The sound of a gunshot blasted through my eardrums.

It was followed by a rush of pain erupting through the upper left side of my chest. My hands pressed against the agitated area, and quickly, they were coated in my blood. Disorientated, I frantically tried to find my bearings. I was standing on one of the top steps of the Rialto Bridge overlooking the Grand Canal in Venice. I had been here before on one of Galileo's missions. I had ascended and descended these very steps with Jay on one side and Kit on the other. Jay and I had dawdled at the vendors who had their carts arranged along the bridge. Tipsy on Italian wine, we had laughed and produced silly accents while pressing the Venetian masks from the vendor stands against our faces. Kit had stood off to the side, shaking his head over our antics. His own gaze had been drawn to the notebooks bounded in leather. The city had been busy with pedestrian traffic from the locals and tourists. In my memory, blue skies stretched above our heads; we heard the faint serenades of gondoliers floating underneath us; the seawater was calm as it slowly lapped against the buildings that jutted out of the ocean. An ancient compromise between land and water had been in place for centuries.

Everything had changed.

The city had been demolished by a tsunami. The streets were flooded. Gondolas were idly drifting down the canals upside down. Water sodden bodies were floating next to the boats. They were facedown, bloated, and lifeless. The cause of their deaths was obvious: drowning. The sky was overcast with dark storm clouds, which were leaking bales of rain and ashes. This very bridge hosted a million footfalls a day. Now, I was the only one on it.

At the sight of the ashes, a sob got caught in my throat.

At the sight of the bodies everywhere, a strangled scream erupted from my mouth.

Another gunshot echoed in between the buildings. I felt the rush of the bullet right next to my ear as it flew past—too close for comfort. Frightened and wide-eyed, I searched the docks for the threat. I found it. Three males were ducked behind a tethered gondola. I saw two long gun barrels pointed directly at me. The last male seemed to possess a handgun.

It was enough to fuel my body with the adrenaline it needed to find cover. Turning my back on the shooters seemed counter-productive and cowardly. I was without any other choice. The bridge's natural descent to the other side of the canal offered brief cover from the threat. Yet, the bottom steps were flooded and slowed me down as the water came up to my knees. My heartbeat was rapid; I feared to turn around to assess whether I was being pursued. I couldn't hear past the swishing noises my own waterlogged run made.

By the time I made it off the bridge, the water was up to my mid-thighs. I kept one hand on my wound. This, in combination with the water, made it difficult to reach one of Venice's narrow alleyways. I fought for their concealment—if only to give me a couple of seconds to figure out what to do. I darted into the alleyway. I lunged for an entryway's alcove that provided a small bit of cover. I pressed my back against the wall. I struggled to gain control of my breathing. My wet hair was plastered to my face, obstructing my vision, and with my free hand, I swept it back. I glanced down at where my hand was pressed against my chest. The vividness of the red contrasted with the white shirt I was wearing. I struggled to remember where I had been before Venice. Although my memory was hazy, I was convinced I had been in Leander's classroom.

I slammed my head back against the door and shut my eyes. I didn't even know why my survival instincts were activated. Another massacre had occurred. From the amount of corpses I had seen in the Grand Canal alone, the death toll had to be astronomical. Water levels were rising with the nonstop rain. It was creeping up around my hips where I stood. I had made a grave mistake. I should have kept running. The water was going to slow me down.

"Why are you hiding, Bella? Why don't you try to fight us? Use your powers? You can't actually be afraid of guns." A masculine voice called out in Italian. The men had crossed the bridge. I could hear them pushing across the boardwalk, approaching the alleyway I had chosen. I swallowed and hoped that they had piss-poor observational skills.

"I thought you were supposed to be a threat. Yet, here you are, running away as soon as you are confronted. That's fucking insane!" one of the other men hollered out.

"She just wants to prey on the weak and innocent," the first man growled.

"Not for much longer. We'll kill her, cut off her head, and send it to her ex-boyfriend so he can fuck it."

"The only way to kill a witch is by burning her," the third man corrected.

I tried to make myself as small as I could when I sensed they were about to pass by the alleyway's entrance. I used the alleyway's storefronts to help with gaining a visual on them. Beyond the different wares that decorated the windows, their glass reflected some of what was happening on the boardwalk. It wasn't long before I saw the first man pushing himself forward through the flooding, partly swimming, partly walking. I timed sucking in my stomach and holding my breath to when he passed by the alleyway's entrance. His gaze darted down the alley; in his first pass, I remained invisible. That magic evaporated for his second. His eyes found me and latched onto me. "She's down here!" He cried as he stumbled forward. He struggled to keep his rifle above water. The flooding was at my waist now.

There was only one feasible action I could take now. Turning my back on him and swimming down the alley would give him permission to shoot me in the back of the head. I remained pressed against the doorway while he approached. It offered some sort of cover as he tried to fire off two random rounds that ricocheted off the side of the building and down the alley. His other two companions followed him. I used the storefronts' glass and the sounds of their lurching forward to monitor their approach. The other two were further behind; I would have at least thirty seconds to neutralize the first man before the others got to me. The one with the pistol became the most dangerous, as it was the easiest to handle in the middle of this flooding. I would just have to hope that both his aim and balance in these conditions suffered.

"Come out and play, Bella." The first man's voice echoed in the alleyway. "Show us what witches are really made of."

I was ready to pounce onto the first man's shoulders when he was close enough. He was almost too small to perform the maneuver effectively on, and my hands slipped on his wet clothing. I dug my fingers into his shoulders as my hips swung around. My legs wrapped around his neck. I caught the man off-guard. He brought the rifle's barrel upwards. I leaned forward and fastened my hands on the barrel. For a few fearful seconds, my grip slipped on the wet metal. It became a strength contest as the man tried to aim the tip of the barrel at my head and I tried to aim it upwards. It was a contest I was losing. The man was stumbling around too much, and I had to squeeze my legs tighter around the base of his shoulders.

Reducing my control on the barrel and taking a risk, I slammed my right fist into his skull. I felt his grip loosen on the firearm and quickly pulled it up and out of his control. I flung it behind me. Snarling in anger, the man reached up and grabbed a handful of my hair. His strength was behind his yank. His other hand was digging right into my thigh where a pressure point was. I was dislodged from my seat on his shoulders. The man flung me around to face him. His grip shifted to holding my shoulder and quickly, he struck me in the head. Disoriented, I tried to push him away. There was murderous intent in his eyes. His lips were contorted into a permanent snarl.

I felt his hands press down against the top of my skull—pushing me down into the water. I wasn't ready and took in mouthfuls of the salty, ashy water. Sputtering, I thrashed against his control. I just needed another mouthful of air. I attempted to maneuver away from his pressing hands. They only seemed to follow me where I went. It became worse when his fingers dug into my scalp and grabbed a fistful of my hair. He was thrusting me down as he was pushing himself up.

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I saw the seconds dwindling by. I believed in the possibility that this watery, ashy world would become my grave. Distracted for moments, I cursed Xavier and his witchcraft propaganda that he had been spewing across the world. He was the cause for this moment. I cursed whatever control my magic had over me—magic that was failing to activate in this moment when I was so near to drowning. I had already lost too much blood and was losing more of it—the red streams flowing from my chest through the water mimicked a gory art masterpiece.

The water surge was pushing us close to one of the building's walls. In one last effort for survival, I planted my feet against the wall and pushed upwards. The momentum's force was stronger than the man's grip. There was a faint eruption of pain as his failing grip was broken with a few pieces of my hair. As soon as my head met the surface of the water, I frantically sucked in air. The taste of ashes was already rampant in my mouth. I treaded water as I glanced around for the other threats. My main opponent was feet away from me, and swimming towards me. I didn't see the other two.

Hoping to maximize the distance between us so I could catch my breath, I swam away from him. I found a doorstep stoop I could stand on and still have my chin above water. The bullet wound to my chest was taking its toll on me. I felt dizzy; my vision had wavered. For support, I leaned against the doorframe, warily watching the snarling beast swimming towards me.

I screamed when I suddenly felt large hands grip my upper arms from behind me. My balance tipped backwards into a bulky mass of muscle surrounded by a wet shirt. "Consider us even," a masculine voice hissed into my ear. I only begun to recognize that voice when I felt his seraph magic surround us.

Kyrian.

* * *

Wet and miserable, Kyrian took me to my apartment at the castle. The instant interior warmth within the rooms fought against the chill residing in my bones. I slipped out of Kyrian's grip and collapsed onto the ground. My strength had been eradicated. I curled up onto my side and pulled my knees into my chest. My hands pressed against the bullet wound. A puddle of water and ash formed around my body. My chest hiccuped from silent sobs. I knew I needed to get the wound seen to; I had been lucky the bullet hadn't struck near any vital blood vessels or my spinal column. Yet, I couldn't find the strength to accomplish that task.

Kyrian stood above me. “You’re a mess.”

My body trembled uncontrollably. Tears leaked out of my eyes as I gasped for air. Panic seized control of my body with the lingering thought that I would never gain control over my magic. Now that the rasa stone had been removed, it seemed impossible that I would ever coexist with my magic without it murdering people. Without me murdering people. I was fearful of turning on the news now and seeing the death toll listed in the scroll at the bottom of the screen.

The panic dug its talons into me. It created a whirlwind of emotions I could only suffer through. I was locked within in its cage. It pushed my rationality far back into an abyss. I was aware I was trapped within a panic attack, yet lacked the ability to do anything about it. Lacked the ability to calm down. I almost was unaware of Kyrian, who—to my complete surprise—dropped to his knees next to me and placed his hands on me. He muttered my name above me. I was unable to latch onto his voice and let it pull me out of the abyss. My sobs continued to suffocate me. It was a battle in between sobbing and gasping for breath. It was all I could hear.

Moving quickly, Kyrian slid behind me. He formed his body around mine and snaked his arms around my waist. Although his own clothing was wet from the Venice flooding, his body heat was enough to comfort me. His breath lingered against my neck and hair as he whispered my name and muttered encouragement that everything would be okay. That I would fight through this, and I was not alone.

The panic attack subsided. In its afterglow, I was left exhausted, with pounding at the forefront of my head, and a raw throat. Kyrian remained cuddled behind me for the duration. One of his hands drifted to brushing my errant strands of hair off my neck. It was a soothing gesture. I took one last shuddering breath and stared blankly at the stretch of wooden planks that made up my living room floor. I was content to just lay here, as long as Kyrian continued to stroke my hair.

But even that had to come to an end. "We need to remove that bullet from you," Kyrian murmured from behind me, returning to full business.

I groaned. "I don't feel like getting up."

"You don't have to." Kyrian disappeared for a couple of seconds. When he returned, he set a tactical first aid kit next to me. I didn't even know where he got it. "I do need you to roll onto your back," he requested with a slight push against my shoulder, guiding me to my back. His hands removed mine from my wound. He started working on cleaning the area so he could easily identify the affected area. I stared up at the ceiling. By now, the panic's afterglow had left me numb to the pain that was involved in Kyrian's ministrations.

"I don't know why you are helping me," I muttered. "Especially after what I just did."

Kyrian was silent for a couple of seconds. "You helped me," he finally responded, albeit tonelessly. "This is going to hurt. This is usually Evan’s realm, though.” I faintly felt Kyrian stick tongs into the wound. With deft movements, he shifted them around until he had found where the bullet had lodged itself in my shoulder.

"I wasn’t going to leave you behind with the faeries when you didn’t have any of your mental capabilities around you," I gasped.

Kyrian chose to not acknowledge this. Instead, he continued, "You didn’t activate the curse either. You could have. It couldn’t have been easy for you to not look. The temptation had to have been there. Especially after Tatiana planted the seed in your mind." He slowly removed the tongs. The bloody bullet and the tongs produced a small clamor as he dropped them onto the floor in exchange for the stitching needle.

"Or I did, and the curse isn’t as bad as you make it out to be," I commented, playing devil’s advocate.

"It’s still present," Kyrian refuted. "I can feel it lingering."

While he moved on to stitching the wound, I tried to not be too stung by Kyrian’s amazement that I had done all that I had to get him away from the faeries. Any decent person would have done the same if they had been in the same predicament. The fact that Kyrian hadn’t believed that I would live up to that standard irked me. Yet, I was not in a combative mindset and chose to not argue over his perception of me. He still saw me as the girl who had escaped her justified punishment.

"Why didn't you kill that man today? You could have. He came at you with a gun. If anything, his death would have been more reasonable than the others who died today. You kind of flooded Venice, destroying the city, and many people drowned." The wound was small enough that Kyrian made quick work of it, and it wasn't long before he was severing the extra thread.

My breath hitched in my throat. I bit my bottom lip to contain the sob. "Even if I had the means, I wouldn't. He didn't deserve to die. He was just protecting his city," I forced out. I sucked in a deep breath. "Why were you there? In Venice." Kyrian's touch was delicate as he cleaned up the blood around the wound.

"I was looking for you, actually."

My eyebrows shot up. "Me?"

"I have a couple of questions." After the area had dried, Kyrian rubbed a cream on it. It looked like the same one he had put on my calf after the jail extraction and demon fight. I relaxed a little more. The demon's claw hadn't even left a scar on my calf thanks to the seraph cream.

"Huh?"

"The first one being, how did you learn how to improvise like that? You did quite well playing off me with Tatiana until she turned her illusions onto us.” The comforting pressure of Kyrian's hand disappeared from my chest as he went to clean up the medical clutter. His words were projected with a monotone slur to conceal that he had been impressed by my performance.

I pushed myself up into a sitting position. "I was trained" was all I said. I refused to tell him anything about my childhood.

"That was almost expert level," Kyrian commented. It sounded like he had stood up. "Quite extraordinary for a girl who grew up in Nashville and was going to school to become a doctor."

"What are you getting at?" I asked. My arms crossed over my chest. Kyrian deposited the medical supplies on the table. I watched as the folded blanket was torn off the couch before flying towards me, propelled by Kyrian's grip. Kyrian threw the blanket around my shoulders. I pulled its softness closer once it was fully draped.

"I was just curious, that's all. It may become necessary when we go and retrieve the vampires' instrument. You may have to go undercover, and I needed to know if you could handle it."

"Now?"

"In a couple of days. Let's give the bullet wound time to heal."

I stared down at the ground. "I would have thought you would be reprimanding me by now," I observed. He had yet to preach about how I was the worse monster to have ever roamed the earth. "Where's the seraph judgment and moral superiority?" I croaked.

"I think you're already killing yourself over the issue, so it's unnecessary," he commented. "I'll be by when the operation is ready."

He left me alone, sitting on the floor in my room with the blanket over my shoulders.