Chapter 4 - The First Shot
1474 Words
Aurora Lane didn’t understand what was wrong at first.
One moment, she was still mid-sentence—her speech echoing across the amphitheater, the sun warm on her shoulders, thousands of eyes on her.
The next moment, Marcus Cross was moving.
Not stepping. Not rushing.Launching.
Like some silent force had broken free inside him.
“Aurora, down.”The command wasn’t shouted. It was low, sharp, carved straight into her spine.
“What—?”
She didn’t finish, because Marcus collided with her before the words could form, his arms locking around her waist as he drove her toward the stage floor.
And that was when the world ripped open.
Crack.
A sound she had never heard before—too loud, too violent to be anything but what it was.
A gunshot.
Instantly, her ears rang, her vision shook, and the crowd erupted into chaos. Screams, chairs crashing, bodies shoving in blind panic. It was like the entire world had torn itself inside out.
Aurora didn’t process any of that.
She processed him.
Marcus’s body—solid, burning hot, caging her completely against the wooden boards. She could feel everything. The weight of him. The tension in his arms. The controlled violence coiled in every muscle, ready to take another hit.
His breath was at her ear.His heart hammered into her ribs.
“Stay down,” he growled.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.Could barely think past the shock flooding her.
Her cheek was pressed to the stage floor; her hair spilled across her face like a curtain. Marcus’s hand cupped the back of her head, shielding it, fingers firm and unshaking despite the chaos erupting around them.
People screamed.Security shouted.The press kept clicking photos like lunatics.
But his voice cut through all of it.
“You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
She didn’t understand why those four words hit harder than the gunshot.
“W-What happened?” she whispered.
“Shooter on the northeast roof,” Marcus said. “Single shot so far.”
“You saw him?”
“I saw enough.”
Another sound cracked above them—metal clanging, boots slamming across the rooftop. TITAN units engaging the sniper, most likely. Marcus didn’t look up. He didn’t dare.
His focus was on her. Entirely.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She shook her head, breath trembling. “I—I don’t think so.”
Marcus exhaled once. A short, controlled release that made her chest tighten for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.
“Good,” he said. “Don’t move.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she muttered into his shoulder.
He didn’t answer—but she felt the tension in him shift. Not relaxing. Never relaxing. But sharpening into something lethal.
“Stay behind me. Keep your head down.”
Then he moved.
It was like watching the ocean withdraw before a storm hits. One second he was covering her, fully wrapped around her like an armored shell. The next second he was rising, positioning himself between her and the entire world.
She pushed up onto her elbows, breath still shaking, the stage spinning slightly around the edges. Her ears rang so hard she barely processed the sounds.
“Marcus—”
“Stay down, Aurora.”
The way he said her name—cold, commanding, and somehow protective—sent another shock through her. Not terror. Something hotter. Wilder.
He drew his gun in one fluid motion.
Not fumbling.Not checking.Just pure muscle memory.
Aurora swallowed. “Someone was trying to kill me?”
Marcus didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were scanning—fast, precise—mapping threats she couldn’t see.
“Aurora,” he said finally, “if I hadn’t moved, you’d have a hole in your chest.”
Her blood turned to ice.
But Marcus wasn’t finished.
“And if they fire again,” he added, “it goes through me first.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s the job.”
“No, it’s not. Staying alive is the job.”
“For you,” he corrected. “Not for me.”
Her throat tightened. She couldn’t stand how casually he said it, like his life weighed less than hers on some invisible scale.
“Aurora, don’t argue,” he said, stepping closer. His body blocked her completely from the open stage. He was a wall—scarred, towering, unmovable.
Another series of shouts erupted from the far end of the amphitheater. Security converged. Police sirens echoed in the distance.
The panic in the crowd was a living thing, flooding outward in every direction. Reporters tripped over equipment. Parents shielded their children. Students ran for the exits.
Aurora should’ve been terrified.
She was.But under the terror, something else pulsed through her—raw and electric.
Not fear.Not relief.
Something dangerously close to awe.
Marcus’s voice pulled her back.
“Aurora,” he said, “look at me.”
She did.
His eyes—icy, furious, absolutely focused—hit her like another impact. For a breathless moment, everything else went quiet.
Then he reached for her.
Not roughly. But not gently either. His hand wrapped around her forearm, firm enough to ground her, warm enough to make her pulse jump.
“On your feet,” he said. “We’re leaving.”
She let him pull her up. Her legs wobbled; he steadied her instantly, one hand at her waist.
The touch was supposed to be functional. Necessary.
It did not feel that way.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
“That depends,” she whispered. “Will you keep holding me like that?”
His jaw tightened. “Aurora.”
“What? You started it.”
“Move,” he said, voice lower now. Rougher. “Before I carry you off this damn stage.”
Her breath caught.
Because she knew—absolutely knew—he wasn’t bluffing.
The crowd parted violently as Marcus guided her off the platform, his body shielding hers from every angle. Shouts echoed. Phones filmed. People gasped as they saw the pair of them—her shaken, leaning into him; him lethal, scanning every shadow.
Reporters swarmed.
“Aurora! Are you injured?”“Was the shooter targeting your father?”“Who is that man with you?”“Are you two—”
Marcus didn’t break stride.
“Aurora does not answer questions,” he barked to the nearest guard. “Move these people or I will.”
Aurora blinked. “You can’t threaten the university’s security.”
“I didn’t threaten them,” Marcus said. “Yet.”
She almost laughed.She almost cried.She tightened her grip on his arm instead.
They reached the steps at the side of the stage. Marcus descended them like they weren’t even there, still keeping her tucked against his side.
When they reached ground level, he stopped abruptly.
Aurora looked up. “What—?”
His hand rose and cupped her cheek.
Softly.Shockingly softly.
The world collapsed into silence.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” he asked, voice low.
She swallowed. “Marcus…”
“Answer me.”
“I—I’m okay.”
Something dark and fierce flickered in his expression. Relief. Anger. Something else she didn’t have a name for.
He let out a breath, stepped back half an inch—
And then another gunshot split the air.
Crack.
This one farther. Sloppier. Panicked.
Marcus moved before she could scream.
He shoved her behind a concrete pillar, body slamming into hers to shield her again.
“Marcus!” she gasped.
“Second shooter,” he growled. “Or a desperate last attempt.”
“Are we safe?”
“No.”
He met her eyes again.
“Stay behind me. Don’t run. Don’t argue.”
“But—”
“Aurora.”Her name again, a warning. A promise. A command.
Her pulse rioted.
“Fine,” she whispered. “I’ll stay.”
He nodded once. “Good girl.”
Her breath shattered.
He didn’t seem to notice the effect the words had on her—but she noticed.Oh, she noticed.
He grabbed her wrist. “We’re moving to extraction point Bravo. Don’t let go.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.”His voice turned lethal.“I’m getting you out of here alive.”
She stared at him.
At the man who had thrown himself in front of a bullet for her.At the man whose body was still between her and danger.At the man whose hand, wrapped around her wrist, felt like a lifeline she hadn’t known she needed.
“Marcus,” she whispered. “Why are you—”
“Because it’s my job,” he said.
But his eyes told her the truth.
It was already becoming more than that.For both of them.
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