Gods & Monsters (Serpent & Dove #3) by Shelby Mahurin

I stared at him for a second too long, swallowing hard. And then—

“Ansel.” My voice broke on his name.

His gaze softened as he came to stand beside me, extending a slender hand to help me to my feet. Hardly daring to breathe, I accepted it tentatively and marveled at its warmth. When he glanced down at his broken body, his smile dimmed slightly, and he shook his head. “What are you doing here, Lou?”

I still didn’t have an answer.

It didn’t matter, however, as Nicholina’s shock had worn off. She whooped with crazed hysteria, reeling backward in glee. “Oh, the baby mouse. The little pinkie, little pup.” Her expression hardened. “The boy who doesn’t know when it’s time to give up.”

He met her glare with an equally hostile one, his fingers still bracing mine. “No one is giving up here.”

She charged without warning, stabbing her knife at him, and he vanished with a wink in my direction. My heart seized at his absence. When she whirled to find him—slashing her knife through the smoke and spewing a torrent of curses—he reappeared behind her without a sound and tapped her shoulder. She nearly leapt out of her skin.

A snort burst from me unexpectedly.

Ansel grinned again.

Recovering quickly, Nicholina struck out once more, harder and faster this time. Ansel didn’t move, but allowed her blade to pierce him—except it didn’t pierce him at all. It simply stuck an inch from his chest, jammed midair as if she’d plunged it into an invisible brick wall. His grin widened. “You can’t kill me. I’m already dead.”

“I do not fear the dead,” she snarled.

He leaned closer. “You’re probably the only one who should. I’ve recently met some of your enemies, Nicholina—splintered souls and vengeful witches and even a few of the king’s children. They’re all waiting for you.”

I stepped closer, looping my elbow through his and ignoring the chill down my spine at his words. The certainty in them. I focused instead on the euphoric tingle in my chest, the warmth spreading through my limbs. His arm felt solid in mine. Real. I couldn’t have stopped my grin if I’d tried. Which I didn’t. “I bet they have all sorts of fun things planned for you.”

He inclined his head. “Fun is one word.”

“You’re lying.” Nicholina lunged again, and he stepped in front of me, blocking her knife. The movement held a sort of grace, or perhaps confidence, he’d never achieved in life. Fascinated, morbidly curious—and something else, something that weighed heavy in my chest—I plucked the knife from midair, paced backward twice, and threw it at him.

He caught it without hesitation—without even looking, the cheeky bastard—and I laughed again, unable to help myself. That heavy sensation in my chest lessened slightly when he blushed. “This is an interesting development,” I said.

“Lots of those going around.” He lifted a brow before pressing the knife back into my hand. Though Nicholina sprang for it, she couldn’t seem to move past him to reach me. The wall he’d erected held firm. He didn’t acknowledge her efforts, so I didn’t either. “The Lou I knew wouldn’t have given up,” he continued softly. My grin vanished. “She would’ve fought, and she would’ve won.”

My own words were barely audible. I spoke through numb lips. “Not without you, she wouldn’t have.”

“You’ve never needed me, Lou. Not like I needed you.”

“Look where that got you.” I closed my eyes, a fat tear rolling down my cheek. “I’m so sorry, Ansel. I—I should’ve protected you. I never should’ve let you come with me.”

“Lou.”

My chin quivered.

“Lou,” he repeated, voice soft. “Look at me. Please.” When I still didn’t, he turned his back on Nicholina completely, drawing me into a hug. My arms wrapped around his slender torso of their own volition, and though they shook, they held on tight. Too tight. Like they’d never let him go again. “I didn’t want to be protected. I wanted to help you—”

“You did—”

“I know I did,” he said firmly, squeezing me once before drawing back. My arms remained locked around him. Removing them one at a time, he disentangled himself gently, stronger now than before. Strong and graceful and confident. Another tear spilled over. “And I’m going to help you again.” He nodded toward Nicholina, who thrashed against the invisible barrier. “You’ll have to kill her.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Try harder.” He squeezed my fingers around the knife’s hilt. “A wound to the arm won’t do it. The waters have healed you both of superficial injuries. You won’t be able to drown her, either.” He glanced over his shoulder to where she raged, all but invisible, and a flash of pity crossed his warm brown eyes. “She’s lived too long with her emotions. She’s numb to them now.”

“She isn’t numb to her son.”

He turned back around to look at me. “You’d rather kill her slowly? Make her suffer?”

“No.” The word rose to my lips unbidden. I frowned, realizing its truth. Despite the heinous things she’d done—to me, to Etienne, to God knew who else—I couldn’t forget the sense of longing she’d felt in that lavender field with Mathieu, the despair and hopelessness and shame. The fear. We cannot do this, she’d said to La Voisin. Not the children. Loathing burned up from my stomach to my throat. She’d still done it. She’d still killed them. And perhaps that was punishment in itself.