Page 77 of Dalla's Royal Guards
Nasser’s fingers tightened gently around hers. She looked down, realizing her hand was trembling. When she glanced up, he was watching her—brows furrowed, concern dark in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” he murmured, voice pitched low enough for only her.
She hesitated, then gave a quick nod. “I’m fine.”
It was a lie. But it was the only response she could manage.
“We’re almost there,” Raja said from the front seat, his voice as steady as his posture.
Dalla turned to the window. The soft glow of the road lights slipped across the glass, casting her reflection back at her—eyes hollow, lips pressed tight, jaw locked. A ghost with her face stared back at her.
She bit down on her lower lip again, harder this time, trying to stop the scream rising in her throat.
Just pull over. Let me out. I’ll run. I’ll vanish again—before I lose them. Before they die again. This time, because of me.
“What is it?” Nasser asked again, gentler this time.
Her trembling was spreading, and a chill sank deep into her bones. Tears burned her eyes, and she fought for control.
They are safe. They are safe, she repeated to herself reassuringly.They are safe.
She forced a breath into her lungs and looked at him. “It’s nothing,” she said.
Another lie. But her voice didn’t shake. She tugged her hand free and pulled the jacket she was wearing close, trying to keep the cold from sinking any deeper.
“Speak to me, Dalla,” Nasser begged, reaching out to caress her cheek.
She couldn’t reply. Not because she didn’t want to—but because she couldn’t. Her throat locked up to keep her cry of anger and fear concealed. Her vision shimmered, not from tears but from the memory, from the fiery bloom of the explosion that still echoed in the backs of her eyelids.
She could still hear it—the sharp whistle of the bullet as it sliced past the Land Cruiser, close enough to feel its hunger. She had felt the air shift, the heat from the explosion roaring up behind them.
If Raja hadn’t shouted.
If Musad hadn’t swerved…
It would’ve been them.
Panic clenched her ribcage like a vise. Her lungs refused to expand. A tremor ran through her fingers, invisible but undeniable.
She closed her eyes, fighting the panic threatening to engulf her. The soft click of Nasser’s seatbelt caused her to look around.
She turned just as he slipped free, his arms going around her in one fluid, protective motion. She folded into him, into the warmth of his chest, the strength of his presence, the grounding scent of him—earth, steel, and something uniquely Nasser.
His lips brushed her temple.
“It’s going to be alright,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.
“How do you know?” she whispered, her fingers fisting the front of his shirt.
“Because,” he said, resting his cheek against her hair, “we’ve got too much to live for to die now.”
A soft sob caught in her throat—relief, pain, and love all tangled into a knot too big to name. She closed her eyes and pressed closer to him, soaking in the safety he offered, knowing it wouldn’t last.
Safety had always been a temporary thing in her world. Love, even more so. Even having something—or someone—to live for didn’t guarantee they would survive. Her parents, her sisters, and brother were a perfect example of that.
She pulled back, brushing away strands of hair that had come loose. The vehicle slowed at a guarded gate. The headlights swept across concrete barricades and barbed wire fences. Asecurity officer gave a nod of recognition as Raja flashed his credentials. The gate opened.
The executive terminal unfolded ahead of them, quiet and sharply lit under floodlights. A military helicopter, matte black and battle-worn, sat like a sleeping dragon waiting to lift them beyond danger.
