Chapter 26 (Stan Crow)

A cocktail of emotions boiled up inside Patience as she watched her team lead retching in the courtyard. Hope's look of pain had been unmistakable when the girl had shriveled in on herself next to Randolph's shell—as if the guy had actually mattered. And yet, somehow Patience was touched by the obvious grief.

All life has value. That's what the nuns always said.

She'd acted on that when she'd attempted to save Hope and Everest in the forest just days ago. But where did you draw the line? Even Hope, naïve as she was, had sensed that leaving Randolph alive would have threatened everyone.

Hope had done the smart thing. Or, rather, she'd been in the process of doing it until she dodged the Ursa's strike that did the job for her. Still she had been willing to do it.

So why was her comrade so broken up about this?

Patience waited until Hope finished being sick then seized her by the arm. "Let's go."

Hope cast a glance back toward the alley. "H-how…did you—"

"Save friends now," Patience interrupted. "Expository monologue later." And on they went.

Hurrying through the courtyard, they paused only to provide aid to a dozen wounded—students and guards alike. Patience didn't let herself feel anything at the sight of the injuries. The moment the fallen were stabilized Patience practically carried Hope from the scene, staggering into the chaotic wake of the Grimm's invasion.

A few boarbatusks and beowolves showed their heads, but Patience kept Randolph's weapon in carbine mode, raining hot death on her enemies from afar until her clip ran out. When a boar nearly gutted Hope, she finally engaged.

Just holding the carbine reminded Patience of Randolph's leering face and perverse intent. He'd made her break her promise to herself.

Seducing him had come so easily—on the cliff, and then again in the alley. Years of practice bending men to her will had surfaced without her even trying. But she'd had to do it. Neither herself now Hope would have survived had Patience not so utterly blinded the angsty boy. He hadn't even reacted to shotgun blasts skimming his back.

It had worked. He was dead. And she felt herself sliding back toward her old life.

I hate him, she thought. He did this to me.

When the clip ran dry, she flipped the weapon into melee mode and poured her fury into any monster stupid enough to come within the range of the lashing razors. Those she couldn't reach she ran down and flayed.

Three bewolves charged her. All she saw was his face, jeering, defeating her even from beyond the grave.

You'll never win, Patience, she heard him say. You were made to be sold and you know it. You're a tool of ecstasy and nothing else. No one will ever love you.

Ever.

"No!" She was on the demons like a whirlwind, the deadly tails of the scourge failing everywhere. She scoured the flesh from the first beast before the others could attack. When one wolf sank its teeth deep into her thigh, she almost casually reached down and broke its jaw with her free hand, while mincing the trachea of the other beast.

You'll never win!

"Get out of my head!"

It wasn't until she noticed a wolf flying out the window that she comprehended she had been the cause of it. The curved row of holes in her leg pulsed with hot blood. She ran a finger across it, and licked it. It was the blood of her old life and she would let it flow. Let it flow until she had purged herself of her past.

You gave yourself to me, of all people, Randolph's voice echoed. Even knowing I only wanted your body.

Gritting her teeth, she charged down the hall, barely aware that someone was calling after her. She kicked into door after door until she found a target to destroy.

On and on she went tearing through Grimm as though they were so much paper. Time ceased to exist. There was nothing but death and carnage and release.

Rip. Tear. Kill. Destroy the fool girl she had once been.

It ended nearly as suddenly as it had begun. After turning a fleeing, clawless Death Stalker into hamburger she stumbled into the main assembly hall. Her knees buckled against her will and she flopped on her side, her life oozing from a hundred cuts and punctures.

The blood was refreshing as it trickled down her face and across her lips. Images of her life on the streets lolled through her head. The outfits carefully designed to draw the eye. Cheap booze and drugs. Questionable companionship. Feeding herself with whatever she could until she could afford to buy more than she'd ever need, and then losing her wealth in a single night at the tables. Arrests. Jailbreaks. Abusing and being abused.

Nineteen years of rot.

She didn't deserve to live.

Something touched her forehead, but she found she didn't have the strength to bat it away. Looking for Randolph's face, she saw only a crimson blur. From far away, she heard a voice. It sounded… concerned.

"Patience? Patience?"

She closed her eyes. Sleep might turn into death, and that would be okay with her. She'd have to beg the devil for a room apart from Randolph, but she'd manage.

Something hefted her. A face hovered nearby, soft and warm and familiar.

"Mom?" she croaked.

When she stopped jostling sometime later, the face was still there, speaking soothingly. A warm, wet thing dabbed at her forehead, and she felt her clothing being tugged off. Eh. Let them have her. But no one took her. Instead, there was more of the soft warmth, and then she was tucked into bed. A straw pushed into her mouth and she sipped water almost against her will.

"You should rest now," the voice said.

Unsure whether she'd wake, but figuring she had nothing to lose, Patience complied.