His Hunter

XXV | Crossroads

Super long chapter. Hope you enjoy. I may or may not have cried when I wrote it. 

When Lionel turned around, all of the strength left his body. His gun slipped out of his hands. He started to shake, no longer from anger but from fear. Because that's what he felt: pure, sickening, deathly fear. His veins went cold. His heart beat fast. His vision blurred. 

He hated himself for the spot of relief he'd felt seconds before; Albert was safe and so was everyone else he loved. It was all ok. For a brief second, Lionel thought Cole had made it through. And then... 

Cole was just standing there. He wasn't moving. His face ashen, Cole's warm eyes were strangely sad. It was like he knew something that Lionel didn't. And then...Lionel did. 

And then, and then, and then. It felt like Lionel was slipping down a muddy slope, grasping for any sort of handhold to stop his descent. He found nothing. He was still falling, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. All he could do was scream and lose pieces of himself on the way down. 

The sound of Cole's knees colliding with the ground tore Lionel apart. He was too slow to catch Cole as he fell. He was too slow to keep Cole alive, to realize that he was being stupid and risking his life. He'd thrown his body into the fray to try to protect Albert, but it was Cole who paid the price. 

"Hey. Hey," Lionel said quietly. He was trying not to fall apart. He wanted to cling to hope. He felt his body ignoring this determination, shaking, crying, collapsing. Lionel touched Cole's chest, grateful to feel his heart beating and his breath coming in and out. He pressed his hands to Cole's wound, trying to stop the bleeding. The warm blood made Lionel feel nauseous and dizzy. He felt like he was trying to plug a hole in reality, like if Lionel failed, the world would disappear. A little split had appeared out of nowhere, a black hole, sucking more and more away as Cole lost more and more blood. 

"You're fine, Cole. You're fine," Lionel said. For a moment, he believed it. He looked into Cole's eyes, and he seemed calm. If Cole was calm, there was no way he was dying. He'd be scared, right? Or, at least, he'd be heartbroken that he had to leave. 

But then Cole said, "Tell me." 

And Lionel knew. This wasn't like the movies. The main character doesn't magically survive a gunshot wound. There was nothing protecting Cole. He was human. One bullet and he vanished forever. That was what was happening. He was vanishing. His beloved Cole, pure, kind, beautiful, perfect...was disappearing. It was real, right? Was it real?

He was fading. He couldn't even speak now. This wasn't how Lionel wanted it to happen. This wasn't it. He wanted to do everything, to make Cole the happiest person in the world. He wanted to sweep Cole off of his feet, give him the best day of his life. He wanted to kiss Cole as he fell asleep, to bring him breakfast naked, to spend the rest of his life with Cole. He wanted to propose to Cole properly. Not like this. 

But he had no choice. Cole was dying. He was dying. Dying. The word sounded strange, like an alien language. Odd how any word said many times over, slow enough, starts to sound like nonsense. Dying. 

"Last chance," Cole said hoarsely. It was the final straw. Lionel snapped. He collapsed over Cole, clinging to his mate, pulling his face closer. Beyond the bitter scent of Cole's blood was the familiar smell of cinnamon. Lionel inhaled shakily, sobbing. 

Cole's breathing was painfully slow, his heartbeat weak. Lionel could smell death. He felt Cole's wounds in his own body somehow. The bond between them crackled like whatever mysterious force that brought them together was acknowledging that it was no longer needed. It would dissolve and flee back to wherever it came from.