Proserpina

Lucien

He rushed forward, scooping up his wife into his arms even as she collapsed in a heap.

The dead man fell down beside her, his heavy outstretched arm across her neck but Proserpina was too far gone to care.

His gun clattered harmlessly to the floor beside them and Danielle darted forward and grabbed it.

Lucien knelt beside her, cradling her in his powerful arms.

Her long brown hair was matted and dirty as it hung around her. There was blood on her face, her left eyelid was swollen and a purple bruise was forming on her cheek. The soft lips he worshipped were swollen, the lower lip cut, a deep slash of blood on it.

She was still the most beautiful, the most precious thing he had ever had, he realised, his heart aching as he traced her features with his eyes.

Her eyelids fluttered for a minute, the cracked, dry lips trying to smile as she breathed,

“Gaston…My love… I knew …”

He looked into her eyes and then turned away, too choked to say anything. She squeezed his hand gently.