Page 29 of Daisy
His blade slides between ribs with practiced precision. The rogue alpha's eyes go wide, then empty. He crumples forward.
Daisy tumbles from his shoulder. I lunge forward, trying to catch her, but I'm too far away. She hits the floor hard enough to stop my heart.
But she's breathing. Moving.Alive.
I'm on my knees beside her before the alpha's body finishes falling. Behind me, Cassian's fist connects with brutal efficiency. Drops the second attacker cold.
Silence. Except for distant chaos echoing through the building. And Daisy's soft, rapid breathing.
Hawk wipes his blade clean. "Hawk," he says by way of introduction.
His scent should feel threatening. Leather and motor oil with something darker underneath. Instead, something about him makes me want to trust him. Like he understands exactly what's happening here.
"She's your scent match too, isn't she?" Hawk says quietly, looking between me and Daisy.
I don't understand what he means, but something in my chest tightens. "What?"
"Never mind." Hawk's expression gentles as he looks at her. "She needs to feel safe first."
Safe. When's the last time Daisy felt safe? Before her uncle started using her as a political pawn? Before I watched him grip her shoulder hard enough to leave bruises?
Before I stood by and did nothing?
"Dante." Cassian's voice pulls me back. "We have to go. Now."
Cassian.I still can't process him appearing here. We haven't seen each other in years, but when our eyes met through the smoke it was like no time passed. Like we're still those kids who had each other's backs against the world.
I strip off my guard jacket. Settle it over Daisy carefully. The fabric swallows her whole, makes her look even smaller.
"Daisy?" Softer this time. "Can you hear me?"
Nothing. Her eyes are open but unfocused, staring at something I can't see. Like she's not really here anymore. Like whatever that bastard did broke something vital inside her.
My chest feels like it's caving in.
I slide my arms under her carefully. Lift her against my chest like she's made of spun glass. She weighs nothing. Just silk and honeysuckle and terror wrapped in my jacket.
She doesn't resist. Doesn't respond at all.
The absolute trust in her stillness breaks something in me.
"This way." I head toward the service exit I know will be clear. Training kicks in automatically—assess threats, identify escape routes, protect the asset.
Except Daisy isn't an asset.
She's... I don't know what she is. But the thought of anyone hurting her again makes me want to burn the world down.
Years of watching her from room edges. Years of standing guard while her uncle paraded her in front of predators in expensive suits. Years of wanting to step in, to shield her from it all. To tell her she deserved better than being sold to the highest bidder.
Years of telling myself it was just my job.
I was lying.
The hallways are chaos—smoke, emergency lighting, distant sounds of violence and terror. But all of it feels secondary to her weight in my arms. To the way her scent wraps around me like something I've been missing my whole life without knowing it.
We emerge into night air. A black van waits, engine running. Another figure sits behind the wheel—broader, quieter, with steady hands despite the chaos we're fleeing.
I position myself protectively between the unknown alpha and Daisy, my grip tightening on her unconscious form.
