibrillator. Ethan is still. They try again. I hear the instruction to clear and then the loud “beep.” But there’s nothing.

No.

One member of the team shifts position, and I see Ethan’s face. His eyes are closed. His pallor is a sick blue.

In a daze, I back out of the crowd and hurry into the car, just as a couple of local news vans pull up nearby. I put my head against the edge of the steering wheel and sob.

He just wanted to help me… and now this. Rationally, I know it’s not my fault, but it still feels like I’m to blame.

I wasn’t in love with him, but he meant something important. The bond we forged while he was carrying for me as a patient was strong. I believe what he said, when he told me that we shared something special through that process - that he knew my spirit.

He not only healed me, he saved me from the pit of depression. And he reminded me of who I am. A ballerina. I picture the beautiful shoes he had made for me, replay the words of encouragement to begin dancing again.

It didn’t feel the same kissing him, as it does with Ansel - that is, unfortunately, in a league all its own - but the sparks were undeniable, and the affection was there.

I think back to his green eyes and the dimples that appeared whenever he smiled. Which was often. I haven’t met many people as sunny. Another contrast to Ansel.

Then I remember his bluish, lifeless face, and droopy, mud-covered body.

Tears start to rush down my cheeks again.

My mind flitters back to Ansel’s attack and the gushing blood out of Ethan’s shoulder. Anger takes over me.

I start the car and yank the steering wheel to turn back around to the manor.

I’ve had enough. I’m done with brutality. The men who came after my father and put me on the auction block were enough. I don’t need a lover like this. I’m done with Ada, too, and her misdirection - clouding my own logic and reason.

I want to find my way back to my life before, as a dancer. That’s what fills my soul. I have to find it again, somehow. And I promised Ethan. I won’t let his death be completely in vain.

I’m going to leave.