Izan's heart pounded as he cradled Elian's limp body in his arms, a mix of fury and fear swirling inside him. The assassin's blood still stained his sword, but it was Elian's pale face that filled him with dread. He could hear the murmur of voices growing around him, the crowd of courtesans and patrons drawn by the commotion.
The soft rise and fall of Elian's chest was the only thing keeping him from losing control. Whoever had done this, whoever had sent that assassin, they would pay. But that moment would come later. For now, Elian needed him.
Madame Lula stormed into the room, her normally composed face twisted with anger and panic. She pushed through the onlookers, her eyes immediately narrowing on the lifeless body of the assassin and then shifting to Elian's unconscious form in Izan's arms.
"What in is going on here?" she demanded, her eyes locked with Izan's, a mixture of fear and anger flashing in her gaze.
"Elian, what…?"
