Page 30 of Beneath the Thorned Crown

To tell her to run.

But the words die in my throat, swallowed by the raw agony tearing through my body.

My fingers twitch, weakly reaching for her, but I can’t lift my arm. My strength is draining, slipping away as fast as the blood spilling from my side.

But worse than the pain—worse than the choking, unbearable sensation of my own body betraying me—is the sound of her crying.

That is what truly guts me.

Not the bullet. Not the fall. Her.

Her sobs shake against the chaos, sharp and ragged. Her hands, usually steady, tremble violently as she presses harder against my wound.

“Charles!” Her voice is raw, a scream edged in panic. “Help! He’s—he’s hit!”

Footsteps pound against the concrete. A shadow looms over me—Charles. I hear the way he curses under his breath, a string of expletives filled with anger and panic.

“Fuck,” he mutters, dropping beside me. His hands replace Isabella’s, pressing down hard—too hard. My body jerks at the pressure, a fresh wave of agony burning through my gut.

“Shit—hold on, Dom.” His voice is gruff, strained, but beneath it, there’s urgency. Charles doesn’t panic—he never panics. But I hear the anxiety in his voice.

I blink slowly, my vision swimming, and I know what he sees. I know what’s happening. The blood. The way my breathing is growing shallower. The way my body feels heavier with every passing second.

I try to focus, to pull myself back, but everything is slipping.

The world around me blurs at the edges. Sounds come in and out—gunfire still rings in the distance, shouts, curses, footsteps.

But the only sound that matters—the only thing anchoring me to this reality—is Isabella.

Her voice, breaking apart.

Her hands, shaking against my skin.

Her warmth, desperate and real.

And for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like the unshakable force I’ve always been.

I feel human.

I feel mortal.

I’ve been shot before.

More times than I can count. I’ve walked away from it every time.

But this—this is different.

This time, I’m not just thinking about myself.

This time, I’m praying.

I don’t know who I’m praying to, don’t even know if I believe in that kind of thing.

But I do it anyway.

I pray that I survive this.

Not for me.

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