Page 17

The arena fades into a distant blur as our gazes lock.

Fifteen feet separates us, yet I hear her voice.

The ragged pull of every breath. The tiny whimper that never should’ve reached me over the roar of the crowd.

She blinks once. Twice. A third time.

Her hand flies to her mouth, her eyes widening with every shallow breath until panic overtakes her features.

Fear. Pure, unmistakable fear.

What’s happening?

I move before I realise I’ve decided to. By the time her knees begin to give out, I’m already shoving people aside, desperate to reach her before she hits the ground.

The crowd closes in around her just as she crumples to the floor. I drop to my knees and gather her into my arms before anyone else can touch her.

My heart is not beating, it’s quiet, too quiet.

What happened? What the fuck just happened?

Her chest rises and falls, each breath dulling the ache clawing at mine.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She’s alive, but unconscious. She’s breathing.

Her head is leaning against my shoulder, as I make my way to the changing room, shouting at everyone to get the fuck out of my way.

Roman and Alec are high on my heels closing the door behind them. They’re too stunned to speak. Roman is eyeing her with so much suspicion in his gaze, he looks like he could strangle her with his bare arms.

Because I am losing my mind.

I am spiralling.

Like all those years ago.

I lay her down on the couch and fall on the floor next to her, my hands cup her face, my thumb brushing over her cheek as I gently shake her.

“Elara.” Nothing.

“Solnyshko…” My voice comes out choked; I’m trying to reel my emotions back in. What is wrong with me? She’s fainted; she’ll wake up.

Why did she fucking faint in the first place?

“Sergei…” a hand lands on my shoulder, the gold rings clad fingers telling me it belongs to Roman. “Breathe, she’s fine.” His knees bend as he settles on the ground next to me. “She’s fine, buddy.”

I know he’s trying to calm me down, but I slap his hand away.

“She’s off limits.” I growl, my voice doesn’t stutter, it doesn’t break because he has to know.

He has to know that Elara is mine.

“It’s her.” If he thought I wasn’t serious before, this gives him the chance to rethink. “And she’s mine.”

For the first time since I’ve known him, Roman doesn’t have a joke, an insult, or a smart remark waiting.

He straightens up with ease. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”