CHAPTER 4: POISONED

DANIEL

There was an air of riches, extravagance, and deceit about the huge ballroom. Once more, my parents had organised one of their notorious high-society gatherings, bringing together the world's most influential individuals. But none of that matters to me at all. For the past two years, finding one woman—Rebel—had dominated my thoughts, my life, and my very being. Every time I believed I had her, she slipped through my fingers like an ethereal ghost, haunting me. She eluded my guys, the world's top trackers, who searched every nook and cranny on the planet. A phantom, a ghost, an assassin. She was more than her profession, though, in my opinion. I had her. My patience ran out tonight. I rejected all of the eligible women my mother had practically paraded in front of me. The piercing, burning energy of Rebel was unmatched by any of them. I stood at the bar and allowed the phoney laughing and shallow chatter to wash over me as the night wore on, drowning my annoyance in wine. Then I caught sight of her. It was neither the way her shoes clicked on the marble floor, drawing attention without a word nor the dress she wore—a masterpiece of black silk that clung to her like a second skin. It was her. A predator among prey, the air changed around her. The wine glass broke with a loud clank on the floor as my hold on it wavered. My men were immediately on guard, around me in a protective circle, their eyes looking for danger. However, I was immobile. I fixed my whole body on her. She was present. Rebel was just in front of me, tearing through the crowd like a blade through water after years of chasing shadows. Klaus snapped, "Stand down," his voice piercing the tension. A sneer curved his lips as he followed my gaze. "Well, I'd darned. It's her. The roaring in my ears made it difficult for me to hear him. As I watched her, my chest constricted. She brushed past the aristocracy with effortless elegance.

She brushed by the elites, who were unaware that they were rubbing up against death itself, with a fluid grace. I wanted to grab hold of it. I knew better, though. This was hardly the kind of person to approach like that. She picked her moment. Then she was gone. The air was broken by a shriek. People started to disperse as panic broke out in the gathering, and word soon got out that a foreign president had just been discovered dead. No struggle, no gunshot, simply dead. My heart pounded with a strong, possessive longing rather than fear. I snarled at Klaus, "She's not going out of this building." "Seek her out." As I forced my way through the confusion, Klaus nodded and began yelling commands at the men. I wasn't going to let her go again since I had waited too long for this moment. As security started to remove people from the ballroom, I remained. My mom attempted to pull me out, but I was able to convince her that I'd be fine, so she left with my dad and some men.

The once-crowded room was now eerily quiet, save for the muffled sounds of panic outside, but my men searched every inch of it, but Rebel was nowhere to be found.

Klaus came back, grim, and said, "Nothing," shaking his head. Before I could reply, a door at the far end of the hallway creaked open, and Rebel staggered out, her silhouette framed by the dim light. Something was wrong; she clutched her stomach, her once-steady movements now shaky and uncoordinated; blood stained the front of her gown, dark and frightening; my breath caught as I drew closer to her. “Rebel?” My voice was low and steady, but laced with urgency. Her wild, unfocused gaze locked with mine. Her voice was hardly heard as she murmured, "What... what's happening to me?" Her knees then gave way. I sprang forward and caught her before she could fall to the ground. I felt angry, and her body was chilly and shaky in my arms. The person who did this to her will pay a heavy price. Klaus stepped forward and stated, "She's hurt." I said, "Back off," and drew her in. I didn't need the assistance of my men, who hung around, uncertain of what to do. I refused to let anyone else touch her. Rebel's skin was pale, and her breathing was shallow. Is it poison? A substance? As I took her out of the building and into the waiting car, my mind was aflutter with potential outcomes. Klaus entered next to me, He started making calls with his phone already out. I yelled at the driver, "Drive." "And keep going until we reach my estate." Rebel's fingers curled into my jacket as she stirred feebly in my arms. She resisted me and the weakness that threatened to overwhelm her, even in her frail state. I kissed her temple and tightened my grip. "I've got you," I muttered. "You're safe now." It was a hazy ride to the mansion. By the time we got there, Rebel's head was lying on my chest as she went into a restless slumber. I ignored the staff's worried looks and carried her inside. Rebel's hand flew out, feebly brushing him away as my private physician, who was already waiting, came closer.

"Leave us," I commanded. "But, sir—" "Go," I said. I didn't take no for an answer. The doctor paused, then backed away, leaving her and me alone. I brushed a lock of hair away from her face and lay her gently on the bed. Even today, I couldn't deny her attractiveness, but what really captured me was the fire in her eyes. Even though it had dimmed, I could still see the flickering flames that would not go out. "What did they give you?" More to myself than to her, I whispered. Unfocused but fixed on mine, her eyes flitted open. She slumped back into the pillows after trying to talk but finding the effort too much. My hand brushed hers as I drew in closer.

I murmured quietly, with a tone of intense resolve, "You're not dying on me." "Not right now. Not ever. Her mouth moved as if she tried to smirk, but it was too much work. Rather, she closed her eyes and breathed steadily but shallowly. I sat back and watched her, my strong want to claim her fighting against my protective instinct. I had her. I had always had her. And I was determined to make sure she remained that way, no matter what. Other than the sound of her breathing, the night continued to be silent. I eventually fetched a moist cloth to gently remove the blood from her skin without waking her. She shifted a little, furrowing her face as if she were fighting against unseen demons. “I’ll take care of you,” I whispered, my voice low. “Even if you hate me for it.” And I meant it. Rebel might be the deadliest assassin in the world, but tonight, she was just a woman—vulnerable, fragile, and wholly mine.