Page 150 of Dangerous King
People are on the ground. Some cut from the flying glass. Others, just crawling, dazed and bleeding, hands covering ears, mouths gasping open in shock. The blast tore through the glass doors like they were tissue. Shards glint like stars across the stone floor. A few bodies are slumped, too still.
Please, God, not her.
"CAT!" I shout, my voice breaking with rage and panic.
I shove a man out of the way—I don't even know who he is—and push past one of the guards who's coughing into his sleeve. Toni's at my side, shouting something I can't hear. I ignore him. My eyes are locked on the yawning blackness inside the dining hall.
Smoke coils out like it's alive, thick and choking. Flames flicker near the cake table. A chandelier dangles at an angle, crystals shattered, broken wires hissing.
"CAT!" My voice cracks this time.
Nothing.
I step over a toppled chair, nearly trip on someone's shattered champagne glass. My shoes crunch over glass and blood and wedding lace. I don't feel any of it. I don't care. My hands push through the smoke like I can part it with will alone.
Please be alive. Please be breathing.
Another scream—female. Close—but not hers. Where the fuck is she?
If she's hurt—if she's gone—I swear to God, I will burn this entire world to the ground. I will drag Ledyanoy Prizrak out of hell himself and bury him in pieces across five continents.
"Cat," I whisper hoarsely now, throat raw.
Movement to my left catches my eye, a glint of satin—a shape hunched near the far wall, obscured by smoke.
My heart stops again. And then it roars back to life as I sprint toward it.
I reach her in seconds that feel like centuries. She's crumpled on the floor in a mess of smoke and fabric, white satin streaked with red. My knees hit the marble hard. "Cat," I breathe, my voice torn, ragged.
Her head lolls slightly, lashes fluttering. "Enrico…" Her voice is faint, distant, like it's traveling from another world.
I drag her up into my arms, careful but desperate. That's when I see it, a shard of glass lodged beneath her left breast, angling just under the curve of her ribs.
"Fuck." The word rips from my throat like a growl. Not deep. It's not deep. I can tell. But the blood—her blood—against her white gown, my wife's blood, it's enough to drive me goddamn insane.
"Don't move," I whisper, gripping her hand. "You're going to be okay. You hear me? You're okay, Cat. Stay with me."
She tries to nod, wincing. "Hurts…"
"I know, baby." My lips brush her temple. I want to scream. To kill. But I can't do either, not while she's bleeding in my arms. "You're going to be fine. Help's coming. I've got you. Nothing's going to take you from me, you hear?"
My hands are shaking. I never shake. Not even in war. But this? Seeing her like this? I can barely breathe.
"Silvano!" I shout into the smoke. "Get Doc Brown. Now!"
A voice shouts back, muffled and far away.
"I don't care if he's in the middle of an amputation; Cat needs him. Drag him here if you have to." I order, before I lower my forehead to hers, cradling her face with the hand that isn't trying to slow the bleeding. "You're my wife now, remember? And I don't lose what's mine."
Tears mix with ash on her cheeks. She tries to smile, weak and pained.
The sight of her trying to comfort me when she's the one bleeding nearly undoes me.
"Don't you dare close your eyes," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I will follow you to the fucking underworld and drag you back if you do."
Footsteps thunder behind me.
Then I hear it, that gravel-thick voice, already pissed off and raspy from smoke. "Move! Get the hell out of my way. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, can't leave you people alone for five goddamn minutes?—"
