Page 54 of Property of Scar

For a split second, there’s nothing solid except him.

“Oh, fuck!”

His grip tightens, and the world snaps sideways.

My stomach drops as the last point of balance disappears, my body dragged through space before I can catch it, twist out of it, or I can do anything except feel the sudden, brutal shift of control leaving my hands.

For a split second, there’s nothing under my feet.

Nothing solid.

Just motion.

Then… impact.

My back hits hard enough to knock the air from my lungs in a sharp, soundless jolt, the force of it driving straight through bone and muscle, rattling everything loose inside me.

Something gives behind me.

A deep, cracking snap that I feel as much as hear, the surface at my back splitting under the force, the vibration running up my spine as the pillar fractures outward. Dust bursts around me, filling the air, coating my tongue and throat, and dragging into my lungs as I try to pull in breaths and get nothing but grit, heat, and the aftershock of the hit.

Fragments scrape against my arms, my shoulders, small pieces of debris catching against my skin as they fall, the air turning heavy, choked with concrete and the sharp, dry taste of it. My vision blurs at the edges for a second, the world snapping in and out of focus as the impact settles into something real, something I can push against.

Pain follows a beat later.

I suck in a breath that burns on the way down, cough it back out through dust, and force my body upright, muscles protesting as they lock back into place.

The pillar behind me is cracked. I can feel it at my back.

Pain flares through my back and shoulder, and through the settling haze, I look at him…

And smile.

“Okay,” I say, pushing off the fractured surface, dust sliding from my arms as I straighten. “That was unnecessary.”

He takes a step toward me, his gaze tracking every movement I make. There’s something darker sitting behind it now. “You were getting comfortable,” he says.

I bare my fangs at him before I can stop them.

His expression shifts instantly, something in him catching on to it like a spark finding fuel. “There she is,” he says, low, almost satisfied.

My pulse spikes.

I don’t answer him and lunge—full vampire speed.

The world blurs as I close the distance, everything narrowing down to him, my body moving faster, stronger, the restraint slipping just enough to let something more dangerous through.

We collide hard enough to take out another piece of equipment, the rack behind him snapping under the force as we crash into it, metal bending, weights clattering to the floor in a violent cascade.

My strike comes fast, aimed for his jaw. He blocks—of course, he blocks—but this time there’s more behind it. More force. More intent.

“Better,” he says, his voice rougher now, less detached as he meets me head-on. “Don’t hold back.”

“Funny,” I shoot back, breaths coming faster now as I drive into him again, my body humming with the shift. “I was about to say the same thing.”

He catches my arm mid-strike, turning it, sending me sideways into another bench that cracks under the impact, wood splintering when I slam into it.

I don’t stay down.