Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
I swallow, heat and ash already filling my lungs. “I have an idea.” I glance over at Sylveria. “You might want to let us go.”
Her face drains, pale as wet chalk. Another explosion tears through the space, the boom echoing until the walls vibrate. Ceiling panels rip loose and crash to the floor in a storm of dust. Wesley pulls me clear of the collapse, his grip bruising, his breath harsh against my ear.
A third blast roars. I hear the outside elevator doors blow apart an instant before debris shoots across the open entrance to the reception area.
Justice and Wynd walk inside, bloody and cut. They fill the space, moving like a storm that’s already decided the damage. Justice has Corinda in a headlock, her feet dragging against the floor, while Wynd presses a gun to Stacia’s neck.
“What did I tell you?” Justice asks, his voice so low it shakes the air.
I shove out of Wesley’s arms on instinct, panic clawing at me. Then I realize he’s not talking to me. His eyes burn straight into Sylveria, who oddly has a yellow tinge bleeding into her pale cheeks—same as the damaged diamond.
“I haven’t hurt her,” she says, too calm, too collected.
Justice growls. A real growl. The sound reverberates off the walls. “I told you she was under my protection, and I also told you what I’d do if you hurt her.”
I edge away from Wesley, every instinct screaming at me to get small, get out of the line of fire. “I’m not hurt,” I blurt. That’s the truth. For all that I don’t like Sylveria or her daughters, I don’t want them dead. Not really. “Would you please let go of Corinda?”
“I actually don’t mind being in his arms,” Corinda says, smiling as if she enjoys being dragged into chaos.
“He’s got you in a headlock,” her sister snarls.
Wynd slowly eases the gun away from Stacia’s neck, but his grip on her arm looks painful.
Stacia tilts her chin toward me, calm as a statue. “I’ve had worse first dates, to be honest.”
A laugh bursts out of me, sharp and inappropriate. I sneeze quickly. Now I’m panic sneezing? The whole thing is too ridiculous.
“You’re all going to be arrested,” Wesley growls, stepping in front of me. He plants himself between me and the group, body taut, ready to take on all of them. “This is not happening. All of you need to go. Now.”
Anger swells from Justice as he walks toward us, still holding Corinda. “Get out of my way.”
Wesley clenches his fists. “No. I know all about you. Ella is too good for you.”
“We agree. Now move,” Justice snarls.
“No.” Wesley winds back his arm.
Justice is faster and lands a punch, nailing Wesley in the face.
Wesley drops hard.
“Justice!” My scream tears out of me as I rush toward Wesley.
“Leave him.” Justice’s voice is brutal, final. “You touch him, he dies.”
I skid to a stop, breath heaving, my hands shaking at my sides.
Wesley forces himself to sit upright. Fury carves lines into his face. “What the hell?”
Fire burns in Justice’s eyes. “Don’t ever get between Ella and me.” The words are so dark, they crawl up my spine like ice water.
I gulp.
Justice shoves Corinda toward her mother, that deadly gaze on me. “You. Here. Now.”
My feet move before I can think, before I can stop myself, obeying him. Going to his side.
“Wait.” I turn and rush to the back of the room, my lungs still raw from smoke and dust. My hands fumble with the latch until the glass door gives way. Inside, the crown sits bent and battered, one side caved in like it’s taken a fist from God himself. Even so, the citrines embedded along the rim spark to sudden life, flaring bright in a way that makes my throat tighten. Good Lord, they’re glorious.
The energy I’d drawn from the larger crystal still rides me hard, and it flows through my arms into the crown as if the pieces were waiting for me all along. The glow sharpens, facets catching light that shouldn’t exist in this wreck of a room.
I grab it and turn to hustle past the center console, crown cradled against my ribs, then pause. What am I doing? Instinct takes over. I reach out and heft the citrine from the console, its weight solid and burning against my palm and forearm.
“What are you doing?” Sylveria takes a step toward me, her voice sharp, but Justice pivots. Just enough to shift his weight, just enough to remind her he’s there. She freezes.
“I’m taking this,” I say, smiling without humor. I pause near Wesley, crouched in pain but still upright. While I want to soothe him, I don’t want to see him get hurt worse.
“I pulled the punch,” Justice cuts in flatly. “He’s fine. Get up.”
Wesley pushes to his feet. His face is gray, but he doesn’t buckle.