A crash rang out, and a scream sounded from somewhere beside me. Strong arms grabbed me around the waist, scooping me up. I was airborne, and I could do nothing but hold onto the body that grabbed me. As I gripped the muscular shoulders and smelled the familiar rosemary scent of him, I knew it was Ciaran. He had swung down from the mezzanine on one of the Scion banners; we were flying over the crowded dance floor as people pointed and shouted.
We swung back to the ground. Ciaran squeezed my waist once and let go of the swinging banner. “Run,” was all he said as we dropped.
My bones screamed on impact; I managed to land on my feet. But there was nowhere to run, nowhere to go, because Seff appeared in front of us.
He pulled his own mask off, his hair wild and mussed in a way that I don’t think I had ever seen it. He launched himself at Ciaran, fists aimed at his face.
Ciaran dodged the blow with expert grace, holding me tighter to him. Seff lunged again, this time aiming for Ciaran’s stomach. That blow landed, and I felt the air whoosh from Ciaran. He was at a disadvantage because he would not let me go. Seff punched again, and Ciaran had no choice but to fight back.
“Seff, stop this!” I cried out. But it was no use. He had gone completely feral in Ciaran’s presence.
Ciaran dodged every blow after taking that first punch to the gut. But he was wasting time. We were going to have to get out. The crowd closed in as the two men fought. Seff’s outburst was a distraction—to stop us from escaping.
“Ciaran…” I said, voice shaking, as several men encircled me. He was locked in combat with Seff, staying on the defensive. But as he looked back and saw that I was surrounded, he lost it. Ciaran’s right arm wound back and landed a perfect punch on Seff’s jaw. He jabbed forward again, landing blow after blow to Seff’s face; I swear Iheardhis nose break. It took all of two seconds for Ciaran to turn back.
He grabbed me and the men surrounding me scattered—Ciaran’s menacing figure towered over all of them. He looked absolutely terrifying in his bone mask as he turned toward Seff.
A deafening crack sounded, and my ears blew out—I could hear nothing but ringing. I turned and saw Seff, face bloodied, looking horrified, a smoking revolver in his hand. And beside me, Ciaran had gone still. There was a perfectly round hole in his chest, just below his left shoulder. Seff hadshothim.
ALCOVE
He’d been shot. Ciaran had been shot. My ex-lover had shot the man I was currently falling for. With agun. And that wasn’t the worst part of the predicament. If we were caught here, we would certainly be killed—burned alive.
An explosion sounded in the upper mezzanine levels: Rory’s and Fionn’s smoke bombs going off. Well, at least one part of the plan had gone right.
Several more explosions sounded in the upper levels. Smoke billowed, quickly filling the opera house. And as people around us began to cough, choke and panic, they were no longer interested in Ciaran and I. Whether they knew it or not, Fionn and Rory had saved us.
Seff was staring, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water—like he was shocked that he had indeed pulled the trigger. I launched myself at him, slapping the gun out of his outstretched hand. And then, with all the strength and power I could muster, I kneed Seff in the balls. A grunt escaped him and he dropped to the floor like a stone, writhing in pain. Good. I hoped I had ruptured a testicle. He deserved it. He hadshotCiaran. He deserved worse than that.
I turned back to see Ciaran snap out of whatever daze he’d been in when the bullet had entered his chest. A large dark patch bloomed at the front of his crimson jacket. He grabbed my arm and pulled me. He grunted. “Run.”
So we ran. I noticed our other major problem: we were on the wrong side of the opera house and there was no way to get back to the mirror. People were coming at us from all sides. We would have to fight our way through the crowd.
“Is there another way to get Beneath?” I gasped as I dodged a random person trying to grab me from my right.
“No,” Ciaran gritted out, “we have to get to the streets.” My eyes widened. The streets would not be safe for us either. But at least we could lose this angry mob.
Blood soaked through Ciaran’s jacket, leaving a macabre trail behind us as we ran. He was losing too much, losing speed as we ran too. But we couldn’t stop. Couldn’t do anything but run. I slid underneath his good shoulder, propping him up as best as I could, dragging him alongside me. He was too big. I couldn’t do this for long.
“Come on!” I groaned. We were almost at the doors. My heart sank when I saw what awaited on the other side. Gendarmes. Five of them.
“Shit,” Ciaran swore, but somehow he didn’t break stride. He clenched his left hand and shot his arm straight out, opening his hand and splaying his fingers as he did so. The glass doors at the entrance of the opera house shattered outwards, shards of broken glass flying toward the gendarmes on the other side.
I heard their cries of pain as we flew past them, almost tumbling down the marble steps and into the cobbled streets of Lutesse.
But those were not the only gendarmes, and more were soon on our tail.Shit, shit, shit.I couldn’t keep this up. I couldn’t keep dragging him. My breath sawed in and out. I thought I was goingto faint. But then we rounded a corner into a narrow alleyway. Before they could catch up, Ciaran’s shadows descended around us and finally, in their darkness, we were invisible.
Ciaran lifted the bone mask, resting it on his forehead. His face was so pale, pain painted across it. He slumped, sliding down the wall, clutching his shoulder—his chest. There was so much blood. The bullet had entered about an inch and a half below his shoulder on the left side. It was maybe an inch above his heart. I was sure if it had hit his heart, he would be dead already. There was no blood on his back—the bullet hadn’t exited.
“Ciaran.” I dropped to my knees before him, grabbing his face. He had to be okay. He just had to. “Fuck. Ciaran. What do I do?” His usually warm skin was wan and bloodless. He was losing too much.
“I can heal it. But you have to get the bullet out,” he managed to grind out, hissing through his teeth.
“How?” I watched blood flow from the wound—watched his life force drain from him. And I was completely helpless. If Elena or Rory or Fionn were here, they would have magic to help, but I was so fucking useless. I should have trained harder. I should have been more prepared. Rory was right, I never should have come with them. Panic seized me.
Ciaran pulled a pocket knife out of his boot. “Seraphina, look at me.” He spoke with authority. It snapped me out of my spiraling. “I need you to get the bullet out before I can use my magic to heal the wound. Otherwise it will be stuck in there, and I’ll never heal. I can’t reach it. I need you to do this, love.” Black eyes met mine, compelling me to do what needed to be done.
“Okay,” I said, voice small. “Okay,” I said, stronger this time, reaching out and taking the knife.
