Page 79 of Nansar
Knee to gut—hard enough to feel something give. His weight shifted. I twisted my hips, broke his grip, rolled. My hands found purchase in the dirt as I surged to my feet, blood streaming down my arms from where his claws had torn through fabric and flesh.
The guard recovered faster than I expected, launching himself at me with a snarl that showed every one of those needle-sharp teeth. I sidestepped, planted my back foot, and channeled every ounce of rage and training into a roundhouse kick that connected with his jaw like a hammer meeting glass.
The crack echoed. His head snapped sideways at an angle that made my stomach flip, dropping like a puppet with cut strings, unconscious before he hit the ground.
I spun, chest heaving, searching.
Declan stood fifteen feet away. No longer running. His face was a mess of blood and swelling from my fists, buthis expression had shifted into something worse than fear. Something that mixed terror with the kind of rage that came from a wounded ego.
And he had a blaster pointed directly at my heart.
The sounds of battle faded to white noise. My pulse thundered in my ears. We stared at each other across that small stretch of alien ground—predator and prey, though neither of us was quite sure anymore which was which.
I didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't give him one goddamn inch of satisfaction.
"You know what, Chloe?" His voice came out wet and rough, distorted through his ruined lip. Blood dripped from his chin in fat drops. "I've changed my mind."
I held his gaze. Steady. Let him see exactly what he'd created.
"I thought I'd enjoy fucking you again. Reminding you who you belonged to." His smile was a grotesque thing, all cruelty and impotent rage wrapped in split skin. "But on second thought? I think I'll enjoy watching you die a whole lot more."
His finger found the trigger.
Time crystallized into something sharp and fragile. I watched his finger tighten, saw the micro-adjustment in his stance as he prepared to fire. Every instinct I'd honed over years of training screamed at me to move—dodge, dive, do something—but my feet might as well have been welded to the ground.
After everything. After surviving the cage, the drugs, the violation. After clawing my way back to myself. After finding something worth fighting for in the arms of an alien warrior who saw me as more than broken pieces.
It would end here. At the hands of the man who'd already killed me once.
Then the world tilted sideways.
Nansar materialized like a force of nature made flesh, his massive body blocking out the light as he threw himself between us. The blaster's discharge cracked through the air—a sound that would echo in my nightmares forever. His body convulsed, a violent jerk that seemed to steal the breath from my lungs along with his.
The acrid stench of seared flesh hit me a heartbeat later.
"No!" The word tore from my throat, raw and primal.
I lunged forward as his knees buckled, catching him before he could crash to the ground. His weight was staggering—pure alien muscle and bone—but adrenaline turned me into something stronger than I'd ever been. We went down together in a controlled collapse, and I cradled his massive frame against me as best I could.
Blood bloomed across his chest like a dark, terrible flower. Not the bright red of human blood, but something deeper—burgundy edging toward black, thick and viscous. It spread with horrifying speed, soaking through the fabric of his clothing, warm and slick against my hands.
Somewhere in my peripheral vision, Declan's form disappeared into the treeline. Let him run. Let him fucking run to the ends of the universe. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered except the male in my arms.
"Nansar, no, no, no—" My hands found the wound, pressing down hard. The blood welled up between my fingers, hot and relentless. "Stay with me. You hear me? Stay with me!"
His hand rose—trembling, uncertain—and settled over mine. Those eyes, usually so sharp and focused they could cut through steel, had gone hazy. Unfocused. The brilliant blue-green dulled to something that made my stomach drop.
"Chloe..." My name on his lips sounded like goodbye.
"Don't talk. Don't you dare waste your strength talking." My voice cracked, splintered into something I barely recognized. "We'll get you help. We'll—"
"Should have... told you..." Each word cost him. I could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his chest hitched with the effort. "The itching... in my horns..."
"What? Nansar, please—" I pressed harder against the wound, but it was like trying to hold back the tide with my bare hands.
The blood kept coming. And coming. It pooled beneath him, spreading across the dirt in an ever-widening circle, soaking into my pants where I knelt, painting my arms crimson up to the elbows. The metallic tang of it filled my nose, my mouth, until I could taste nothing else.
Under my palm, against his chest, I felt it—the rhythm that had lulled me to sleep more times than I could count. That steady, powerful drumbeat that had become as familiar to me as my own.
