[DAMIAN'S POV]
The blood in my mouth tasted like failure.
I spat it onto the marble floor — red on white, spreading — and drove my elbow backward into the ribs of the man holding me. Felt something crack. He grunted. Loosened his grip.
I twisted. Broke free. Came up swinging.
Connected with jaw. Cartilage. The satisfying crunch of bone giving way under knuckles. He went down hard.
Two more came at me from the left.
Marcus was already on one — had him in a chokehold, the man's face going purple — but the other got past him. Caught me in the ribs. I felt it compress. Couldn't breathe for a second. Came back anyway.
Grabbed his collar. Slammed his head into the table edge. Once. Twice.
He dropped.
The dining room was chaos. Overturned chairs. Broken glass. Lucien's wine spreading across white linen like another kind of blood.
But Lucien himself was gone.
And so was Elara.
