Page 51 of Goldrage (The Chrysophilist Trilogy #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

AURELIA

T he Harrow estate is a war zone, crystal chandeliers swaying from the impact of gunfire as we fight our way out of the ballroom.

Shouts echo off the high ceilings, punctuated by the sharp crack of gunfire and the crash of furniture being overturned as cover.

Olivia’s men provide a barrier and we slip out a hidden staff exit.

We don’t exactly know where Julian is since he disabled all the security, but Valentine suspects he’ll go to the office or his bedroom. I stay close to Adrian’s left shoulder, my pistol steady in my grip.

As we wind through hallways, I realize Eleanora is gone. Just as I’m about to ask, she appears again, trying to catch her breath. “North hallway is secure. No sign of Julian or Lady Harrow.”

Adrian signals the advance, his tactical mind working even as he fires controlled bursts at estate guards who’ve chosen the wrong side. “My bet is that he’s in the office, but we should cover our bases. We split up—cover more ground.”

My stomach drops. I don’t like us splitting up, but I trust Adrian’s judgment.

But as we reach a T-junction, an explosion sends everyone diving for cover. In the confusion of smoke and falling debris, I find myself separated from Adrian, Valentine, and Lorenzo, stumbling down a side hallway as gunfire erupts behind me.

I press my back against an ornate wall panel, heart hammering as I try to figure out where I am. This mansion is too big and too disorienting. The sounds of battle echo from multiple directions, making it impossible to determine where allies might be fighting.

Three men I don’t recognize—probably from a consortium family and they were stationed outside the ballroom—round the corner with weapons raised, their faces grim with the knowledge that they’re losing this war.

I raise my pistol, managing to drop the first man with a clean shot to the chest before diving behind a giant bear statue as return fire chips stone around my head.

The firefight is brutal and close-quarters, furniture splintering under the impact of bullets. I peek around my cover, my training with Valentine growing up serving me well as I pick my shots carefully, making every round count.

But I’m outnumbered, and when my slide locks back empty, I realize with growing panic that I’m out of bullets. The remaining two men push toward me, their footsteps heavy. They’re confident now that they’ve heard the telltale click of an empty chamber.

“Well, well,” one of them says. “The Golden One, out of tricks.”

My fingers fumble for the spare magazine I should have grabbed, finding only empty pockets. God, how could I be so stupid? Adrian had offered me extra clips and I’d waved him off, too confident in my own abilities.

I can hear the men speaking in low voices, coordinating their approach like wolves circling a wounded deer. My mind races through options—run, fight hand-to-hand, try to bluff—but each scenario ends with me dead or captured.

A vase explodes near my head, ceramic shards slicing across my cheek. I taste copper on my lips. The bear statue I’m hiding behind won’t protect me much longer.

I scramble backward. My hands desperately search the marble floor for anything: a letter opener, a broken piece of sculpture, anything that might serve as a weapon. There’s nothing.

“Drop the empty gun,” one of the men commands. “Hands where we can see them!”

No no no! The nearest cover is too far away, the men too close, their weapons too steady. I think of Adrian somewhere in this chaos, of Lorenzo fighting his way through other corridors, of Valentine and Eleanora, all the people counting on me to survive.

Terror claws at my throat as I slowly raise my hands. I drop the empty pistol and it clatters against the floor. The men exchange satisfied glances, already savoring their victory .

“Please,” I say, though I know these men won’t show mercy. They’ve seen too much death tonight, committed too many sins in service to the Consortium families. My life means nothing to them beyond whatever reward they might claim for my capture.

The lead man’s finger tightens on his trigger, and I find myself praying to God for Adrian’s safety, for justice to prevail, for love to somehow triumph over the darkness that has consumed so many lives.

In my desperation, some wild instinct makes me raise my shaking hands, pointing my index finger at the guard like a child playing at war games. The gesture is absurd, pathetic, the last defiant act of a woman who refuses to die begging.

“Poof,” I whisper as I move my thumb like I’m pulling a trigger.

The guard’s expression shifts to cruel amusement at my gesture.

Then his eyes widen in shock as blood blossoms across his chest. He looks down in confusion at the spreading crimson stain, then collapses forward to reveal Lorenzo standing in the corridor behind him.

A gun with a suppressor is still smoking in his hands.

The second guard spins toward this new threat, but Lorenzo’s second shot takes him in the head quickly. Both bodies hit the marble with wet, final sounds that echo through the suddenly quiet hallway.

Lorenzo rushes toward me, his face streaked with soot and blood but his eyes bright with relief at finding me alive. “Are you hurt? Did they?—”

I throw myself into his arms, my body shaking with the aftermath of terror and adrenaline. For a moment, I allow myself to feel safe in my cousin’s embrace, to draw strength from his solid presence.

“I thought I was dead,” I gasp against his shoulder. “They had me cornered, and I couldn’t?—”

“But you’re not,” Lorenzo cuts me off gently, pulling back to meet my eyes. “You’re alive, you’re strong, and we’re getting through this together.” He bends to retrieve a pistol from one of the fallen men. He checks the magazine before pressing it into my hands. “Can you keep fighting?”

I nod. “Where are Adrian and the others?”

“If I know my future brother-in-law, he’s fighting his way toward Julian. We need to find them before this ends badly for everyone. We should head toward the office on the second floor.”

We move deeper into the estate’s corridors, stepping over bodies and debris as the sounds of gunfire continue to ring in my ears.