Page 71 of Celestial Combat

I shoved him off, panting – blood soaking my hands, my clothes. Every muscle in my body screamed, but I forced myself up. Flipping the two other guards, I managed to pull the katana out of their bodies.

And then, just to be sure, I drove it through the third man’s chest.

The metallic scent of blood filled my lungs, thick and coppery. It clung to my skin, my clothes, soaked into the cracks of my knuckles. My fingers twitched, sticky with drying crimson

The cold concrete pressed into my back as I slumped against the wall, every muscle in my body screaming in exhaustion.

I closed my eyes, the weight of exhaustion sinking in.

Silence.

On the other side of the door, the gunfire had stopped.

Several light taps against my cheek pulled me from the black.

A shadow loomed over me, warmth pressing close despite the cool bite of the concrete at my back.

“Hey.”

The voice was low, rough, but edged with authority. A voice I knew too well.

He tapped my cheek again – firmer this time, demanding. “Wake up. Talk to me.”

I blinked, vision swimming before it settled on him, crouched beside me, his dark eyes burning through the dim lighting of the room. His hands hovered inches from my skin, as if he wanted to touch me, to check for damage, but was forcing himself not to.

His face was unreadable, but there was something in the way his brows drew together, the way his breathing was just a little too measured, like he was holding back.

His hands weren’t touching me, not really, but they were close. Too close. Careful but searching, like he wasn’t sure if I was broken but was desperate to know. His dark eyes, normally so unreadable, scanned over me with a sharpness that looked like fear.

I groaned, eyes fluttering open. My throat felt raw, my body drained, but I was still alive. “It’s not my blood.”

I heard a sharp exhale, felt the tension in the room shift as the panic eased.

Zane’s shoulders dropped, just slightly. “Then what’s wrong?” He asked, leaning closer, his presence heavy and safe.

I let my head tip back against the wall, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth despite the exhaustion pulling me under. “I just killed three men by myself, asshole. I’m tired.”

For a moment, he just stared at me, unreadable again. Then, he let out a slow, deep breath.

His next movement was deliberate, controlled. He slipped an arm beneath my knees, another behind my back, and lifted me as if I weighed nothing.

He was strong – I knew that. But the way he held me was careful. His grip firm but not suffocating, his arms around me but distant, like there had to be an invisible barrier between us.

Like if he held me too tightly, he might be the one to break.

The warmth of his body pressed against mine, heat radiating through his shirt, through the layers of blood and sweat on my skin. I hated how comforting it felt.

I tilted my head just enough to catch the way Trevor was watching Zane.

Like Zane was no longer his best friend for over a decade. But one of the Dynasty’s soldiers who was overstepping.

I swallowed dryly.

“Take her to the car,” My brother said, his voice clipped.

Zane gave a single, sharp nod before moving.

His pace was quick, smooth, not jarring, but I still felt every ounce of exhaustion weighing me down as I let my head rest against his shoulder. I could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his body was coiled too tight, like he was forcing himself to stay in control.

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