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The first thirty minutes pass by like this. I smile, take photos, sign autographs, give hugs. Normally I’d be lapping this up, because I adore my fans, but my stomach twists in knots, warning me of a threat that isn’t there. The coffee I slurped down without food this morning swirls around in my gut, and my anxiety continues to shoot up, up, up like a rocket.
I’m not sure what happens next, exactly, because everything is a blur of motion. One minute I’m signing an autograph and smiling at a young woman with pretty blue hair and scales on her cheeks, and the next, I’m being hurled onto the ground. Pain lances through my left shoulder as the ground rises up to meet me, and my head spins so fast I can’t tell which direction is up.
A deep, guttural voice tears through the air. “Move!”
I don’t recognize that voice. Is it one of the other security guards? But suddenly it’s like I’m watching everything go down from outside my body. I’m lying on the ground. Someone shoves me underneath the table. Fans scream and run in all directions in a stampede, trying to break free of the corrals that confine them. My heart is in my throat as I watch Xavian hurl himself over the table and tackle someone to the ground.
He moves like a wraith, his blond hair coming free of the ponytail in the scuffle, billowing around his enormous frame as he presses the man’s face into the stones.
“I need backup. Now!” Xavian’s voice thunders in my ears. Within moments, several more security guards are down on the ground with him, cuffing the man.
I can’t see anything. My panic continues to blast in my ears like an annoying EDM song that just won’t quit. And then, within seconds, everything is over. My fans are gone, and a slender man with long, black hair that falls in his eyes is dragged away. I never get to see his face.
* * *
Two hours later, I’m still in the backseat of Xavian’s jammer. We’ve been hovering in front of the police station for I don’t know how long. Though I already gave my statement, we have to stay while we wait for Margot.
Xavian presses a button on the terminal, and soft, ambient music fills the jammer. “Is this okay?” he murmurs.
I nod, not looking him in the eyes. It’s been hours, but I haven’t stopped shaking. Not even when Xavian bought me a hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. Not even when Margot gave me the biggest hug she’s ever given. Nothing has helped. All I can think about is how I went to the square today to make my fans happy and was almost killed for it.
The would-be shooter, a man by the name of Desmond Lee, had apparently traveled all the way from Terra with a plasma rifle, intent on shooting me in my chest. They found his manifesto in his hotel room. Radicalized by a community on the internet, he was encouraged to take matters into his own hands after seeing the photos of me kissing that woman in the club. The photo that’s been circulating nonstop online. The photo no one can move on from.
He thought he and I were soul mates and that I needed to be “punished.” The universe is full of sick people.
“The media did this,” Xavian growls for the fourth time, and pounds his fists against the leather steering wheel. “They should all be thrown in prison for this.”
“You can’t blame the media for his mental illness,” I mutter as I stare out the tinted window. Jammers and buses fly through the clouds. Bird-like creatures warble in the distance. Life moves on. But not for me.
“That’s bullshit, Kal,” he says, glaring at me—but his gaze immediately softens when he sees the look on my face. A look that says I might break into a thousand pieces. “I’m … I’m sorry, I’m not angry with you. I’m pissed at this. The situation.” He waves his hand in the air. “I would never yell at you. Ever.”
“I know,” I murmur, resting my cheek against the cool glass. Outside, the temperature rages like an inferno, but inside the jammer, it’s almost too cold. Goosebumps dance across my arms, which Xavian notices immediately. He always notices everything. That’s why I’m alive right now.
According to his report, he saw the man ages before the rest of security even knew something was wrong. His career as a bounty hunter forced him to have sharper senses than most and was able to tackle the creep before he could even draw his weapon.
“Kal?” he says quietly. “What’s on your mind? Talk to me, princess.”
I can feel him staring at my arms, and I know he’s about to say something or turn down the air conditioning, because that’s how he is. As though on cue, he reaches forward and taps a button on the terminal to dial back the cold air.
“What is there to say?” I let out a long exhale and peel my cheek off the glass, leaving behind an oily sheen. “I almost died. Again.”
Xav’s chuckle is deep and throaty. “No, Kal. You didn’t. That asshole didn’t even get near you. Because Margot was smart enough to hire me instead of someone else.”
A corner of my mouth tilts upward. “A little cocky, aren’t you?”
“No. Just confident. He wouldn’t have hurt you, Kal. Not on my watch,” he grinds out, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Never on my watch.”
I can tell he means that. Looking at him right now, I can also see he’s barely holding himself back. Like he’s trying to stop himself from getting out of the jet and going inside to beat the shit out of the guy who tried to kill me. It’s obvious from the way he clenches his jaw, from the way his knuckles blanch against the leather steering wheel.
“Hey. I want to get out of here. Can we go for a swim?” I ask, my vision blurring as another hoverbus flies past.
He jerks his head back to stare at me, wide-eyed. “What? You want to go swimming? Now?”
“I need to get out of here,” I whimper.
Xavian swallows as his amber eyes meet mine. Then he pulls up the numbers log on the terminal and taps on Margot’s name.
It rings for a single second before Margot’s irritated voice says, “What?”
