Page 215 of Celestial Combat

Before I knew it, we were both back in the purple Lamborghini, with Zane behind the wheel, pulling up beside his old friends at the start line that went out of the parking garage and directly onto the streets of Tokyo.

Zane revved the Lamborghini’s engine, and the vibration trembled through the seats, up my spine, into my chest.

The car snarled forward, all fury and elegance, and the city blurred around us. We took a sharp curve onto the expressway, merging into the pulsing artery of Tokyo’s midnight life. The other cars followed, headlight halos slicing through the fog and concrete.

The wind tugged at the edges of the windows, roaring like it wanted in. The soft leather seat cradled me as the G-force pushed me back, every twist and burst of speed a jolt of pure adrenaline.

Zane’s hands gripped the wheel like he’d done this a million times – confident, relaxed, entirely in control – and suddenly made me realizeof coursehe had.

Streetlights streaked past in golden flashes, painting him in strobing light and shadow. His profile looked sculpted out of the night. Jaw set, eyes sharp, lips curved into a grin that made my chest flutter in ways speed never could.

God, he was beautiful.

I couldn’t stop looking at him. Not just because he was magnetic in motion, but because something in him had cracked open these past few days. I could see it in the way he grinned now – not with calculation, but with joy. Reckless, unfiltered joy.

And I realized right then, in the middle of that thunderous rush, surrounded by the wail of engines and the blur of skyline –

I was completely in love with him.

The kind of love that burned brighter than the city below us.

The kind that made your blood fizz and your stomach drop and your heart ache in the best way.

Our eyes met.

Something electric passed between us, a spark that ignited and spread through me like wildfire.

I leaned over, fingers tangling in the fabric of his jacket, and kissed him.

The instant our lips met, the world blurred again – but this time from something deeper than speed. It was hot, breathless, the kind of kiss that stole the air from my lungs and made me forget we were moving one-fifty kilometers an hour. My hand moved to the side of his neck, feeling the tight coil of muscle just beneath the skin, the heat of him, alive and burning.

He didn’t miss a beat. One hand still gripped the wheel, steady as a heartbeat, while the other curved instinctively around my waist, anchoring me. We kissed like we’d been holding it back all night, like the momentum of the car had to be matched by the fire between us.

My blood rushed louder than the wind.

His teeth grazed my lower lip, and I nearly forgot where we were. It felt forbidden and reckless and perfect.

I smiled against his lips.

But the highway began to break, the city creeping back in. Signs, exits, streetlamps blurring closer. I pulled back, breathless, and looked at him with a wild grin.

His knuckles flexed on the wheel as he guided us down an off-ramp, back into the glittering maze of Tokyo’s streets.

And even though the speed eased, the magic didn’t. It hung between us – thick, charged, intimate.

Zane shifted gears, and we surged ahead. The engine roared. Sparks lit up behind us where someone took a turn too hard, and laughter bubbled up in my throat, wild and breathless.

We raced through a world built on speed and steel and neon dreams, two ghosts in a fast car with nowhere to go but forward.

And I never wanted it to end.

The city blurred like a dream I never wanted to wake from.

Zane took the turns like a storm in a bottle – contained chaos, calculated beauty. Tires screamed against pavement as we shot through Tokyo’s winding streets, engines growling like wolves in heat, the scent of rubber and adrenaline thick in the air. The Lamborghini roared beneath us, pure mechanical seduction, its sleek frame devouring asphalt with every pulse of acceleration.

I gripped the leather seat, heart hammering. The windows were down, and the wind tangled in my hair, sharp and electric as neon sliced across my skin – blue, red, pink, green. The lights painted his face in flashes, each one capturing a different version of him; the fighter, the artist, the lover.

Other racers flickered in and out of sight, headlights ghosting between alleyways and overpasses. The highway funneled into a narrow ramp, and Zane didn't hesitate. He cut the wheel with a flick of his wrist, sending us drifting through the curve like the laws of physics had bent just for him.