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Ruslan is slumped heavily against the front passenger door, his hand still clutched around his weapon, his other palm pressed flat over his ribs. Dark blood is already soaking through his crisp shirt and welling up between his fingers.

“Ruslan!” My voice comes out as a frantic shriek. “Ruslan!”

More rounds tear through the car. The side window explodes, showering my hair with glittering safety glass.

Zevran is lying broken in an intersection. Ruslan is bleeding out. Demyan is fighting alone.

I force myself forward, reaching over the seat for Ruslan’s fallen gun. My fingers tremble so violently I can barely wrap them around the metal grip, the heavy weight pulling at my fractured wrist.

I can’t do this. I’m too weak. I’m shaking too much.

I close my eyes.

And suddenly, he’s there with me.

Not a fading memory, but a searing phantom presence. I feel the solid wall of Zevran’s broad chest pressing firmly against my back. I feel the heat of his strong thighs anchoring me to the earth when everything else is spinning out of control.

I hear his voice rumbling right against the curve of my ear. Be still, printsessa.

He dragged me violently back into my own skin when I wanted to disappear. He taught me that I am not broken.

In my mind, his fingers are wrapping around mine, one by one. His hands cradle my hand. His strength bears the weight of the gun so I don’t have to carry it alone.

Good girl.

The heat of his dark approval rushes through my veins, burning away the paralysis and terror, leaving only a lethal focus in its place.

I open my eyes.

Pushing up off the carpet, I anchor my elbows against the leather seat, point the black barrel at a figure sheltering behind the open door of the SUV, and squeeze the trigger.

The recoil snaps my wrist back, sending a searing jolt of pain through my cast, but I don’t care. The gunshot cracks through the night air. The shadowy figure outside groans, stumbling back into the gloom. I find another enemy and squeeze again.

Then again.

And again.

Another silhouette crumples sideways away from the SUV.

Answering gunfire riddles the dashboard in a sudden hail of bullets. Demyan lets out a strangled gasp and sags forward, his weight coming down against the steering wheel with a blare of the horn.

Before the horror can fully sink in, the door beside me is torn open.

I spin around, raising the gun—

Coarse hands seize a fistful of my hair and yank with brutal force.

I’m dragged violently out of the car. My back slams onto the street, and the back of my head cracks painfully against the asphalt. The impact tears my silk dress and scrapes my skin raw. The gun clatters out of my grip, rolling into the shadows

I force my eyes open.

Troy stands towering over me.

He often looked at me with contempt, but tonight, bathed in the harsh yellow light of the streetlamps, his sneer is pure triumphant ownership. Like I’m a runaway pet that’s finally been brought to heel.

His cruel eyes trail down the torn silk of my blue dress, my tangled hair, and Zevran’s diamond ring glinting brightly on my finger.

“There she is,” he sneers, his voice dripping with venom. “My wife.”