I collapse to his side, breathless. He pulls me close, one arm cradling me, his fingers tracing soothing circles on my back.
“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, handing me water, then smoothing my hair. “You did so well.” His warmth, his praise, wraps around me like a blanket, grounding me. My heart stutters as I realize he’s claimed my body and now my heart.
The realization thrills and shocks me simultaneously, a dangerous spark. I’m his, in ways I never expected.
A sharp pop rings out, like fireworks.
Then another.
The ballroom’s music stumbles. Bullets shatter the two-way mirror, glass spraying everywhere. A shard sears my arm and blood runs, crimson and hot. Damien slams me down, his body a shield, hand covering my head.
“Down,” he shouts. “Don’t move.”
I freeze, pain burning, ears ringing. He checks my arm—grazed, not deep— then rips a line of linen, binding it tight.
His comm crackles. “Lockdown. Sweeping the grounds. Routes B and C. Medical en route.”
He stays between me and the glass, pinning me, calm and grounding. “You’re okay. Stay with me.”
My heart pounds with fear, the wordsstay with melooping in my mind.
CHAPTER 17
CASSANDRA
More gunshots, then screaming, ripping the night apart.
“Stay down,” Damien says, low and calm. I’m sure as hell not about to stand up. My arm flares—hot, burning. Blood runs in a thin line to my wrist, soaking the ribbon.
“Can I move?” I ask.
“Slowly.” He peels off me, pulling me up with him, one hand on my waist as he reaches for his pants and pulls them on.
“Stay close,” he orders.
We cautiously step into the corridor. The party has turned into chaos. Alex notices us and approaches. He looks at my arm, then nods to Damien.
“On it,” he says. “South lawn. SUV was blacked out. Plates covered. Witness says four inside, one leaning out the window.”
Damien remains expressionless. His eyes go cold and dark.
“Drive-by,” Alex confirms. “Two guests hit—nonfatal. EMTs on site. Shooter lane was the east road, then out the back service gate.”
We cross the ballroom. Broken glass glitters the floor like confetti. Guests huddle in hushed whispers, trying to grasp the fact that death just winked at them. Staff moves around like ghosts, cleaning and trying to calm down the guests who are in shock.
Mrs. Koval stands at the edge of the mayhem, chin high, eyes landing on me. I show her my wrapped arm. She nods, and I can see her relieved exhale from across the room.
Ivan approaches, jacket open, tie gone, drink still in hand. He grins like he wasn’t just inches from getting shot.
“Who brings fireworks without being asked?” he quips.
“Not now, brother,” Alex snaps.
Ivan’s eyes flick to me, something mean and amused curling at his mouth. He lifts his glass in a toast I don’t return.
Damien doesn’t look at him. He addresses his most trusted guard, Nikolai Orlov, as he walks up to us, all business.
“Lock it down,” he tells him. “Perimeter, cameras, street pulls. I want plates on every black SUV within five miles. Send teams A and C to the east road and the back gate. D stays on the injured and holds the lobby. No press inside.”
