Page 99 of Blood Heir

He charges again. We slam against the wall, my back slamming into it with a dull thud that shoots pain through my already broken ribs.

I block his next punch with my forearm and drive my elbow into his jaw, sending him stumbling back into a toppled chair.

He reaches for his boot and pulls out a knife—a thin, serrated blade that gleams in the flashing light of muzzle fire behind us.

I swing, but not fast enough.

The knife plunges into my side.

White-hot pain sears through me. My body stiffens, the wound pulsing with every frantic beat of my heart. He rips the blade out and shoves me backward, sending me crashing onto my back. My breath hitches as I clutch my side, blood seeping rapidly through my fingers.

Gustavo steps over me, towering, panting heavily, sweat dripping from his chin.

“The mighty Serevin,” he sneers. “And this is how you go down. On your back, like a fucking dog.”

His boot presses into my chest, pinning me. The knife glistens above, trembling slightly in his hand as he aims for my throat.

In my periphery, Cassian rushes forward—but one of Gustavo’s men intercepts him, landing a brutal punch that sends Cassian crashing into the wall, dazed.

I try to twist away, but my limbs are sluggish, my vision swimming. The blade descends. My breathing shortens, heart hammering in my ears.

And then—

A single sharp crack.

The sound slices through the chaos like a lightning strike.

Blood splatters across my face. Gustavo’s expression freezes—shocked, wide-eyed—before his body jerks and collapses sideways. The knife clatters harmlessly beside my head.

I suck in air and turn my head.

Standing several feet away, framed by the broken smoke and flashing lights, is Fioretta.

She holds the smoking gun steady, her face cold, her eyes sharp and burning.

The world narrows to just her and me for one fleeting moment.

She rushes toward me, her face pale, eyes wide, pupils blown with terror. I want to speak, to say her name, but my throat burns, and all I can manage is a rasp.

She drops to her knees, sliding on the slick floor, her hands immediately pressing over my wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

“You’re bleeding,” she whispers, her voice cracking. She’s shaking. “God, you’re bleeding.”

I lift my hand with what little strength I have and find her cheek. My fingers tremble as I touch her skin. She’s here. She’s real. Warm. Breathing. Not a dream. Not this time.

“You came,” I manage. The words feel foreign, like they’re scraping out of my chest.

The tight coil in my chest snaps, and before I can even think, I pull her forward and crush my mouth to hers.

Her lips taste of salt and rain. The kiss is desperate. Starving. I kiss her like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do. My hand buries into her hair, pulling her closer because even this isn’t enough. It’s never enough.

She melts into me. God, she always melts into me. Her breath is warm against my mouth. Her fingers clutch my shirt, smearing blood as if claiming me. She’s shaking, but she doesn’t pull away.

For a brief second, the world dissolves. The gunfire, the blood, the bodies—they’re all gone. Just her. Only her.

And then—

“Oh, come on, you two!” Emilia’s sharp voice slices through, snapping reality back into focus.

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