Page 38 of Kael

A crowd had gathered now. People were whispering, phones out, some recording. The security guard had stopped a few feet away, uncertain. A group of teenagers looked like they were livestreaming the whole thing. The energy in the food court was electric—everyone watching, waiting to see what happened next.

Kael wrapped his arm around me and walked me toward the exit. Darius didn't follow. I think he understood that he wasn't dealing with a corner boy.

Kael didn't look back. He just kept walking, his arm tight around me, his body a shield against the world.

We were almost out the door when the police stopped us: two officers, one older, one younger, both white. The younger one had his hand on his gun.

"Sir, we received a report of an assault in the food court."

Kael didn't stop walking.

"Sir, I need you to stop."

Kael kept walking.

The younger officer stepped in front of us. The older one followed.

"Sir, I'm going to need you to—"

The older officer looked at Kael. His eyes widened in recognition, and he grabbed his partner's arm. "Stand down, Davis."

"But—"

"Stand down."

The younger officer looked confused. "Sergeant, he assaulted a woman—"

The sergeant looked at Kael. "Mr. Voss," he said quietly. "I didn't realize it was you."

Kael stopped. "Sergeant." Just that one word from Kael felt authoritative.

The sergeant nodded. "I apologize for the disturbance. My partner is new. He doesn't know—"

"It's fine." Kael's voice was flat. "We were just leaving."

I stared in awe. How would it feel to have that type of power?

The younger officer opened his mouth to argue, but the sergeant silenced him with a look. "Of course, Mr. Voss. Have a good evening."

Kael nodded once and walked me out of the mall.

The car ride was silent.

I sat in the passenger seat, my hands shaking, my cheek still burning. Kael drove with one hand on the wheel, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on the road.

"Kael," I whispered.

"I'm fine."

"That's not—"

"I'm fine, Bria."

I reached over and put my hand on his arm. He flinched, then pulled over to the side of the road, killed the engine, and turned to me.

His eyes were dark—furious, but not at me. He reached out and gently touched my face, his thumb brushing over the spot where Brook had hit me.

"She hit you," he said quietly. "She put her hands on you. I can’t swallow that anger. I will kill her."