I growl low in my throat. “Cassia.”
She stops, turns to face me. “You can’t lock me away every time things get dangerous.”
“Yes, I can.”
“No,” she says. “You shouldn’t.”
The words land harder than they should.
“Get behind me,” I order.
Her jaw sets. “I won’t hide.”
I don’t have time to argue. We make our way into the hall just as the fight is making its way up toward my private quarters.
The door bursts open at the end of the hall as an injured servant stumbles through, blood soaking his shirt, panic in his eyes.
Cassia moves before I can stop her.
She catches him as he collapses, her hands already pressing against the wound, voice calm, steady.
“Sit down,” she tells him. “You’re going to be fine. Look at me. Breathe.”
I see it then.
Not fear.
Not hesitation.
Competence.
She’s done this before.
Something inside me snaps.
I dispatch the attackers with ruthless efficiency, the hall and the club below becoming a storm of violence and command. Bodies fall. The remaining vampires retreat once they realize they miscalculated.
Again.
When it’s over, my hands are bloodied, and my temper is shredded.
Cassia is still kneeling on the floor, hands stained red, murmuring reassurance to the servant until guards take over.
I stalk toward her and grip her arm, hauling her to her feet.
“What the hell do you think you were doing?” I snarl.
Her eyes blaze. “Helping.”
“You could’ve been killed.”
“So could he,” she shoots back, gesturing toward the servant being carried away. “You don’t get to decide whose life is worth risking.”
I don’t trust myself to respond.
I drag her back toward my chambers, ignoring the stares, the whispers, the blood slicking the floor. I slam the door behind us and lock it.
She wrenches her arm free. “Let go of me. Don’t manhandle me.”
