Chapter 23 #2
We kept walking, weaving into the ballroom’s glow. Cristian inclined his head politely to a tall man whose eyes gleamed too brightly to be human—shifter?—then nodded once at three women in sapphire masks whose energy practically hummed. Witches, probably.
I didn’t know for sure what any of them were, but Cristian did. He moved like he’d walked through courts like this for centuries. Like he knew exactly which beings would bow and which would bite.
But his attention kept drifting up. To the balcony. To the shadows.
He was looking for Cassian.
And I stayed close. Closer than I technically had to. His hand stayed threaded through mine, warm and steady, guiding me through the glittering ballroom.
Protecting me.
We hadn’t come here as equals. But we were moving through the room like two halves of something neither of us could name yet.
Cristian slowed. His thumb brushed my knuckles absently.
He exhaled, low and frustrated, then looked down at me.
“Come,” he murmured.
Before I could ask why, his hand slid down my arm—warm, firm—pulling me into him as the music shifted.
Strings rose and drums deepened. Something ancient unfurled through the ballroom.
He pulled me into him.
The ballroom disappeared. The masks, the creatures, the danger… everything faded until there was nothing but his chest beneath my cheek and the steady rise and fall of his breath.
I was exactly where I wanted to be.
For one suspended moment, I forgot I was probably the only human in the room. Forgot about the court. Forgot about threats, bonds, and the entire tangled mess of our lives.
I just felt… safe. Held. Steady.
“Do you see him?” I whispered, my voice muffled against the fabric of his suit.
Cristian’s jaw tightened beneath my temple. “No.”
He didn’t elaborate.
After a breath, he added quietly, “In a few moments, I will need to mingle with some of the stronger vampires present. I know where they are.”
Of course he did.
I nodded, even though the thought of letting go of him made something sink in my chest. “Okay.”
I wished—ridiculously—that the song would never end. That we could stay right there, in this impossibly perfect pocket of calm, where the world wasn’t trying to steal him away, or steal me away, or unravel the string that tied us together.
But the moment cracked. Cristian’s grip on my waist loosened, and I knew immediately that he was in pain. His breath hitched sharply.
He grabbed his head with both hands, a low, strangled sound slipping out between his teeth.
My heart lurched. “Cristian, what’s wrong?”
He winced harder, face contorting. “You don’t hear it?”
“Hear what?” I asked, panic rising up my throat.
He shook his head, eyes squeezing shut. “High-pitched. Like… needles.”
The music didn’t stutter. No one screamed. No one clutched their heads or panicked.
It was just him.
He staggered backward. I caught his arm instinctively—he was heavier than he looked, a solid wall of muscle—but he let me guide him toward an empty table. He sank into a chair, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
“Cristian, talk to me,” I whispered, crouching beside him. “Tell me what to do.”
He didn’t answer. His breathing was too shallow, too tight.
People moved around us like nothing was happening.
I’d never felt so alone in a crowd.
I fumbled for my phone with shaking hands and texted Lena.
Me: Cristian is in pain. Some kind of high-pitched sound. No one else hears it. What do I do? Ask Ezra now.
Three agonizing seconds later, the typing dots appeared.
Lena: Ezra says it’s the court. Their tech. Some frequency thing—probably something he built. It’s meant to weaken him. You need to get out NOW.
Cold fear drenched my spine.
I swallowed hard and leaned close to Cristian’s ear. “Ezra thinks they’re doing this to weaken you. Maybe to…” I hated saying it. “To capture you. Put you back in stasis.”
Cristian lifted his head. His eyes were blood-black, unfocused but determined. “I can walk.”
He tried to stand and nearly buckled.
I got under his arm, anchoring his weight. “I’ve got you. Come on.”
Earlier, when I’d needed grounding, he’d steadied me. Now, I was steadying him.
We pushed through the crowd slowly—him leaning on me, me trying not to panic every time someone turned too sharply or something flickered in the corner of my vision. I was running on pure adrenaline. With how weak I was feeling lately, it was a miracle I was able to assist him.
I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting Ambrosia’s smirk, Hammond’s delighted cruelty, the court closing in like wolves.
No one stopped us.
Which somehow made it worse. Why did they keep doing this?
We stepped out into the night air, and the cold hit me hard—sharp, almost metallic, like the world itself was warning us to run faster. Cristian leaned into me, heavier than I’d ever felt him, his breath uneven, his hand gripping my arm with just enough pressure to stay upright.
I hurried down the steps, half-carrying Cristian, half-dragging him, my pulse a frantic drumbeat in my ears.
The valet stand was empty.
Of course it was.
“Shit,” I muttered, scanning the shadows under the portico. “Hello? Hi? I need my car.”
A head popped around the corner—teenager, bow tie crooked, clearly on break. He jolted when he saw Cristian slumped against me.
“Uh—yes! Yes, ma’am!” he squeaked, sprinting to the key cabinet.
Cristian’s head bowed, jaw tight. “Nadia,” he rasped. His voice sounded wrong—thin, frayed. “Something is…wrong.”
“I know,” I whispered, tightening my grip around his waist. “Stay with me. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
The valet fumbled with the keys like he’d never seen a key ring in his life. Finally, he found mine and jogged toward the parking lot.
I could feel Cristian’s weight worsening, his balance slipping. “Come on,” I begged. “Just a little longer.”
By the time we reached the edge of the curb, the valet had already pulled my car up, cut the engine, and offered me the keys with wide, terrified eyes.
“Do you—uh—need…an ambulance?”
“No,” I snapped, grabbing the keys. “Thank you. Drive safe. Drink water.”
He blinked. “I’m…standing still.”
“Perfect,” I said, and turned back to Cristian.
I got the passenger door open and helped him inside. His entire body tensed as he tried to sit up on his own, breath hitching like the air itself hurt him. I buckled him in because his hands weren’t cooperating.
“Just breathe,” I whispered, brushing sweaty hair from his forehead. “I’m taking you home.”
His fingers twitched toward mine—weakly, blindly.
“Nadia…”
“I’m right here,” I said, slipping into the driver’s seat with shaking hands. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I floored it. I kept glancing at him, my pulse thudding in my throat.
He was recovering.
Thank fuck.
“We’ll be home soon,” I whispered, not sure if I was reassuring him or myself. “Just a few more minutes.”
He didn’t open his eyes, but his fingers found mine across the console. His touch was weak, as if he was reaching through static.
I drove faster. Streetlights streaked past. His breaths evened out. His shoulders slowly unknotted. By the time I turned onto the quiet road leading to the mansion, something inside me unlocked. Relief. Terror. Adrenaline that wasn’t even close to crashing.
I parked crookedly, killed the ignition, and rested my forehead on the steering wheel, breath shaking.
“We made it,” I whispered.
Cristian inhaled deeply, the tension in his body easing notch by notch. When he finally opened his eyes, they looked clearer. Whatever had hurt him was starting to fade.
“We did,” he murmured. “Thanks to you.”
Then he blinked, testing his strength, rolling his shoulders, straightening in the seat.
I watched him, wide-eyed. His recovery wasn’t gradual—it was abrupt. Wrong. Like someone had flipped a switch inside him.
His brows drew together, troubled. “This is… strange.”
“What is?”
“How quickly the weakness left.” He flexed his fingers, studying the movement. “The pain was overwhelming. Then… nothing.”
A chill ran down my spine.
“So, that’s not normal?” I said quietly.
His expression darkened with worry he didn’t bother to hide. “Whatever they used on me—it was meant to incapacitate, not kill.”
Cristian’s strength returned in measured beats.
By the time we were out of the Corolla and up the walkway, he was upright, steady, fully himself again. Relief hit me so hard my knees went weak.
“That scared the absolute shit out of me,” I said, pressing a hand to my chest. “But I’m really, really glad you’re okay.”
He turned toward me, studying my face like he was memorizing it. “I am fine now,” he said softly. “But you—”
His jaw tightened.
“You were afraid.”
“Of course I was afraid, Cristian. You were—” My voice cracked. “I thought something awful was happening to you.”
His gaze dropped to my hands, still shaking slightly.
“My only thought,” he said slowly, “was that I was failing you.”
My breath caught. “Failing me?”
“Yes.”
He said it simply. Softly. As if it were truth carved in stone.
“I needed to protect you,” he continued, stepping closer. “And I could not. I could barely stand. I could not fight. That terrified me more than the pain.”
Something heavy and warm settled deep in my stomach.
Of all the things he could have thought about while suffering some supernatural neurological torture… he thought of me.
No one had ever cared for me like this. No one had ever looked out for me like this.
Why did he?
I opened my mouth to respond—to say something, anything—but the words didn’t exist yet. There was only him. The intensity. The impossible steadiness of him.
The moment hung there between.
Inevitable.
Cristian leaned in first, or maybe I did. I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that suddenly his mouth was on mine and my world rearranged itself accordingly.
The kiss wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was deep—slow—anchoring.
He kissed me like he needed to make sure I was real. And I kissed him back like my body had been waiting for him to come back to me.
His hand slid to my jaw, tilting my face up. My fingers curled into his suit jacket.
By the time he pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
“Let’s get inside,” he whispered, voice rough.
I headed inside, heart rattling around my ribs, realizing I wasn’t afraid of the same things anymore. My fears had shifted. I was no longer afraid for myself… I was afraid of losing him. I didn’t shrink or pull back from that. I let myself want.