The Forgotten by Mason Sabre

Author:Mason Sabre [Sabre, Mason]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-06-26T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Six

The air scorched the back of his throat as it slithered down into his gut like someone had concocted a mixture of lava and acid and forced him to swallow it until his body was full and the only place for it to go was to settle into his stomach. It passed through his body in a rush of blistering heat and was met at the base of his spine by the icy rod of betrayal Xander had stabbed him with.

He clenched his fists and let out a breath. “You arsehole.”

Friend.

He shook his head at the mere thought of the word. Friend. It was a joke. Xander was no friend, not anymore, not the man standing in this room with the very person who had done all the wrong in the world. Blood pumped and surged through Stephen’s body in short, fierce bursts and made him dizzy.

But more than anything, he wanted to look away. He tried to turn his back so he could pretend what was in front of him wasn't true. He wanted to cover his ears, or his eyes and hide behind a shield of denial so he wouldn't have to face this.

The sight took him to his knees, and he choked out another breath, this one sharper, fuller, threaded with the realisation he had trusted someone with every jewel in his life, and he’d crushed them, turned them back to sand.

He was a fool, a stark raving fool who had known from his father’s teachings that trust was being vulnerable, being open.

“I trusted you.”

Stephen’s mind kept throwing random memories at him, letters, promises … a tick box of things he had believed and believed in, but every single one, Xander had been at the heart.

“Is this for money? Is that it?” There was no other reason Stephen could fathom Xander would do this. He was a money hunter after all. He’d earnt his money in the past by catching Others and pitching them in fights to their death. A man who did that was … God. Stephen couldn’t even find the right word in his mind to describe him.

Stephen wasn't mad at Xander. No. he was furious with himself. Mad with himself because he had believed. He had blinked for a second and thought perhaps something in the world could be good, but even then, it had been hidden like a sweet apple with rot at the core.

Each moment passed with disturbing darkness, and there was nothing he could do about it. Xander nodded at Lee, and although the smiling face was weak, it was there still. Lee handed something to Xander. It was a small bottle, with a bright white label on the front and the Norton logo on the back. It was small enough that when Xander held it, it was covered in his palm.

“The witch says he is dying.” His voice never faltered when he said it, never quivered with the emotions of a friend realising the truth.

“How could you?” It was

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