Page 100 of Killaney Blood
He kisses the side of my cheek and whispers in my ear, "Why do you think I'm wearing it?"
I turn red.
"Okay, smooth talker, let's go."
He takes my hand. It's warm and perfect. I hold on tighter than I mean to. We walk out together, George and Nathan flanking us like shadows.
The car ride is quiet, but not in a bad way. Declan drives with one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped around mine. When he needs both hands for driving, I rest my hand on his thigh, unable to break contact completely. I don't even think about it anymore. I just want to be touching him.
He's become something more to me than I ever could have imagined, and by staying, I've actually allowed myself to open up, to be vulnerable with him. To let him be my rock.
And it's wild how easy this has become. How natural. Like I've always been here. And maybe, in some strange cosmic sense, I was always meant to end up in his orbit. Maybe love isn't something you find. It's something that finds you when you finally allow it to catch up.
We turn into the warehouse parking lot, and it's crowded with cars. Fight nights always draw a crowd, especially when Declan Killaney's fighters are on the card.
We get out of the car and start walking.
"Nervous?" he asks, catching me staring at the building.
I shake my head. "I always am before having to turn into medic mode."
He brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against my knuckles. "You'll be fine."
I smile, and we walk inside to a packed house.
Declan pulls me close.
"You stay with the guards. Don't wander off. And if anything feels off, you come find me. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," I tease, but nod. "I'll be careful."
He kisses me softly, and then he turns to talk strategy with his fighter. I press my lips together and try to hide my obvious smile as I still feel the tingle from his lips.
George and Nathan lead me to the back prep room, where I set up the med kit, gloves, suture packs, antiseptic bottles, and gauze. Everything I need is here. It's familiar, and it's nice to be in my element again.
Just like old times, I think as I finish arranging everything in neat little rows that will get messed up the second someone needs me.
Except it's not like old times at all. No fear of Albanian handlers appearing over my shoulder. No gun pressed to my head dictating who I can and cannot treat. Just me, my skills, and the choice to use them how I see fit.
About thirty minutes later, the first fight starts, and I step out to watch from the back. Declan stands ringside, arms crossed, face animated as he shouts instructions to his fighter. He's in his element here. The underground fight scene is as much his kingdom as the empire he helps his family run. I decide to stay back, wanting to give him space to enjoy this return to normalcy as well.
The crowd roars as a particularly vicious left hook sends a fighter staggering. Blood sprays across the canvas, and I mentally catalog what supplies I'll need if they call me.
My gaze drifts across the room, and I freeze. Standing near the back is a face I never expected to see again, one I'll always remember. Dr. Johns, the Albanian clinic doctor. The one who told me I could never have children.
George notices my tension. "Everything okay?"
"I know that man," I say. Without waiting for their approval, I walk toward him, my guards following closely.
The doctor does a double take as I approach with my bodyguards.
"Dr. Johns," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Do you remember me?"
The doctor looks at me for a moment. "Oh yes. Lyra, right?"
I nod.
"How are you doing?" he asks, genuinely surprised to see me. "What are you doing here?"
