Author's POV Gideon was already running before the line went dead. He'd had the phone against my ear for exactly forty seconds when he realized whose voice it was. It was Arielle, feeding him directions like breadcrumbs, too calm to be as scared as she was pretending, and he knew, in the second before the crunch of plastic and the awful silence that followed, that he wasn't listening to a wrong number. He was listening to a kidnapping. He hit the corridor at a dead sprint, boots skidding on polished stone, and didn't stop until he reached her door. Locked. No answer. He kicked it in. The room was empty, an overturned tea tray on the carpet, the porcelain in pieces, and beside it, a maid, crumpled on her side, chest rising too slow. "Hey." He dropped to his knees, two fingers at her throat. Pulse there, weak, steady. "Hey, wake up." Her eyes fluttered. "L-Luna—" she managed, and then nothing else, passing out cold again. He was already moving, phone back at his ear, dialing
Read more
LOGIN
