DOM
She collapsed in my arms like the world had finally let her fall.
For a heartbeat, I didn't move. Couldn't. My brain stuttered between the rage that had just carried me through blood and fire to get to her and the unbearable reality of her body, too limp, too cold, folded against mine.
"Lena," I breathed, my voice cracking wide open.
I cradled her tighter, trying to pour life into her with the way I held her, trying to transfer my warmth to her chilled skin. My pulse was a war drum in my chest, thundering out of sync with hers. I could feel everything—every torn muscle, every bruise, every poisoned breath—through the bond that still clung by the barest thread.
And gods, it hurt.
It was like being set on fire from the inside. Her pain was my pain, magnified a thousandfold. The echo of it nearly dropped me to my knees.
Then—her hand.
