Divide

by Russo, Jessa

  “Miklaus! No!” Her screams filled the room, shrill and agonizing.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  Sorry for all the years I’d been through this, repeating the same path over and over. Sorry for the pain Holland had endured through reincarnation after reincarnation, time and time again. And I was sorry for this wicked, evil being. Sorry for the heartache she must have lived with for centuries.

  I squeezed my eyes shut against the horror of what I’d just done, though I was convinced that this was the only way to stop this once and for all. The witch had to die, and the curse would die with her.

  As I held her over the fire, her struggles weakened; her legs ceased kicking. Burning flesh poisoned the air with a putrid stench, and I fought against dry heaves. Her tortured, gargled screams faded to silence, and the curse, the centuries of suffering—both hers and ours—turned to ash in that blaze.

  I prayed that I was right.

  Mick

  “Oh my God,” Ro gasped. “You’re covered in blood, Mick! Are you hurt?”

  I blinked repeatedly, and the cave came into focus. I looked down at my hands and realized I did have blood on me. What the hell? I didn’t feel injured. A quick check of my arms and torso confirmed that I was intact. I glanced up. The fire burned softly now, the surrounding earth covered by a thick layer of ash.

  The smell…oh.

  I remembered.

  I didn’t think I’d ever get that smell out of my nose.

  Or the image of the witch burning to death before my eyes, long after I’d closed them.

  Would I go to sleep and dream of her screams?

  “Oh my God,” Ro said again, this time looking down at herself instead of at me. “What happened?” Her hands hovered inches away from her stab wound, trembling, as if she didn’t know whether to touch it or leave it. “Was I…stabbed?” She looked up at me, then wavered a bit, and leaned back against the cave’s wall. “What’s that smell?” She swallowed, and years of experience as her brother told me she was close to vomiting.

  I was pretty sure I already had.

  I jumped up and rushed to her side, then helped her slide down the wall to sit.

  “Mick? What hap—? Ow…fuck me, that hurts,” she wailed.

  I pulled her scarf off and wadded it into a ball. “Here. Take this and press it against the wound.”

  She cringed but didn’t move.

  “Ro! You have to stop the bleeding. You have to press this into the wound. Do it.”

  I pulled my gaze from my sister to Cam, who was slowly waking up from his trance. I knew with the multiple stab wounds in his legs that he’d be in even more pain than my sister. I rushed to his side, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

  “Cameron. Listen to me, buddy. I need you to slowly try to sit down, okay?”

  He didn’t respond, but his eyes blinked a few times which was quite an improvement from the dead, empty stare he’d had for the last…hour? More?

  “Try to sit down, okay, Cam? Easy there.” I slowly coaxed him as he slid down the wall. He winced as he tried to bend his legs to sit, and I held my breath, knowing how it must burn like hell having those fresh wounds in his legs and side.

  “Holy shit, bro! What’s wrong with my legs?” In shock, Cam attempted to stand again, but I pushed his shoulders down.

  “You’ve been stabbed. You both have. I need you to stay put, okay? You have to move as little as possible until I can get us some help.”

  “We both have?” Cam questioned, still dazed from the trance he’d been under. He turned toward Ro and his eyes widened. “Oh man, Rosie! Are you okay? Who did this to you?” he scrambled to get closer to her, “Ah shit, that hurts—” then pulled her into his arms.

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything.” She turned that violet gaze up to me. “Mick?”

  I debated telling them the truth, but couldn’t figure out how to best put it into words. How could I tell her that Cameron was the one who stabbed her? How could I tell him?

  He looked up at me, eyes wide. “Was it the witch? Did I kill her? Is the bitch dead?”

  I glanced back at the remains, compiled of both Donovan and the witch, tiny pebbles and dust and ash…

  “Was it Donovan? I kicked that guy’s kneecap in! Is he dead? Where’s he at?”

  Ro gasped, halting my thoughts and pulling my attention back to her. One hand flew to her mouth, while the other hand—covered in her own blood now—was outstretched. It slowly dawned on me that she was pointing to where I’d left Holland’s statue earlier.

  A voice I’d recognize anywhere spoke softly, ruthlessly teasing me with the idea that I hadn’t failed. “Guys? A little help here?”

  My breath left my lungs in a whoosh, as if I’d been punched in the chest. Had I imagined her voice? Had the depth of my failure snapped me in two, forced me to lose my mind?

  I closed my eyes, grasping for any sense of sanity I could find.

  “Mick?”

  When she spoke again, I shook my head.

  No. She’s gone. Let her go. You failed. You had one thing to do in this life, one thing to—

  “Mick!” My sister’s urgent plea pulled me from the depths of my self-loathing.

  I opened my eyes, turning my head toward the darkest corner of the cave, just as a Holland-sized lump stirred on the ground where the statue had once been. I crossed those few yards between us in a flash.

  I looked down at Holland, shocked to see her familiar face flush with color. I closed my eyes again, convinced I imagined her—a sad, pathetic delusion created by a broken failure of a man.

  “Are you just going to stand there?”

  I knelt down, then scooped her up into my arms with my good hand and cradled her to my chest. Soft fingers grazed my cheek, and I leaned into them without thinking, my body reacting to her touch, her warmth. Her life. Holland was alive.

  She smiled up at me, her blue eyes sparkling, and her lips the perfect shade of pale pink.

  Tears welled in my eyes once more. I hoped crying wasn’t becoming a thing for me.

  She tilted her head, and her eyebrows pulled down quizzically. “You love me?”

  I nodded, disbelief holding my tongue captive. Had she heard every word I’d whispered earlier? I nodded again, still unable to do much else but stare.

  “Huh,” she said with a shy smile, then bit down lightly on her bottom lip.

  I laughed at her response and pulled her closer so I could nuzzle my face into the crook of her neck. I inhaled the familiar smell of her, and laughed—a crazy, maniacal laugh, that I felt in every inch of my body.

  “You’re crushing me!”

  I pulled back reluctantly. Her eyes were an even brighter blue than I remembered.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Holland. I almost lost you. I can’t believe—”

  “But you didn’t. You didn’t lose me. I’m alive. I’m right here, Mick.” With her gentle hands on my face, she forced me to meet her gaze. “I love you, too.”

  Then she kissed me. Her lips pressed to mine, and the heat from her mouth thrilled me—just a short while ago, my lips had met with a hard, cold statue. She pulled back, nipping quickly at my bottom lip and ending the connection way before I was ready.

  “I’m alive because of you.”

  “You almost died because of me.”

  “No. You saved me.”

  She kissed me again, and I held her to me, swearing silently that I’d never let her go. As our mouths moved frantically, tasting this precious moment between us—a moment I’d fought time and death to have over and over again—I felt my heart accept the fact that she was indeed alive. Against the odds, and in such a short amount of time, I’d found the girl I was meant to love, meant to save, and here she was, cradled in my arms.

  Alive.

  Again.

  I couldn’t control the smile that pulled at my mouth.

  Cam coughed. “Gross. Get a room.”

  Holland pulled back and
giggled. “Sorry, guys.”

  I groaned, a deep sound low in my throat. “I’m not done kissing you yet, Holland Briggs.”

  “Good,” she whispered back. “Because I’ve only just begun kissing you, Mick Stevenson.”

  I smiled and leaned down to kiss her again, but she continued.

  “And I’m going to kick your ass for putting my brother in danger.”

  I silenced her with another kiss, excited to know I had all the time in the world to kiss this bold, beautiful girl. I’d let her kick my ass into next week if it would keep a smile on her face.

  She pulled back again. “Stop trying to distract me. Did I hear that right? Did Rosemarie and Cam get stabbed?” Ah, so she had been able to hear everything while she’d been “gone.”

  “It’s just a scratch, Holl,” Cam said. “Well, maybe not just one.”

  Holland’s eyes narrowed, then she turned away from me, pushing herself up into a sitting position. “And you, Cameron Sean Briggs. I could throttle you! I can’t believe you put yourself in danger like this! You were stabbed, for God’s sake!”

  “Aw, sis, are you worried about me?”

  She shook her head in irritation. “You think?”

  “I’m touched, Holl. I really am.”

  “Ugh! You’re impossible, Cam!”

  “You love me.”

  “That’s what you think,” she said with a smile. “Are you okay, Rosemarie?”

  I looked to my sister, who was pale and shivering. “I’m fi-ii-ine, Hol-ll-aan-dd,” she said through chattering teeth. “You-uu-uu—”

  “I think I need to get Rosie out of here, you guys,” Cam said. He stood, slowly and not without grunts of pain as he allowed his injured legs to hold the weight of him. I moved to help him, but before I could stand, Cam picked Ro up in his arms, cradling her tiny frame against his chest.

  “I’m heading to the cabin. You guys coming?”

  “We’ll be right behind you,” Holland answered. “You sure you’re okay to carry her like that, little brother?”

  “Pssh,” Cam said. “You know I’m fine. I’ll carry your ass, too, sis. Maybe I’ll even flip you with one arm and carry her in the other.”

  “You’re a pest, Cameron.”

  We watched Cam head toward the mouth of the cave, my little sister cradled in his arms. For not the first time, I was humbled by his strength and maturity, and how much he already cared for my sister. I wondered if their story had anything to do with our cursed—blessed—history, or if their coming together was just a happy coincidence.

  As he passed the fire, he kicked at the thick layer of remains on the floor. “Gross,” he mumbled. “What’s up with these logs?”

  I closed my eyes. I didn’t need to tell him about the dead bodies he’d just rubbed the toe of his boots in.

  “You love me.” Holland ran her finger down my nose, bringing my attention back to her. It wasn’t a question. I thought maybe she was playing with the words, letting the notion sink in.

  I pressed my face into her hand and kissed her palm, then turned back to her, opening my eyes to those sparkling oceans of blue. “I do.”

  My one true love. I kissed each of her fingertips.

  “Was it the fire?”

  “How’d you know?”

  She shrugged, a coy smile playing at her lips. “I have the same dreams as you, remember?”

  So she’d seen the vision of the witch engulfed in flames, spoken to me in my dream. “We really are connected, aren’t we?” Even after everything we’d just been through, I was both surprised and thrilled by the confirmation.

  Holland smiled, her eyes sparkling with wetness. “We need to get help for Cam and Ro,” she said as she pulled herself out of my arms and stood, then extended her hand. “Let’s go home, Mick.”

  Home.

  I rose to stand beside her, knowing that home meant so many things for us. Most of all, it meant being together. One day, I’d marry this stubborn girl, and home would be wherever she was.

  I couldn’t wait.

  Look how long this section is. Go ahead, you can groan. But, if you know me, you know I’m long-winded.

  And if you don’t know, now you know.

  As I’ve mentioned in previous acknowledgements, it takes a village. DIVIDE would not exist without many, many amazing people, and I hope that I remember to thank everyone.

  Tamara Mataya: What can I say that I haven’t said before? You’re my right hand, my partner-in-crime, the yin to my yang, the #twss to my prude, the Sloth to my Chunk. I love taking this journey with you, even though sometimes it feels we’ve had more pitfalls than praise. I know our literary future holds book tours, champagne and caviar, and jet-setting all over this great Earth. We just have to keep believing.

  And continue exchanging inappropriate gifts, because . . . duh! Obviously!

  Krystal Wade: You were the first person—outside of my circle of family, friends and critique partners—to see something promising in my storytelling. You were the first person to give me a fighting chance. Thank you for your continued faith in me.

  Marisa Cleveland, Nicole Resciniti, and the family at Seymour: I thank you all for your continued support of my career—be it through words of wisdom, tweets and retweets, contest donations, or just sharing a laugh in or out of the group—you’re an awesome family of writers that I’m thankful to be a part of. I can’t wait to see what the future holds for all of us at The Seymour Agency.

  DIVIDE’s beta readers: Kay Froebel, Mat & Michelle Magana, Rick Chiantaretto, Kevin Pickell, Andrew Patterson, Rob Jones, Maegan Robinson, Kathleen Kubasiak, Steph Funk… I know I’m forgetting someone, and I’m so sorry for the oversight. I hope you know who you are and that I appreciate you. Your feedback as betas guided me in bringing DIVIDE to the ready-to-publish state I believe it is in now. I am forever grateful for your criticism, support and love. Thank you. A million times, thank you.

  I made an inexcusable error in my last two books, and for that I am horribly sorry. I somehow overlooked the people that work so hard to bring a face to the stories I write. Though DIVIDE’s cover was not photographed by Tamara Wroclawsky of Face On By Tamara, I would be remiss to omit her from my acknowledgements again, for she tirelessly endures my chaotic thoughts and jumbled ideas, creating the perfect cover photos for my work. EVER and EVADE are gorgeous because of her vision, exceptional talent, and remarkable ability to wade through the muck of my mind. Also, she’s one of the most giving women I’ve ever known. Tammy, you have shown me that beauty isn’t always just skin deep; sometimes it runs much, much deeper than that.

  Thank you, as well, to my gorgeous models: Tracy Stanbury as Ever, Alex Pappes as Frankie, and Sean Ciccione as Toby—you guys embodied my characters and I can’t imagine them any other way. Thank you for gracing my covers with your amazingness.

  Michelle Johnson of Alex & Me designs: You have once again turned my thoughts into the perfect cover. This is the third book we’ve worked on together, and I am blown away by your ability to see through my rambling and find the vision beneath. You put up with random thoughts and multiple requests—some of them contradicting one another painfully—and yet . . . look at the beautiful works of art that encase my words! You’re truly amazing, and I am so thankful to work with you. Here’s to many more collaborations!

  Cait Greer: Thank you for your support, your friendship, and for making my work ready for the world. Oh, and huge thanks for Axel. Mmmm. Now, go write more of his story. KTHXBYE!

  My family and friends: Jon, Faith, Mama, Anne, Uncle David, Charissa, and countless others I don’t have enough paper to list…thank you for tolerating the often distant look in my eyes. Thank you for pushing me to continue. For quietly listening to me when I breakdown. For believing in me. Thank you for understanding that I often live as a hermit, ignoring your calls and letting my stories swallow me whole. Thank you for ignoring the piles of laundry, the unwashed dishes…

  Thank you for repeating yourselves when I’v
e missed something you’ve said because I’m focused on worlds and characters that only exist within my mind.

  But mostly, thank you for sharing me with those worlds and the people who inhabit them.

  Papa: thank you for walking beside me still. I can’t see you, but I can feel you.

  Immense thanks to God, whom I believe still loves me, regardless of my many faults, my often wavering faith, and my constant ‘one step forward, two steps back’ syndrome. I’m a work in progress, and I thank Him for His infinite grace.

  Last, but never, never least…my readers. I often joke that I have five fans, and that one of them is my mom. And you know what? Maybe that’s true. Or maybe I have less than five fans. Or, maybe more. I’ll never truly know, but I do know one thing: somewhere, someone is reading these words. A stranger. A person I may never meet. You make this worthwhile. You make each trial mean something. You make this possible. I’m chasing dreams and blazing a trail through the sky because you had enough faith in me to pick up this book. I will never be able to properly express my gratitude.

  I hope this thank you is enough.

  So, thank you. Sometimes, the simplest words hold the strongest of meanings.

  Jessa Russo believes in fairytales, ghosts, and Jake Ryan. She insists mimosas were created for Sundays, and that’s not up for discussion. She’s obsessed with the great city of New Orleans—where she’s collected too many beads to count, eventually married her sweetheart, and visited graveyards they don’t include on maps.

  She’s loud, painfully honest, and passionate about living life to the fullest, because she’s seen how abruptly it can be taken away.

  What began as a desire for reading and writing young adult paranormal has bled into stories of all kinds. From fantasy to pre-dystopian to erotic contemporary, Jessa’s stories always include romance, though she’s given up on pigeonholing her work into a category or genre box.

  Jessa was born and raised in Southern California, and remains there to this day with her husband (a classic car fanatic), their daughter (a Tim Burton superfan), and a Great Dane who thinks he’s the same size as his Chihuahua sister.