Page 196 of Fractured Devotion
“Then tell me what it is about,” I demand, my voice rough.
She exhales slowly, her gaze flicking toward the horizon before settling back on me.
“It’s about freedom,” she says, her words soft but firm. “About ending something before it ends us.”
“And where does it end, Celeste?” I ask, stepping closer, my voice dropping lower.
She doesn’t pull away.
“It ends when I say it does,” she answers, unflinching.
I reach up, my fingers brushing her jaw and forcing her to meet my eyes. “And what about you?” I whisper. “What happens to you when there’s nothing left to fight?”
Her lips part, but no words come.
For a moment, the air between us feels too thick to breathe.
I don’t know who moves first.
But suddenly, our mouths crash together, the kiss hard and desperate, fueled by every unsaid word and every broken piece between us.
Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, as if she can tear something out of me.
I taste her fury, her grief, her longing.
And beneath it all, I taste surrender.
We break apart, panting, but neither of us speaks.
Kade watches, unmoving, his expression unreadable.
But in Celeste’s eyes, I see it clearly.
This isn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
Kade doesn’t move, but his eyes sharpen, dark and steady, watching every flicker of emotion between us like a wolf observing prey.
My chest heaves, but I lock my focus on Celeste.
“You really are unrecognizable,” I say, my voice firm and bitter, more to myself than her. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
Her gaze hardens, but she doesn’t flinch. “I know exactly who I am,” she replies. “And I’ve never been clearer.”
That hits harder than it should.
“You call this clarity?” I snap, motioning between her and Kade, the space heavy with the unspoken.
“Don’t test me, doctor,” Kade murmurs, his voice a low, amused threat.
I let out a short, humorless laugh, unable to stop myself.
“Don’t act like you’re some misunderstood martyr,” I fire back at him, my tone sharp enough to cut. “You think you’re any better than Rourke and his team? You’re not a savior, Kade. You’re just another butcher who wraps his knives in fine cloth.”
The tension spikes, thick and suffocating.
Celeste lifts a hand, palm out between us, her voice cutting through the air. “Enough,” she orders, cold and steady.
