Chapter 33 Octavian
OCTAVIAN
This Elizabeth Carter woman puts me on edge.
Her walk is too perfect. Her smile too still. Every word she speaks is rehearsed. But it's not just that, it's the way she looks at Keira. Like she's marking her. Like she already knows where the knife is going to go in.
I follow a half-step behind them and slide my phone from my pocket as we walk. I swipe my thumb across the screen and the tracking app loads, and there it is, moving on the map as we go, a small green dot.
Keira's bracelet.
Working perfectly.
I slip the phone back into my jacket, my jaw tense.
Nicolae's voice echoes in my skull: Let them take her. You track. You wait for confirmation. Only then do you extract.
It still makes me want to put my fist through a wall.
I've been preparing for this to some degree since the moment I accepted the assignment.
While I confidently told her brothers there wouldn't be anything like a bomb here, I figured the gala was always the likely strike point to kidnap Keira.
It's public, high-profile, with just enough chaos to create opportunity for Keira to drop her guard.
And while I had to spend the day away from her, it was for a good reason.
I'd spent the entire morning covering this hotel. Exits, service corridors, security rotations, blind spots. I've mapped it all.
But I haven't seen these side stairs we're walking down. As a matter of fact, the blueprints they showed me to the hotel had this marked as dead-space, but it looks like that's not the case.
And there was no mention about the special gallery, either.
What else was a lie?
No, I can't spiral. I'm good at this stuff. Better than good. I've got it.
Keira glances back at me, and I give her the smallest nod, hoping it tells her I'm here. I've got you.
And despite what happens, I do, because this is my plan.
It just so happens to help my uncle and the Ionescu line come to the U.S.
I've thought about it every which way and the logic is sound, even if it tastes like dirt.
I need to let them take her.
And I know how they’ll do it because it’s always the same. It's all so predictable.
I’ve even rehearsed it here at the hotel earlier.
They’ll get her in the bathroom, the basement, or when we’re leaving.
If that, then they’ll just tail us and run us off the road.
Something that they think will confuse or scare us, but I’ll be ready and play the part.
Then I can track her to this Phantom King, move in, save her, and destroy the entire fucking operation.
It's the only way to end this.
If I don't take down the people hunting her, they'll always be a threat. Her life will always be in danger. And not just hers: Callum, Declan, her entire family. Everyone she cares about.
I can save all of them, I just have to let her go first.
And fuck my uncle for assuming I wouldn't risk my life or burn the plan if I think Keira's going to get hurt. But if I pull this off cleanly, if I get her back unharmed and eliminate the threat in one move, then he gets his alliance, and I get what I want. Her.
Safe and mine forever.
She'll understand.
She has to understand.
We step into the gallery, and the space opens up wider than I anticipate. High vaulted ceilings. Dim lighting. Glass cases holding God knows what.
I glance down at Keira, and her shoulders are tight, her breathing shallow. She's nervous.
I place my hand on the small of her back.
I'm here. I've got you.
She doesn't pull away.
The people in the room unsettle me immediately.
There are maybe twenty guests scattered throughout the space, but they move wrong. Too still. Too aware. Their eyes track Keira as we pass, lingering too long, assessing.
Elizabeth leads us deeper into the room as she gestures toward the displays, speaking in riddles.
We stop in the center of the room, and Elizabeth turns to face us, her fake smile plastered across her face.
"This," she says, gesturing to a pedestal draped in black velvet, "is what I most wanted to show you."
She pulls the cord.
The velvet falls.
Fuck.
The statue towers above us, easily eight or nine feet tall, cast in blackened bronze.
The Morrígan. War. Death. Fate.
Every instinct in my body flares to life, sharp and immediate. The air shifts. The room feels smaller, tighter, like the walls are closing in.
We shouldn't have come.
This isn't how I imagined it going down. No, it was supposed to be different.
But it’s happening here.
Now.
In front of witnesses.
I scan the room again, my pulse quickening. The guests aren't guests; they're moving, positioning themselves, blocking exits as if they're encircling us.
There's more than I anticipated now.
Shit.
I count them quickly. Too many to fight through.
I need to grab her hand and get us the hell out of here.
I tense, but I hesitate.
Three seconds. Just three seconds.
Because if I pull her out now, the Phantom King stays hidden. The Morrígan Order stays intact. They regroup, they adapt, and they come for her again.
And again. And again.
Until one day, I'm not fast enough.
Three seconds. That's all it is.
And in those three seconds, my world changes.
The lights cut out. Instant, total darkness swallows the room whole.
Glass shatters. Screams rise. The sound of a body hitting the floor. Then more. Someone cries out.
And then—
"OCTAVIAN!"
Keira's voice, sharp and terrified.
I lunge forward, hand reaching for where she just was, fingers grasping at empty air.
"Keira!"
Silence.
I swing my arm wider, searching, moving through the darkness.
Someone grabs at me. I rip free.
"KEIRA! Answer me!"
No answer.
A crash. More screams. Someone shouts, "Just a power issue! Everyone calm down! Stay calm!"
The lights come back on, harsh and blinding.
But she's not here.
My chest is heaving. I'm already moving, scanning every face.
The space where she stood is empty.
Elizabeth Carter is gone too.
No. No, no, no.
I move toward the statue, circling it fast, checking every angle, every shadow.
Nothing.
I grab the nearest person, a man in a tuxedo, eyes wide with confusion.
"Where the fuck is she?"
He jerks back, trying to pull away. "I don't, I don't know what you're talking about."
I release him with a shove, already moving.
My eyes catch movement at the far end of the room, a flash of blonde hair disappearing through a side door.
Elizabeth.
She's running, so I start after her.
I pull my phone out; the bracelet's still transmitting, but I'm not waiting.
I sprint across the gallery, shoving through the scattered guests. Some try to grab me, hands clutching at my jacket, my arm, but I'm moving too fast, too hard. I throw an elbow into someone's ribs, hear the grunt of pain, and keep moving.
I glance at my watch, the one Keira gave me, thirty-seven seconds since the lights came back on.
I reach the side door and slam through it so hard it rebounds off the wall.
My hands are shaking.
Not from fear.
From rage.
She's set us up. She's led us down here like lambs to slaughter.
And now Keira's gone.
Elizabeth turns back and, seeing me flying down the corridor, tries to run faster, but it's no use.
I will fucking catch her if it's the last thing I do.