Page 51 of The Last Morgan

They faced off in the middle of the sitting room, the polished wooden floor cool under their feet.

Lucy moved first — fast and low, sweeping for his legs.

Damian barely dodged in time, surprise flashing across his face.

"Damn, you’re quick."

Lucy smirked and came at him again — a flurry of fast jabs and sharp footwork.

Damian blocked her, laughing breathlessly, but he was sweating now, forced to take her seriously.

Lucy moved like a machine — fluid, deadly and precise.

A kick aimed at his ribs — he barely parried.

A punch toward his jaw — he ducked under.

A sweep of her legs — he stumbled, catching himself at the last second.

They circled each other, breathing hard.

"You’re not bad, Morgan," Damian teased, wiping sweat from his brow.

"But are you—"

Lucy lunged, spinning and pinning him against the wall with a loud thud.

She had one arm pressed across his chest, the other ready to strike.

Damian blinked down at her, stunned.

Lucy grinned wickedly.

"Still standing," she said smugly.

Damian stared at her for a long second — and then laughed, throwing his head back.

"Jesus," he said, panting. "You’re a machine."

He raised his hands in surrender.

"I yield."

Lucy stepped back, grinning, exhilarated and buzzing with energy.

Damian chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I’m supposed to protect you," he muttered, half to himself, "not the other way around."

Lucy laughed, cheeks flushed.

"Stick with me, rookie. You’ll learn something."

After the playful fight, Lucy and Damian collapsed onto the sitting room sofas, both breathless and laughing.

Damian leaned his head back, his smile wide and genuine.

"You’re something else, Lucy."