Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
But Ashland isn't done.
He circles Marcus's broken body like a predator, and I see the monster he's always feared showing me. The thing he became in the alley six years ago when he saved a terrified eighteen-year-old girl. The weapon the McCarthys forged. The killer who protects what's his.
He's magnificent.
He's terrifying.
He's mine.
Ashland straddles Marcus's chest again, his boots on either side of his rib cage. His fist rises high, knuckles split open and dripping, his entire arm painted red to the elbow. Every muscle in his body is coiled, ready. Lethal.
This is it. The killing blow. The end.
But he stops.
His fist trembles in the air, his body tense and shaking with the effort of holding back. He's staring at me.
Our eyes meet across the blood-soaked ring, and I see the question there. The plea. Don't hate me for this. Don't fear me. Don't leave me when you see what I really am.
Something deep inside me, dark and terrible, unfurls like wings.
Somehow, the world narrows to just us. Just this moment. Just this choice.
He doesn't want me to see this side of him. The monster. The killer. But I already know what he is. I've always known.
And I love him anyway. Because of it. In spite of it. For it.
“I love you.”
Marcus gurgles something, maybe a plea, maybe a curse. His body jerks weakly beneath Ashland's weight.
I nod once, slow and deliberate.
Permission.
Blessing.
Mine.
And somehow, amid the blood and violence and screaming, Ashland hears that silent plea.
His eyes close, just for a heartbeat. When they open again, there's no hesitation left.
His jaw clenches, and his eyes go dark with purpose.
His fist comes down like a hammer. The sound is sickening, wet, and final.
Crowning's body goes limp beneath him.
Tiernan vaults into the ring, but Ashland doesn't move.
Tiernan kneels down and takes Crowning's pulse. He shakes his head once.
Ashland looks at Crowning one last time, then leans down, close enough to whisper in the dead man's ear.
“She was never yours,” he says, and I hear him. From where I am, I hear every word. “She was always mine. I hope you burn in hell knowing she’s mine.”
Tiernan nods to Seamus. “He's gone.”
Ashland stands and wipes the blood from his face with the back of his hand. He looks directly at me.
Seamus climbs into the ring as Ashland holds my gaze. He addresses Crowning's men, his voice loud and clear.
“You know the rules. It was a fair fight in the ring. Any repercussions from the likes of you will be quickly and severely dealt with. There will be no war that continues after this. Is that clear?”
The few men who remain nod grudgingly.
Seamus turns to one of them. “You know what to do now.”
I don't know what the legalities are, what the politics are. All I care about is Ashland.
The crowd parts as Ashland climbs out of the ring and walks toward me. He's limping, favoring his left side. His face is a mess of cuts and bruises, and his lip is split. Blood still streams from the gash above his eyebrow. His knuckles are raw and torn, exposing bone.
He looks like a nightmare made flesh.
He looks beautiful. My avenging angel.
When he reaches me, his palm cups my face, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone with a gentleness that makes my eyes sting.
“Are you hurt?” he rasps.
My god. He's barely stitched together with flesh and bone, and he's asking if I'm hurt.
“Did he touch you?”
“No more than a little slap, the weak bastard,” I say, my lower lip trembling. I shake my head. “I'm okay.”
His eyes search mine, frantic and desperate. “Tell me you're okay. Say it again.”
“I'm okay,” I whisper, running my hand over my nose and wiping my eyes. “But you? You're bleeding everywhere. God, Ash—”
“Doesn't matter.” His other hand comes up to frame my face, both palms cupping my cheeks. “You shouldn't be here. You promised me.”
He doesn't seem to notice or care that he's smearing blood across my skin, and I'm crying freely now.
“I was never going to stay home…” I interrupt, my hands gripping his wrists. His pulse races beneath my fingers. “Do you think I'd let you face him without me here? You think I'd let you do this alone?”
Something cracks in his expression. The hardness falls away, leaving nothing but raw vulnerability.
“I don't want you to see me like this,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and broken.
“What do I see?” I whisper back, rising on my toes so I can press my forehead against his. “I see all of you, Ashland. The protector. The monster. The man who's been watching over me. I see you, and I'm not afraid.”
“You should be. You should be terrified of me.”
“It's too late.” I slide my hands up his arms, feeling the tremor in his muscles. “Take me home, Ashland. Please.”
“Home.” He repeats the word like it's foreign to him, as if he can't quite believe what I'm saying. “Take you back to the cabin?”