Antoni P.O.V
His vision is a field of red.
The red of the blood splattering around him. The red of muscle tearing off bone when his knife is removed from the skin. The red of the petunias painted on his gun as he points it between the widened eyes of his prey.
The Bianchi men all fall, their bodies scattered like old torn leaves in the snow.
He dully registers pain on his right side, just under his ribs. He ignores it.
Red snow dampens his pants when he crouches down beside Victoria. “Bell...” he whispers, moving strands of hair out of her eyes and tucking them behind her cold ears. “I’m here. I’m here.”
Victoria focuses her eyes on him, the motion seeming to take a lot of effort as she blinks a few times before finally registering that he’s next to her. She clutches the front of his shirt and gulps a few times before speaking, “Beast...Noah...”