A pair of soldiers ran to the TV, yelling about turning it off.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The masked man’s voice was edged with violence. He must have had a camera set up to watch the room.
“If you want to see any of your men again, you’ll clear the room and find me someone in charge. No one try anything stupid. I don’t want any press involved. If I catch a whiff of this on the news or if this stream is cut, we will kill them all.”
One silent second passed before utter pandemonium exploded.
People screamed, each battling over the others to be heard. Shouts of alarm came from the audience. A few women erupted into tears. Someone fainted. The soldiers seemed just as confused and in shock as everyone else.
Cold, sickening, toe-curling, stomach-turning dread filled Brynleigh’s stomach.
The masked man turned his head to the side, and Brynleigh caught sight of something on his neck.
Was that…
“Isvana help us all,” she breathed.
Oh, this would not end well.
Etched among swirling tattoos of flowers and vines was a symbol she’d come to know all too well. A dagger stabbed a crescent moon, taking up a place of prominence on the rebel’s neck.
Fuck.
The curse seemed to be the only thing Brynleigh could think of. Her brain wasn’t functioning. She could barely breathe, let alone find words.
The Black Night was here early, and they’d gone off script. This was wrong. They were supposed to attack the Reunion, not take the men. No one was supposed to get hurt. Hostages had never been part of the plan.
Had they ever intended to attack tonight as Brynleigh had suggested?
She hadknownsomething was wrong when she saw the moon. Why hadn’t she done something earlier? Instead of calling Ryker, she’d been busy fighting with Valentina.
Brynleigh couldn’t help but feel that she’d brought this upon everyone here by suggesting that the rebels attack at the Reunion.
Was this her fault?
She didn’t scream or cry because what good would tears do in a situation like this?
Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods.
Bile rose in her throat. Her vision swam, and a tremor ran through her.
Her stomach hollowed, and her attention returned to the TV.
The room behind the masked man was dark, but she could make out flickers of movements. Her vampiric hearing picked up muffled cries and grunts.
Each sound caused the emptiness within her to grow until it felt like she was falling into a pit of nothingness.
Internally, she screamed Ryker’s name. She wished they had a bond, a link, or even those gods-damned earrings that let him hear her. Anything would be better than this empty, silent, not-knowing state where she found herself.
That empty pit threatened to swallow Brynleigh whole. She needed to act, to move, but all her strength and bravado were so far away.
Someone cleared out the audience until only a few people remained.
Soldiers surrounded the women, herding them like sheep into a circle.
Nikhail made it on stage. He stood several feet from the others, furiously typing into his phone.
Sending for help, Brynleigh hoped.