32. Black Dahlia

He was drenched in blood.

Vanilla.

Roses.

Strawberries.

Nature.

He recognized that scent.

'No.'

'No,' he repeated, cradling his head in his hands. His gaze shifted from his clothes to the splatters of blood on the floor, searching for the source. His eyes traced the path as the blood pooled under the mud-covered Converse shoes, the white socks peeking out, the green jeans, the tank top, and the purple cardigan stained red.

With blood.

His hand shot to his hair, clutching it tightly. His teeth gritted together from the rush of emotion. The room was silent. His body tensed, yet his mind was louder than ever.

His hands trembled as he gripped his hair tighter.

His gaze settled on her pale, bruised face. The bite had inflicted its damage; Raven's veins turned black against her body, and her face was as white as snow. Her eyes closed from the moment life had left her. Her body hung limp, suspended only by the chains. He rose slowly from the ground, focusing on her, lifting his hands to her face, hovering but not touching, too afraid. He withdrew his hands, his heart pounding as if it would burst from his chest.

"Dorian," a voice called.

"Her arm is broken?" he asked, looking back at Noelle, who appeared small in their presence. While Michael stood a foot away, blocking Noelle from leaving. Michael turned towards the witch, anticipating her reply.

"There was some resistance on her part," she admitted with a nod.

"You're bleeding," he observed, addressing Noelle. "She fought back, didn't she?"

"She did," Noelle replied, her hesitation betraying her confusion at his calm demeanor.

"You may leave, Noelle," he announced, surprising everyone.

"Dorian?" Michael interjected.

Stepping aside, he motioned with his hand. "Go." Noelle did not wait another second as she hurried past him and out the doorway, leaving Dorian, Michael, and Raven alone.

Dorian ignored Michael, tenderly lifting Raven, breaking the chains that bound her, and cradling her body in his arms.

She resembled a fallen angel.

Footsteps approached, but he remained indifferent.

"What happe-" Oakley began, rushing into the ruins but halting at the sight.

"Is she dead?" Oakley cried out, stumbling forward, but Michael held out his arms, stopping her from getting closer to him.

"Where is Noelle?" Oakley wiped the tears away as she demanded, furious over her friend's death. Michael stood firm, not answering her question. Her eyes drifted to Dorian, who cradled Raven tightly, his gaze fixed on her face.

"You let her go!" she hissed.

"Oakley," Michael said sternly. Oakley quieted down, pressing down on Michael's arm, and slowly walked toward Dorian and Raven. Crouching next to them, Oakley grabbed Raven's hand, gripping it tightly in hers. "Please don't take her," he repeated in his head over and over, holding her tightly, her head pressed against his neck.

"Michael, it has been hours; we need to handle this," someone insisted.

"Dorian, it has been hours. We need to take her," Michael tried to explain.

"No," he choked out, his throat sore.

"We have to do something," Oakley begged. "What about her aunt? We have to tell her." Dorian stood up from the ground, gently laying her on the table where the stuff for the spell was, but he could not take his eyes off her. The girl he once thought was his enemy lay lifeless before him, now an angel. "I am sorry, my love," he whispered to her softly.