A Want So Wicked (A Need So Beautiful #2)(70)

I turn and walk to where Onika stands with Monroe, and it’s like they’re frozen in time. Monroe’s hand is on the smooth surface of her cheek. Onika’s eyes are glassy as they stare back at his.

“Do you despise me?” Onika asks in a small voice.

“No,” Monroe says, studying her delicately, as if she’s a butterfly that will fly away at any moment. “I shouldn’t have let you stay,” he says. “And I shouldn’t have turned my back once you did.”

Onika puts her hand over Monroe’s. “No, lover. You tried to save me. I just didn’t listen.”

“Let me see you,” Monroe whispers, his hand sliding along the waist of her black coat, drawing her closer.

It’s then that I can see him—the Monroe who loved her. He is soft and gentle. He is vulnerable to her, for her. “Let me see what you are now,” he says.

Slowly, Onika’s skin begins to pale, the color draining away to the gray underneath. It begins to split and crack, gruesome and rotten. But Monroe keeps his hand on her cheek, his eyes never leaving hers. When she’s done, she smiles bitterly.

“You were right,” she says. “I’m a monster.”

Monroe doesn’t flinch from her words; instead his palm slides over her cheek, the skin flaking away under his touch. But it doesn’t stop him as he brings his mouth to her dry lips and kisses her.

I glance back at Harlin, who looks horrified, and then I walk toward them once again. Monroe pulls back, staring at her as if he still sees the beautiful blonde she once was.

“I have always loved you,” he says. “I always will.”

Closing my eyes, I think that it’s time. That Onika has regained her humanity, if only for a moment. This is my choice. I don’t let myself look back at Harlin as I walk toward her, the Need twisting my insides as it heats, stronger and brighter than ever before.

Monroe coughs and then touches his lips, his fingers coming back with blood. I fight back the cry that wants to escape because I know he won’t survive the day. But he’s beyond my help. Instead, I pause in front of Onika, overwhelmed with love for her from the light inside of me. “You’ll find your peace now,” I say. “At last.”

Onika trembles with the promise of it, the promise of relief from the darkness she’s been submerged in. “But it’ll end you, too,” she says quietly, as if reminding me.

I nod. “I know. But you’re my final Need. My purpose is to find a way to set you free. The Shadows have fed on you long enough.”

Onika smiles then, almost childlike. Monroe lowers himself to the pavement, unable to stand any longer. Across the road, Harlin watches. I bow my head to him once, saying good-bye—knowing that I’ll never need anything as much as I need him.

And then I outstretch my arms, stepping forward as the light starts to burst through my form. Onika closes her eyes as her skin peels away. She reaches for me, reaches for her finale.

When we collide—everything stops. In that split second, I can see them all: Harlin with tears fresh on his cheeks, Monroe’s solemn expression. My father has the first look of recognition on his face, as if he’s about to call out to me.

And in front of me is Onika, her eyes still, her broken face serene in expression. All she ever wanted was to live, but then she found out there were worse things than death. But the light is merciful—and it sent me back to grant it.

So I close my eyes and do just that: I wrap Onika up in my light and extinguish her, sending her into oblivion.

AFTER

There is noise around me, the shuffling of feet and the jangling of bracelets. Murmurs are unfamiliar until the words begin to make sense. “Am I dead?” I manage to ask.

“Oh, heavens no,” Marceline’s ragged voice answers with a laugh. “Although I’m not sure you want to see what’s left.”

There’s a sinking feeling in my gut, and I wonder if I’m stuck in some kind of purgatory with an old psychic as my only companion. My entire body hurts as if it’s burned and blistered.

“Don’t move, child,” Marceline says. “You stay right there and rest a minute.” As she talks, my skin begins to tingle, much like the Need. But I’m too weak to bring it on. This is something else. There’s a touch as Marceline brushes back my hair, intertwining her fingers as she braids the ends.

“You really would have done it,” she says. “Even with a new body, you’d still give up everything.”

My eyelids flutter open, but I’m surrounded in a blinding glow. I bring up my palm to shade my eyes, but it doesn’t help. I’m not sure where I am, but it’s so . . . beautiful. “What’s that light?” I ask, blinking against it.

“That’s you, child,” Marceline says, her image only a silhouette among the gold surrounding us. “But don’t worry, we have time.”

“Time for what?”

“Tell me,” she continues, ignoring my question. “How many times would you do it, you think? How many times would you sacrifice yourself for good?”

“Every time,” I answer automatically. I watch as Marceline pulls a long strip of fabric from her pocket, a ribbon, before tying it on the end of my braid. The movement is familiar, and I wonder what other secrets Marceline has kept about my past.

The light continues to grow, and Marceline leans closer, her face finally coming into focus. “You are hope,” she murmurs. “You can restore balance, but it won’t be easy.”