They still had Julius. He was pale. Blood stained his torn shirt. He was shrunken. Defeated. Complete and utter grief stained his face. “Let him go, you fucking bastard,” I bit out. I was almost lost to the storm of pain that tore through me, but I held on to consciousness with every ounce of willpower I had. I had to stay conscious. Had to stay in the here and now. Seth’s hand dropped from his arm. Julius remained as still as marble. Why wasn’t he moving? Fighting? There was something wrong. His face was pinched tight, his lips compressed in a straight line. His eyes dull. Almost dead. He was on edge. What the fuck was going on? I tried to will the words into his mind. Fight. Resist. Be free. If only he could hear me. “Julius?” I croaked. His eyes flickered to me. The grief, so stark and strong, made me breathless. “There was no choice.” “No choice? I know you know Seth, but it’s okay. I won’t let them torture you.” Pain edged the blackness closer. I wouldn’t let them use Julius the way they used Heather.
