Nadi wanted to scream.
The processional music shifted to the bridal march, and all attention turned to the pavilion entrance. Lana appeared like a vision in the torchlight, her ivory silk and black lace gown flowing behind her as she began her slow walk down the white-carpeted aisle.
Zabriel waited at the altar, his face radiant with a genuine happiness that seemed to glow even brighter than his bride’s.
For a moment, watching them approach each other with such obvious love and joy, Nadi could almost believe in Mael’s vision of a better world. A world where vampire and fae could stand together as equals, where ancient hatreds could be set aside in favor of something new and hopeful.
The ceremony proceeded with ancient ritual and modern touches. Honestly, Nadi couldn’t focus on a blessed second of it. All the while, she was screaming in her head about what was happening.
Mael knew. Lana knew. That meant Zabriel knew.
Did Volencia know?
No, probably not.
Raziel was going to try to murder his brother now out of spite for her sake. And she had to try to…what, stop him? To save Raziel’s life? Or Mael’s?
This was all so damnably complicated it was going to give her a migraine. Lana and Zabriel exchanged vows that spoke of love transcending political necessity, of two souls finding each other across the divide of family loyalties. Nadi wished she could pay more attention, as she had never actually seen a vampiric wedding besides her own before. And that one hadn’t actually focused on formality—it had been to ahuman,after all.
But she was still sitting there rigid as a statue, every nerve in her body about to explode because she was ready to snap and murder someone if they moved too suddenly.
When Lana and Zabriel kissed to seal their union, the assembled guests erupted in applause that echoed across the estate grounds.
And finally, she could breathe. For better or worse.
Because that was when the first explosion shattered the evening’s joy.
The blast came from somewhere beyond the main pavilion, a deep rumbling boom that sent shock waves through the ground and extinguished several of the torches. Guests screamed and dove for cover as a second explosion followed, closer this time, accompanied by the sharp crack of gunfire.
Chaos erupted instantly. Vampires moved with inhuman speed toward exits and cover, while humans struggled to process what was happening. Security guards shouted orders that were lost in the pandemonium as more explosions echoed across the estate grounds.
Nadi waited for a split second, watching Lana and Zabriel at the altar.
Instead of fear, she saw grim satisfaction on both their faces—this wasn’t a surprise attack.
This was expected.
Planned.
Part of whatever larger game the Nostrom siblings had been playing.
Fuck.
Well. There went the plan to assassinate Mael. He was working with Lana, which she had been starting to suspect. But now it was confirmed they were workingwiththe fae in attendance. But to what ends?Why attack their own wedding…?
A figure burst through the eastern entrance of the pavilion—one of the estate guards, but moving wrong, too fluid, too wild. More figures poured in behind him, no longer bothering to maintain their human disguises.
Gunfire erupted from multiple directions as the infiltrators engaged the Nostrom security forces. Guests scattered in all directions, some seeking shelter behind overturned chairs, others rushing toward what they hoped were exits. The whitesilk pavilion became a battlefield, its pristine beauty torn and stained by violence.
Lilivra’s guards, ancient-looking things, quickly disposed of anyone who wandered too close—friend or foe—and began to carry out the litter that carried her toward the exit. They seemed entirely unconcerned with the chaos as if it were something they dealt with regularly.
Turning toward the stage, Nadi tried to make it to the front of the room but instantly stopped. It was pandemonium in that direction. Bodies and bullets criss-crossing between all parties. She wasn’t going to make it to Raziel. She had to retreat. Ducking outside of the pavilion, she drew her knives and did her best to gather her wits and get a sense of her bearings.
Through the mayhem, she spotted a familiar figure trying to reach the main house—Volencia Nostrom, her dark gown billowing as she moved with surprising speed for someone of her apparent age. The lesser matriarch was heading for what had to be a secure room, somewhere she could wait out the attack in safety.
This was it. The opportunity she’d been waiting for.
All the planning, all the sacrifice, all the months of deception.
