ended up: as a blood-stained heap on the floor of the ambulance, before the paramedics slammed the doors and took him from me. Shivering, even in the summer humidity, as the sirens started to wail…threatening to drown the echoes in my head of the song that he had whispered…
Cause you’re a sky, you’re a sky full of stars…
I’m gonna give you my heart…
“Following the gala, Mishella remained by Cassian’s side, getting tight with Mama Court by nursing him through minor surgery to repair a high school sports injury…”
Doyle grunts again. Thumps the air with a triumphant fist. “Thank fuck those non-disclosure agreements held with the first responders and nurses.”
“But a sports injury?” Kate flings a grimace. “Really?
“Model United Nations is a sport.” Doyle spreads his fingers upward. “Right?”
“Cassian wasn’t benched for long,” Chantal continues, seeming to relish when the “sexy date” pictures are re-cued to the feed. “And couldn’t wait to start upping his batting average with Mishella by playing charming tour guide all over the Big Apple.”
“And again with the sports.” Kate groans. “You see the slippery slope, Mr. Knight?”
Doyle grunts. “Meh.”
I wish I could laugh at their repartee—but wonder if they haven’t thrown it out for the sake of distraction to begin with. We all know what TGN has in store for the world now.
“But now, it appears that Cassian has had enough of charming—and that Mishella may have had enough of him.” Chantal braces both hands on the edge of her glass and chrome desk. Colored lighting turns the glass cutouts pink, matching the nail polish adorning her almond-shaped fingernails. “Though the couple seemed to begin the evening right, coming home early from a date at the Met Cloisters in upper New York—”
“By the creator. How do they know all this?”
“—things took a more dramatic turn a few hours later, when there was a flurry of activity inside the Temptation manor complex, on the Upper West Side.”
“And how the hell did they know that?” Mallory exclaims. “And where’s their proof?”
Doyle’s gaze tightens. “They don’t know it. They’re bluffing. Filling.”
“In other words, lying,” Kate huffs.
Doyle nods. “If they had the footage or images, they’d use them.”
I want to feel better about that—at least the monsters really cannot get inside Temptation—except that I know exactly what is coming next.
The attacks worse than the photos from the yacht.
Sure enough, the feed cycles to a picture of me, being helped by Scott and Doyle into Cassian’s custom limo—or so that is the truth of the matter, as we know it. Without context, the image takes on a different meaning, especially because my exhaustion makes me look ready to stab someone. The photo is usurped by a shot of Cassian, appearing as if he has the blade in his belly. His eyes are rammed tight, his jaw clenched beneath his thick stubble. He holds his shredded hand in front of him—only with all the blood and the poor quality of the image, it is difficult to determine what his injury truly is. I am positive the picture was taken upon his arrival to the emergency room, when Doyle and I were flanking him, though both of us have been completely cropped from the shot.
Surprise, surprise.
Chantal leans toward the camera, once more giving her viewers that “just between us” expression. “Within minutes, Cassian was rushed to the hospital, covered in blood and clearly in pain. People and Places has learned he was treated for ‘numerous lacerations’, and was not a pleasant patient at all.”
“Because it was the middle of the night, and the doctor was an overcultured prig!” I push to my feet, wondering where a convenient shower door can be had to put my hand through. No. I shall put Chantal Dunne’s hand through it instead, then see how “pleasant” a patient the woman is.
To my dismay, she goes on, both hands intact. “Mishella did show up at the emergency room but left a few hours later, appearing tired and worn out. Onlookers wondered if trouble had indeed come knocking at Temptation, and whether it was she or Cassian who’d answered the door.”
I twist my hands against each other in my lap. “Tired and worn out is usually what happens when one has been up all night.”
“Breathe.” Kate wraps an arm around me. Rubs my shoulder. “She’s after ratings, and she’s getting there on your back. Don’t hand her the reins and the crop.”
A final photo appears, showing a different angle of my departure from the hospital. I duck my head, unable