Celeste was out of the car before he finished speaking. The smell of smoke and antiseptic hit her the moment she stepped in.
She found Dominic in the side of the living room, half seated on the edge of a couch. His shirt was cut open, with blood staining his skin. One of his men was pressing a cloth to his side, while another cleaned the wound on his shoulder.
Her steps faltered at the door. For a moment, all she saw was blood. So much of it.
Dominic looked up then. Their eyes met.
"Celeste." His voice was hoarse, and roughened by pain and exhaustion.
Celeste's stride made no mistake. She crossed the room in two steps and the sight of him, so stripped of armor, so obviously human, brought a rage into her that had nothing to do with fear. It was fury at the world for letting him be hit at all, and fury at the men who'd done it.
"You idiot," she spat before she could stop herself.
