My Bratty Wife -
Chapter 243 - Two Hundred And Forty Three
Chapter 243: Chapter Two Hundred And Forty Three
(Two months later...)
Splat...
The sickening sound echoed in the oppressive silence of the dimly lit chamber. A body, heavy and lifeless, crumpled to the ground, a dark stain blooming rapidly on the grey flagstones, more blood splattering against the cold, damp wall, dripping in thick, straight trails.
Elias laid motionless, his neck slit open and his blood flowed like a river on the floor.
Suzy stood trembling, not from cold, but from a terror mixed with a horrifying sense of a deed done. Her belly, round and prominent beneath her stained nightgown – it had been two months since the kidnapping, two months of healing and the undeniable growth of the new life within her – felt heavy, a vulnerable burden.
In her hand, impossibly, she gripped Ryan’s sword, its polished steel dark and slick, dripping with Elias’s blood. Her own face was splashed with crimson, warm and sticky. She looked ahead, her eyes wide with horror, at the figure standing a few feet away.
Byron.
She pointed the heavy blade at him, her arm shaking with the effort, with the terror. He, in turn, leveled a pistol directly at her heart, his hands steady on the trigger, the Blackwood ring absorbing the moonlight, his stance unwavering, a chilling, almost serene smile playing on his lips. In the edge of her vision, a beloved form lay still and broken on the floor near the far wall. Ryan. Her Ryan. Dead. A single, dark bullet hole marred his perfect forehead. The sight was a physical blow, stealing the air from her lungs, a pain so profound it eclipsed all else.
"I have been waiting for this moment, Cassandra," Byron said, his voice smooth as silk, that chilling smile never faltering. "For you to finally see the futility of it all."
Tears streamed down Suzy’s face, hot and silent. No words came, no sound escaped her constricted throat, only the ragged tearing of her breath. She wanted to scream, to rage, to fall beside Ryan, but her feet were rooted to the bloodied floor, the sword an unbearable weight in her hand.
Byron calmly, deliberately, began to reload his pistol, the metallic clicks echoing like hammer blows in the dreadful silence. "Such a shame it had to end this way," he mused, as if discussing the weather. "But you, and your... impediment... were always going to be a problem."
Before Suzy could even think to strike, to lunge with the sword she barely knew how to hold, before she could summon any coherent thought beyond the all-consuming grief for Ryan, Byron raised his reloaded pistol. He sighted along the barrel, his chilling smile the last thing she saw clearly.
He shot.
A flash of orange, a deafening roar, and then... everywhere went dark. The last words she heard, echoing in the collapsing void, were his, cold and final: "Goodbye, Cassandra."
With a strangled gasp, Suzy lurched upright in bed, her heart hammering against her ribs as if trying to escape her chest. Her body was drenched in a cold sweat, tremors shaking her from head to toe. For a disorienting moment, the oppressive stone walls of the dream-chamber still surrounded her. The scent of blood seemed to fill her nostrils.
Then, slowly, the familiar shapes of her own bedchamber at Carleton Hall swam into focus. The soft glow of the night-lamp on the bedside table, the heavy velvet curtains drawn against the pre-dawn darkness, the reassuring solidity of the carved bedpost. It was a dream. Only a dream. But oh, it had felt so real, so horrifyingly, undeniably real as if she were truly there, trapped in a blood-soaked scene of her deepest fears.
"Cassandra? What is it? Are you alright?" Ryan’s voice, thick with sleep but sharp with instant alarm, cut through the lingering tendrils of the nightmare. He was beside her in an instant, sitting up, his arm reaching for her.
Suzy turned to him, her eyes wide and wild, still reflecting the terror of her dream. She saw his face – his dear, beloved face, whole and unharmed, his eyes filled not with the emptiness of death, but with a deep, anxious concern for her.
"You’re alive," she breathed, the words a shaky exhalation of pure, unadulterated delight, of overwhelming relief. It was as if she couldn’t quite believe her eyes, as if he was a ghost she might lose if she blinked. Her trembling hands reached out, cupping his face, her thumbs stroking his stubbled cheeks, his hair, needing the tactile proof of his presence, his life. "Oh, Ryan, you’re alive!"
Before he could say anything more, before he could ask about the terror that so clearly gripped her, she surged forward, her lips finding his in a desperate, fervent kiss. It wasn’t a kiss of passion, but of profound relief, of a deep, primal need to affirm his existence, her own. It was a kiss that tasted of her fear and her tears, a kiss that clung to him as if he were her only anchor in a storm-tossed sea.
Ryan, though startled by her intensity, returned the kiss, holding her gently, his mind racing with worry. After a moment, he carefully broke the embrace, his hands framing her face, his gaze searching hers. "Cassandra, my love," he asked, his voice soft, laced with an aching concern, "did you have a nightmare? A very bad one, from the looks of it."
She nodded, the dam of her composure finally breaking. Tears, no longer silent as they had been in the dream, streamed down her face in hot, cleansing river. Great, shuddering sobs escaped her, shaking her small frame. The horror of what she had witnessed, what she had done in that terrible vision, overwhelmed her.
Ryan pulled her close, enfolding her in a strong, protective embrace. He held her tightly against his chest, her face buried in the warm linen of his nightshirt, as he gently stroked her hair, her back, murmuring soft, soothing words. "Shhh, my love, it’s alright. It was only a dream. It wasn’t real. I’m here. You’re safe now. I’m right here."
He didn’t press her for details, didn’t ask what horrors her mind had conjured. He simply held her, offering his silent strength, his presence, allowing her to cry, to let out all the pent-up fear and grief from the nightmare. Her tears flowed easily now, soaking his nightshirt, each sob a release of the terrible images that had tormented her. He held her close, rocking her gently, until the storm of her weeping gradually subsided, her sobs quieting into hiccuping breaths, her body growing heavy with exhaustion in his arms. She fell asleep again, not into the terrifying darkness of her dream, but into the safe, warm haven of his embrace.
He continued to hold her for a long time, listening to the soft, even rhythm of her breathing, feeling the gentle weight of her head on his chest. Carefully, so as not to wake her, he slowly eased her down onto the pillows, tucking the covers around her. He brushed a stray, tear-dampened curl from her forehead and pressed a lingering kiss there. Her face, even in sleep, looked pale and strained.
Ryan, however, found himself unable to return to sleep. He sat beside her, watching her, his heart aching with a deep gnawing worry. The lingering terror in her eyes when she had woken, the desperate way she had clung to him... what could have made her so utterly worked up? What dreadful dreams had plagued her sleep to elicit such a profound and intense reaction? He knew the kidnapping had left deep scars, scars that perhaps even he couldn’t fully see or understand. And now, with their child growing within her, her sensitivities, her fears, were undoubtedly magnified. He sighed, a heavy weight settling in his own chest. He would watch over her until dawn.
If you find any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc..), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.
Report