Page 75 of Celestial Combat

I let out a slow breath, turning toward the mirror.

And then I froze.

The person staring back at me looked like a stranger.

I was covered in blood. Not mine, but so much of it. It had dried in places, turning dark and cracked against my skin. My clothes – what was left of them – were stiff with it, torn from the fight. My lip was split. There was a bruise forming on my cheek, another on my collarbone.

I had fought back this time.

I survived.

A sharp breath left me, my fingers curling against the counter. For a second, the room seemed to tilt. A wave of exhaustion hit me all at once, the adrenaline from earlier fading too fast.

I felt him behind me, before he spoke.

“Hey,” He said, low and steady. “You okay?”

I forced myself to look away from the mirror, but the second I did, the dizziness returned. I swayed slightly, and before I could catch myself, his hands were on me.

Not rough. Not forceful.

Grounding.

“Sit down,” He murmured.

But I didn’t.

I lifted my head instead, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze.

And fuck, he was tall.

I wasn’t short by any means – I stood at 5’11, taller than most women I knew. But Zane? I’d read one of the folders in his office once, tucked between files of encrypted data and coded blueprints. It had listed his exact height.

Six foot six.

And he felt even taller now, towering over me, his body so damn big and close.

I could feel his heat, the tension crackling between us like a live wire. His fingers flexed slightly where they steadied me, as if he was barely holding himself back.

The air between us thickened.

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering against my ribs.

“I’m fine,” I murmured, though the words felt unsteady on my tongue. “I just… Don’t know how I’m going to get these off.”

The blood had dried in thick, crusted layers, making the fabric of my clothes stiff, clinging to my skin like a second layer. My loose gray T-shirt – once one of my most comfortable, its neckline cut by me wide enough to hang off my shoulder just right – felt foreign now. Heavy and drenched in something that wasn’t mine.

Zane’s eyes flicked over me, sharp and assessing, his expression unreadable. Then his gaze settled on my shirt, something calculating behind his stare.

“Were you fond of this?”

I looked down at the ruined cotton.Not really, I almost said, but my throat felt dry. I shook my head instead.

The space between us was already small, but as Zane stepped in, the air grew tighter, thick with forbidden desire. His body heat wrapped around me before he even touched me.

His hands came to rest on my lower back, palms broad and warm even through the sticky layers of fabric. A spark shot through me, sharp and sudden, burning low in my stomach.

His touch wasn’t hesitant. It was certain, deliberate.