Getting closer.
"Cyprian—"
"I know."
His wings unfurl.
Massive.
Powerful.
Filling the corridor.
"Hold on to me," he says.
"What?"
"Hold on to me."
I don't argue.
I wrap my arms around his neck.
And he runs.
Chapter 23: Tamsin
I'm playing corporate spy in a four-thousand-dollar dress and three-inch heels.
This is not how I imagined my life going.
Cyprian's hand rests at the small of my back as we slip away from the ballroom, his palm warm and steady through the obsidian silk. The crowd doesn't notice us leave—they're too busy watching Lucien work his vampire charm on a cluster of high-tier mages near the bar.
The moment we step into the corridor, everything changes.
The noise drops away.
The golden light dims.
And suddenly we're moving through a different world entirely—one of polished marble floors, floor-to-ceiling glass walls, and the kind of oppressive silence that comes with heavy surveillance.
My heels click against the marble.
Sharp.
Precise.
Way too fucking loud.
"This is a terrible idea," I whisper.
Cyprian doesn't respond.
He just keeps moving, his frame casting long shadows across the walls, his amber veins glowing soft gold beneath his slate-gray skin.
He's in full tactical mode.
Silent.
