Page 195 of Cruel Devotion

Each step was a battle, a small victory against the overwhelming force of public interest.

One man reached out to me. His fingers barely grazed my arm before a guard gently but firmly pushed him back.

“Fengge, have someone grab that man.” Lei glared. “Keep him under the palace for tonight. I want to talk to him later.”

“Yes, sir.” Fengge pointed to two guards. “Get that guy! Now!”

I squeezed past several guards and remained close to Lei. “What are you going to do?”

Lei tilted my way and brushed his lips against my ear.

Cameras flashed.

He whispered, “I’m just going to have a conversation with him.”

“Don’t do anything crazy.”

“Me? Doing something crazy over you?” He grinned. “Never.”

Oh God.

As Fengge and Bolin cleared a path, the crowd seemed to surge forward with renewed vigor.

Reporters—with microphones thrust forward like weapons—maneuvered for any gap they could find, their questions crashing over us like relentless breakers.

“Lei! Look here!”

Lei's arm around my waist was the only thing anchoring me in this chaos. I clung to him, feeling the press of bodies all around us. The guards struggled to maintain a barrier. The reporters remained relentless, each one fighting for their own slice of the story.

And the crowd continued to breathe and move as one entity, pulsing and writhing with each step we took.

“Answer us!”

Many of the guards had to use their bodies as shields, pushing back against the press of people. It was a physical struggle, a slow, grinding advance through a human forest dense with curiosity and excitement.

“Enough!” Bolin took out his gun and pointed at several in front. “Get out of the way!”

Lei scowled. “Bolin, don't shoot any of them. You know the rules.”

“Yes, sir.” Frowning, Bolin lowered his gun but didn't put it back in his holster.

Still, due to that gun, many hurried away while others came up.

Somehow, we slid through.

Shit!

The press of bodies was overwhelming. Heat emanated from the crowd, the warmth of so many people packed so closely together.

Someone shoved a microphone in my face.“What's your name and why are you here?”

Bolin shoved the man away. He fell back into others, yet that didn't stop the questions or more people trying to bring the microphone toward me.

Lei's arm around my waist was the only anchor in the shifting sea of faces, his grip firm and reassuring.

“Mountain Master, what designer are you wearing today?”

The air was thick with the scent of sweat and perfume.

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