Page 23 of Vow to Claim You

But here? Not one of them looks at me like royalty. Not even close.

These people are their own kind of sovereigns—underworld royalty. Kings, queens, empires of violence and power built from blood, not lineage. To them, my title is irrelevant. I’m just another newcomer standing in a room full of people who could bring governments to their knees with a single phone call.

All the protocols and rules I had to follow back home don’t exist here. No one cares how deeply I curtsy or which fork I pick up first. And that makes me feel more human than I have in years. It’s… liberating. I know it’s absurd, considering I’m literally among criminals, but this is the first room I’ve walked into where I’m not defined by the crown I was born under, but by the spine I stand with. Where who I am seems to matter more than what I am. It’s twisted, irrational, and probably dangerous. But it feels real. More than the palace ever did.

We drive back in the same formation. Tassilo leads. Eero brings up the rear. Aric and I remain in the middle SUV.

I lean my head back, finally breathing. Until Aric stiffens.

Not subtly. Not in that “I’m irritated by your existence” kind of way I’ve grown accustomed to. His shoulders lock. Jaw grinds. Those pale, icy-blue eyes narrow at the road ahead like he’s already calculating casualties.

“Aric?” I angle my head toward him.

No response.

Instinctively, my gaze follows his, and I see it. A massive branch sprawled across the road, thick enough that no car could pass without removing it. Except it wasn’t here on our way to Asgard. And branches this size don’t fall cleanly. They rip. They leave chaos—splintered wood, scattered debris, evidence of the storm that tore them loose. This one looks… placed.

Aric curses in Norwegian under his breath. I know because I’ve made a point of learning a few words since my arrival—specifically, the profanities. Men swear like it’s their religion. Seemed like an obvious place to start.

“Stay in the car,” he orders, already reaching for the door handle.

Which is exactly why I open mine.

“Ayanna—”

At least he calls me by my name. Worth it.

“I’m not sitting inside like a terrified puppy just because you said so.” I shrug, stepping out before he can stop me.

His glare could freeze lava. “You do what I tell you when I tell you.”

“Yeah, that’s working out great for us so far.”

He steps out, and for a split second, I stay by the door—long enough to watch him scan the tree line, the shadows between branches, the angles where threats could hide. His body shifts into something I haven’t seen before. Not the cold businessman. Not the distant husband. Something predatory. Alert. Dangerous in a way that makes my pulse trip over itself.

Then I follow.

He whirls around as if he can sense me. “Ayanna. In the damn car.”

“No.”

His jaw tightens. “Get back⁠—”

The gunshot swallows the rest of his sentence.

I don’t see the bullet. Don’t see where it lands. I only feel Aric—all six feet five inches of him—collide with me like a wall of muscle and instinct. One arm locks around my waist, the other cups the back of my skull, and then the world tilts violently as he takes us both over the embankment.

We hit the frozen ground hard. My breath leaves in a sharp gasp, spine absorbing the impact, but he’s already shifting—rolling us deeper into the embankment, pressing me into the cold earth with his body as a shield. His chest covers mine. His arms cage me. Every hard line of him is wrapped around me like he’s trying to absorb whatever comes next before it can reach me.

Another shot cracks through the night. Bark explodes off a tree inches from where my head was a second ago.

“Aric—”

“Quiet.” His command is little more than a rasp, dragged through clenched teeth.

A third shot. His body jerks above me—a sharp, involuntary flinch—and his breath stutters. His muscles seize.

Oh God. He was hit.