Cilian reached for Ren's face.
His hand was heavy against Ren's cheek, his fingers leaving smears of dark red against Ren's pale skin. The building groaned again, a deep, structural scream that signaled the floors below were finally giving way.
Dust and plaster rained down on them, coating their blood-stained clothes in a fine white powder.
"Ren Darling,"
"I said shut up!" Ren snapped, his voice cracking. "Save your strength."
He tried to hook his arms under Cilian's armpits to drag him, but the effort sent a flare of agony through his own bandaged stomach. He gasped, collapsing back onto his knees next to the dying Alpha.
Cilian's eyes were losing their focus, the gold-brown depths turning glassy. He fumbled with his right hand, reaching into his jacket pocket with a slow, clumsy motion. He pulled out a smaller, sleek black pistol and pressed it into Ren's palm.
