Page 24 of Fired Up Love

Five against one should have been suicide. Any sane person would have surrendered. But she knew every brick and shadow of this alley, every fire escape and narrow passage. She’d played here as a cub while her mother worked, learning the geography with a child’s thoroughness.

Her mother’s training echoed in her mind: Fight geography first, opponents second.

She became liquid gold, flowing between attackers with impossible grace. The first lion lunged, expecting her to retreat. Instead, she ricocheted off the wall like a pinball, using his own momentum against him. Her claws raked across his flank before he could adjust, drawing first blood.

The second tried to pin her against a dumpster, his superior weight seemingly an advantage. She slipped through the eighteen-inch gap between metal containers, leaving him to crash into unforgiving steel with a sound like thunder. His pained roar echoed off the brick walls.

Her lioness reveled in the dance of combat, ancient instincts singing with purpose. Even outnumbered, she moved like deadly poetry, each strike precise, each dodge perfectly timed. This was what she was made for—not the careful control of spa ownership, but the primal protection of territory and tribe.

TWENTY-TWO

Pain erupted along her ribs as the third attacker’s claws found purchase, tearing through fur and flesh. She twisted midair, an impossible contortion that spoke of supernatural agility. Her fangs sank into his shoulder, powerful jaws clamping down until she tasted blood and heard the crunch of bone. He released her with a howl that probably shocked everyone within three blocks.

The fourth came at her low, trying to hamstring her. She leaped straight up, using a fire escape ladder as a springboard to flip over his attack. Her hind claws scored deep furrows along his spine as she passed overhead.

The leader hung back, studying her movements with calculating eyes. When he finally engaged, it was with terrifying expertise. He’d partially shifted while maintaining human form—a forbidden technique that granted tremendous power at risk of magical corruption. His muscles bulged grotesquely, bones restructuring beneath skin that couldn’t quite contain the transformation.

“Madrigal authorized whatever it takes,” he snarled, his voice distorted by partially formed fangs. Unnaturally extended claws slashed across her shoulder, parting fur and flesh like butter.

White-hot agony pushed her beyond normal limits. The pain ignited something primal, something that transcended mere shifter abilities. Without conscious thought, she reached for the ley line thrumming beneath the spa.

Power answered her call.

Energy surged through her paws, turning her golden fur incandescent. The alley lit up like midday as raw magic coursed through her body. When she slammed the leader into the brick wall, the impact left a crater three feet wide. Mortar dust rained down as he slumped unconscious, his partial shift collapsing into fully human form.

The remaining enforcers stared in shock, their confidence evaporating at this display of power they hadn’t anticipated. One by one, they backed away, dragging their fallen comrades with them.

When the dust settled, only silence remained. Zina stood alone in the alley, her fur matted with blood—both hers and theirs. Victory, but at what cost?

As adrenaline faded, she cataloged her injuries with clinical detachment: deep shoulder laceration still weeping blood, at least three cracked ribs making each breath an exercise in pain management, torn muscles screaming with every movement. And something else—a bone-deep exhaustion that came from channeling raw magical energy without proper training.

The shift back to human form left her gasping and naked on the cold concrete. Her clothes lay in ribbons around her, fabric reduced to expensive confetti. She grabbed the wall to help her stand.

Each step sent shockwaves through her battered body. Her blood left a trail that shimmered with residual ley line energy, the droplets glowing faintly blue before fading. Anyone with magical sensitivity could track her path like following breadcrumbs.

“New spa treatment,” she muttered through gritted teeth, her dark humor a shield against encroaching shock. “Combat massage with complimentary exfoliation. Side effects may include temporary nudity, permanent enemies, and an exciting new career as a magical lightning rod.”

The joke couldn’t mask her growing realization: she wasn’t just a spa owner anymore. She’d become guardian of an ancient power source that others would kill to possess, defender of a magical nexus that could reshape Enchanted Falls in the wrong hands. Her lioness whimpered—a sound she’d never heard from the proud creature before—as the weight of responsibility settled on their shared shoulders.

TWENTY-THREE

When she saw the back door to the spa, her legs began failing. She stumbled against a streetlight, the metal cool against her feverish skin. Her vision swam, darkness creeping in at the edges. Almost there. Just a little farther.

Three steps. She could manage three steps.

Her strength evaporated completely on the second step. She crumbled to the ground.

“Zina.”

That voice—deep, resonant, threaded with barely leashed fury—cut through her pain like a blade. She forced her eyes open, though the effort felt monumental.

Xai emerged from shadows she hadn’t even noticed, stepping into the glow of her backdoor like an avenging angel. His golden eyes blazed molten red, dragon rage transforming his usually controlled features into something primitive and dangerous. His suit jacket slid from his shoulders with liquid grace as he moved, revealing powerful muscles that rippled beneath his white shirt.

Heat rolled off him in visible waves, the temperature spiking with each step closer.

“Who did this?” The words vibrated with draconic power, promising retribution. Smoke curled from his nostrils, and his pupils had contracted to vertical slits.

“Severin’s pride.” Her voice emerged as a whisper, throat raw from growls and roars. “He wants the nexus under my spa.”

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