Page 26 of The Sound of Seduction
Before the name even fully left his lips, a heavy fist slammed into his jaw, snapping his head to the side. Pain erupted, white-hot and blinding, and he stumbled back into the fray of bodies. His heart hammering against his ribs as his vision cleared just enough to see her—the woman who was with a child. He blinked but couldn’t understand. His lungs seized. He’d left to keep Wendy safe and there was… No, not Thea.
Her face came into sharp focus despite the chaos. Tears tracked glittering paths down her cheeks, her wide eyes locking onto his. The raw fear in them tore at him more deeply than anything his adversaries had inflicted. For a fragile moment, the battle seemed to slow, the sounds dulling as he stood transfixed by the face he’d never wanted to see here, in a place like this. Why was she here?
Another attacker lunged, and Stan moved without thinking. His hand clasped his sister’s trembling arm, half-hauling her to her feet as he propelled her roughly toward Andre. “Protect her!” His voice was rough, almost a roar, as he spun to intercept the next blow aimed at her.
Her tear-filled eyes lingered—fear and apology locked in them. But there was no time. He swung his blade upward, catching an assailant’s shoulder with just enough force to drive him back, and wrenched his focus away from her. His arms felt heavier now, his stamina fraying under desperation, but there could be no hesitation.
“Inside!” His shout merged with the hollow clang of steel meeting steel as another attacker closed in. His sister was disappearing behind Andre’s frame, but the lingering chill of her presence stayed with him, sharper than any blade that had struck him.
They were shadows in his periphery, barely there—but their fear hit him like a sword to the chest. Failure was not an option. Failure meant blood and death.
Stan lunged. A third man barreled toward him, his dagger gleaming like a second moon. Their blades met in midair, the metallic clash screaming against Stan’s eardrums, vibrating up his arm. He shoved forward, snarling as their bodies collided. The earth beneath them seemed to tilt. Stan’s back hit the dirt hard, the impact jarring through his frame, but he twisted, rolling free before the man could pin him down. He came up swinging, slashing. A vicious slice opened his attacker’s thigh, a cry tearing from the man’s throat like an animal wounded. One down.
Still, they came. Shadows emerged from the edges of the lantern light, more hits, more weapons. Stan’s skin glistened with sweat, every muscle burning, but he held his ground. Pain flashed from a strike he couldn’t dodge in time—a fist catching his ribs like a hammer to glass. He fought regardless, his blade an extension of himself, cutting and stabbing with ruthless precision.
A girl’s whimper cut through the chaos, sharper than any blade. Stan twisted his head toward the sound; her small, tear-stained face shone like a beacon in the dark. The child was clinging to Andre’s leg like he was the last solid thing in the universe.Why was a child with Thea?Her cries gutted him, but his distraction cost him—a stray boot collided with his side and sent him sprawling.
“I said go inside!” Stan shouted.
Stan hit the dirt again. His vision blurred momentarily, stars bursting against the black cloak of the night, but his grip on the blade remained steady. A roar erupted from his mouth as he surged upward, plunging the knife into the thigh of the man above him. The attacker spasmed, his breath hitching in a crude, guttural sound before crumpling beside him.
The remaining few attackers faltered then, hesitation curdling their momentum. Shadows receded; the clang ofweapons replaced by retreating hoofbeats. His enemies melted into the forest, leaving only their failure behind.
Stan staggered toward the carriage, his lungs heaving, his fists burning, and his blade still clutched tightly.
Thea.
His sister’s face came into focus, pale and trembling beneath the lantern’s glow.
“E?ti ranit?” Are you hurt? His voice was low, frayed, the Romanian rolling from him almost without thought—
She shook her head but collapsed into his arms, her body wracked with fear.
Why was she here? How? And who was the little girl?
He held her firmly, his frenzied heartbeat just beginning to return to pace. Andre still stood nearby, quiet but unshaken, the girl tucked protectively in his grip. He nodded once—a silent assurance they were safe for now, though Stan doubted that. These were the precursors of war, small battles with surprise hostages. Whatever this night had wrought, Stan knew one thing—it wasn’t over. List’s threat coated this night like a shadow too thick to shake. This had been a warning or else they would have killed him.
But why?
What gruesome plans did List spare him for?
Chapter Twelve
It was timeto return to London and Wendy couldn’t wait to see Prince Stan again. The carriages lined the drive at Silvercrest Manor, their polished finishes glinting in the soft, wintry sunlight. Footmen bustled, lifting trunks and hatboxes with swift efficiency, while the distant nicker of horses punctuated the crisp morning air. Wendy stood near the edge of the gravel path, her shawl pulled tightly around her shoulders to guard against the chill. Her traveling bag rested at her feet, but her eyes were drawn to the manor house.
The magnificent estate loomed against the pale sky with its ivy-laden towers and soaring windows. It seemed absurd that only one day ago, its halls had been filled with music and laughter, the revelry of the ball now faded like a distant dream. Wendy’s gaze lingered on the stately façade, an ache tightening in her chest that she didn’t quite understand.
“You’ll come back, won’t you?” Pippa’s voice broke through the din, soft and warm. Wendy startled slightly and turned to find her sister-in-law standing beside her, elegantly wrapped in a velvet cape trimmed with brocade. There was something maternal in Pippa’s smile, as if she could sense the turmoil Wendy wasn’t ready to voice. “Silvercrest is your home now, too, Wendy. You’re part of the family.”
The words struck her harder than she expected. “Thank you,” Wendy managed quietly, though her voice trembled. Family. Pippa’s tone should have comforted her. Instead, doubt coiledtight. She glanced away, back toward the manor, where the gilded edges of the windows caught the weak glitter of sunlight.
“Oh yes,” Pippa added, more brightly now. “Perhaps you’ll even have your wedding here someday!” She teased as she adjusted the clasp of her cloak. “Wouldn’t that be something?”
Before Wendy could respond, a soft laugh echoed behind them. Bea stepped forward, her bonnet tilted slightly as the breeze toyed with her loose curls.
“It suits you,” Bea said, smiling kindly, her gloved hands clasped neatly in front of her. “Silvercrest has a way of beckoning like home.”
For a moment, Wendy could only manage a nod. Bea’s words were sincere, her smile unguarded, but guilt gnawed at Wendy just the same. She should have felt welcome among these women who spoke to her with such ease, such affection. But it only made her more acutely aware of how misplaced she felt, stranded somewhere between two worlds.
