Chapter 123: Victoria!

Nerissa’s POV.

What is burning? Asides the car of course.....there’s a distinctive smell of...is that the smell of charred flesh?

My stomach twists.

For a moment, I can’t tell whether the burning sensation in my nose comes from the smoke or something much worse. The air is thick with it, heavy and suffocating, and every breath feels like I’m swallowing ash.

Is someone burning?

I try to turn my head toward the wreckage, but Lysander’s hand immediately comes up to cradle my face, holding it firmly against his chest.

"Don’t."

His voice is rough, almost swallowed by the ringing in my ears.

I struggle to look past him.

"Nerissa." His fingers tighten gently against my cheek. "You don’t have to look."

There’s something in his voice that makes me go still. Not an order. Not the usual arrogant command he throws around as though the entire world exists to obey him.

Something that almost sounds like he’s trying to protect me from what he already knows I’ll see.

I stop fighting his hand.

For a few seconds, I remain beneath him, my cheek pressed against his shirt. His heart is beating hard beneath my ear, and his breathing is uneven. One of his arms is braced beside my head while the other shields me from the heat rolling across the pavement.

Even through the panic, I notice how tightly he holds himself above me.

He’s protecting me from the fire. My husband, the same man who can turn a simple conversation into a battlefield, is using his body as a shield.

The thought doesn’t have time to settle as a loud crack comes from somewhere behind us, followed by a chorus of frightened screams.

I flinch.

Lysander lowers his head briefly, shielding me further as something small and sharp clatters against the pavement nearby.

"Stay down," he mutters.

For once, I don’t argue. The fire continues to roar. I can hear it eating through whatever remains of the car, the sharp popping of something exploding inside the wreckage, and the distant shouts of people trying to help.

Time loses all meaning.

I don’t know how long we stay like that. Seconds feel like minutes, and minutes feel like an eternity.

Eventually, the heat begins to ease. The flames still flicker violently, but the worst of the blast seems to have passed.

Lysander lifts his head, looking over his shoulder.

He waits another moment before carefully pushing himself up. The second his weight leaves me, I scramble onto my elbows.

My whole body hurts. My palms sting, and my knees feel as though they’ve been dragged across sandpaper. My ears are still ringing, and my heart is beating so violently that I can feel it in my throat.

But I’m alive.

Somehow, I’m alive.

I turn toward the wreckage and immediately wish I hadn’t.

The front of the car is almost unrecognizable. Twisted metal juts out at horrible angles, the windows are gone, and flames still lick through the shattered remains of the vehicle.

Then I see movement or what remains of it.

A dark, motionless shape is trapped in the driver’s seat, surrounded by flames.

My brain struggles to make sense of the sight.

Then the smell hits me again.

Oh, God.

It’s a person, someone is burning alive.

The realization tears through me with such force that I forget how to breathe.

My stomach clenches violently. I turn away, clapping a hand over my mouth, but it’s too late. The ice cream I ate earlier surges up my throat, and I stumble away from the wreckage.

I barely make it a few steps before I throw up, everything I ate earlier comes out.

The sweet, creamy taste of ice cream is replaced by bile and the bitter taste of smoke. My stomach contracts painfully as I retch again, bracing one hand against the wall of the building beside me.

I can’t stop.

My eyes water, my throat burns and my entire body shakes with each miserable heave.

I hate this.

I hate the smell, i hate the flames, i hate the sight of that burned person trapped in the wreckage.

My stomach twists again, but there’s nothing left to bring up.

I remain bent over for another moment, breathing through my mouth and trying to convince myself that I’m not going to be sick again.

When I finally straighten, tears are running down my face.

I wipe them away angrily.

I’m not crying, my eyes are simply reacting to the smoke.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

When I turn back, Lysander is standing a short distance away, his phone pressed to his ear.

His expression has changed completely. The man who had been arguing with me over ice cream and threatening to kill an innocent man for patting my head is gone.

In his place is the Don.

Cold, focused and terrifying.

"Get them here," he snaps into the phone. "I want the entire perimeter secured. Nobody touches that vehicle until my men have had a look at it. And find out who the fuck was driving."

He listens for a moment, his jaw tightening.

"No, I don’t give a damn what the police say. They can investigate all they want but I want the reports back to me."

He ends the call and immediately dials another number.

I can hear sirens now, growing louder as emergency vehicles race toward the scene. People are shouting over one another, some crying, others calling for help. The pavement is littered with glass, and smoke hangs over the street like a dark cloud.

I take an unsteady step toward Lysander.

He notices me immediately, his eyes sweep over my face, my arms, and my legs.

"Are you hurt?"

I shake my head, then hesitate.

"I don’t know."

His expression hardens.

"What do you mean, you don’t know?"

"I mean I don’t know, Lysander. I just watched someone burn to death in a car. I’m not exactly in the mood to conduct a full medical examination on myself."

His mouth tightens, but he doesn’t argue.

Instead, he reaches for my arm, turning it slightly to inspect the scratches on my palm.

I pull away.

"I’m fine."

"You don’t look fine."

"And you look like shit. We can’t all be perfect."

His eyes flash.

Under different circumstances, I might have found his expression amusing.

Right now, I can barely feel my fingers.

I glance toward the wreckage again, immediately regretting it. The flames have begun to subside, but the smoke is still thick, and I can see emergency responders approaching from the road.

A police siren blares nearby, someone screams for a medic.

Lysander turns back to his phone, barking another order.

And that’s when it hits me.

Victoria.

Oh my God.

Victoria!