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straight.”
    He flattened his hand over mine. The warmth of his rough touch contrasted with the cool tabletop, and his hand completely concealed mine. My fingers twitched. Why would a prince have strong hands? Didn’t everyone fetch and carry for him? His shoulders touched mine, and I leaned toward his chest. “Move your hand.”
    He didn’t move.
    Pounding steps sounded on the ramps. Three men wearing black and carrying large weapons burst onto the mezzanine.
    Ski masks covered their faces.
    Two blocked the exits. The third aimed a large semiautomatic weapon at the crowd. The muzzle shifted in a steady motion, pointing from one end of the auditorium to the other.
    People screamed. Some stood in a panicked confusion and some dropped to the floor.
    My heart raced, and I froze. Prince Callum grabbed my arms and pulled me up and behind him.
    People crowded into the aisles. One of the prince’s bodyguards moved toward the gunman. One moved toward the stage.
    “Stop,” the lead gunman said. His voice came out grainy. “Stay where you are.”
    Most people stilled, but two men in dark suits hurried toward the senator’s son.
    The gunman focused on the motion. “Steady now, or I’ll be removing your security teams from the equation. I’ll be shooting anyone who moves.”
    The bodyguards froze, as did most of the audience. Everyone had dropped to the floor now and there were row upon row of empty chairs in front of us.
    The scary end of the gun swung our way, waving in steady motions back and forth along our tables.
    My heart pounded, and my brain emptied.
    “Give us Prince Callum and no one will be getting hurt.”
    Prince Callum took a step forward, releasing my arm.
    His cousin Sean rose. “I’m Sean Cétchathach of the royal Irish house of Cétchathach.”
    Prince Callum stiffened and made a small gesture with his hand, his palm open and flat toward Sean as if telling him to be quiet.
    Sean said, “The prince may not be the prince. You have no purpose here. Leave us.” I gawked at him. Did he really believe that, or was he just trying to confuse the gunmen?
    The gunman eyed him. “What are you saying then?”
    “It has been established that one of the other students may be the true blood prince. Genetically. Biologically. Taking Prince Callum is no longer viable. You have no clear target.”
    The gunman’s gaze and the gun swept the stage again. “Any one of them?” He jerked his elbow at his man blocking the right exit, and said, “We’ll be taking all six students. The cousin too.”
    “You’ll not,” Sean said.
    Prince Callum took another step forward. “It’s me you want.”
    As he moved, his bodyguards reacted too. One went toward the gunman, one took another step up the stairs.
    Rhys, who’d stayed seated, dumped a full vial into the beaker. A huge puff of acrid smoke floated out, rapidly expanding. Sharp. Stinging my nose.
    The fire alarm shrieked.
    My eyes stung, and my ears rang. The sprinklers kicked on, and jets of water streamed out of nozzles in the ceiling, splashing us and the stage.
    Shouts and screams rose from the crowd as people took advantage of the distraction and dove for the ramps. I grabbed Prince Callum’s arm and jerked backwards, pulling him through the curtain to the dark backstage. Austin and Lisette came behind us, water dripping off their clothes.
    Austin pointed toward the wings. “This way.”
    Yells from the main room and shouts from the gunmen filled me with adrenalin. “No.” I ran, skidding on the slick floor. “The prop room.” I dropped to my knees, ignoring the hard wood floor, and pried at the small groove marking the entrance to the under-stage storage, lifting the hatch.
    Steps thumped, screams sounded along with blasts.
    Oh god. We had to hurry. I maneuvered over the edge and onto the ladder.
    Sean slipped around the curtain, water streaming over his face, darkening his blond hair to dishwater. “They’re coming,” he gasped out and ran toward