Page 13 of Celestial Combat

Her damp hair dripping onto my floor.

Wearingmyclothes.

A slow burn ignited in my stomach, something dark and possessive curling through my veins.

Myclothes onherskin.

Myscent wrapped aroundherlike an invisible claim.

She watched me carefully, like she could sense it.

Like she was waiting to see what I’d do.

I stood, her eyes following my every movement.

Giving her a one over as I brushed past, a part of me couldn’t help but wonder if she had nothing onbutmy clothes.

My eyes dropped to the towel in her hands, in which I could tell she’d wrapped her bloody, dirty clothes in. I bit on my back teeth when I caught the thin, lacy band of white lingerie peeking out of the towel by an inch.

Holy fuck.

“Get up on the desk.”

She hesitated, fingers tightening around the towel. “Why?”

I just looked at her – one sharp, commanding look. The same one that had made grown men fold in half.

After a beat, she moved, perching on the edge of my desk. Then reached for the bandages.

I took it out of her hands, unimpressed that she intended to do it herself.

Before she could protest, I gently took her wrist in my hands.

She tensed.

And not from pain.

I was careful, my hands moving slower than usual as I disinfected the wound.

The joke did not bypass me – violence lived in my veins, but right now, my touch was anything but.

As I wrapped her knuckles, my fingers brushed over old scars, remnants of past fights. I felt her pulse hammering when I brushed the inside of her wrist.

So was mine.

I paused, my gaze flicking up.

Her soft neck moved with a small gulp. “You’re staring.”

I raised a brow, my eyes staying on hers. “Maybe I like what I see.”

Her lips parted, then she quickly frowned and looked away. “Stay out of my head, Zane.”

Her voice was sharp, but I caught the flicker of something beneath it – something raw, unsettled.

She was angry.

At me.

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