Page 27 of The Endless Want

I draw in a sharp breath through my nose and slam my head backward with as much force as I can manage. My skull connects with his chin. Not enough to break anything—but enough to surprise him.

His grip tightens reflexively, loosening for just a moment at the wrist.

That moment is everything. I bite down on the woman’s hand. Hard. I taste blood, metallic and warm, on my tongue. She shrieks, yanking away, swearing viciously in Russian.

The man curses and shifts his stance to regain control.

I don’t let him. I twist, drop my weight, and kick backward—heel-to-bone into his shin. His leg buckles.

I shove the woman’s ribs with everything I can muster.

She’s smaller than I expected. My elbow connects sharply, and she goes stumbling sideways.

The man grabs my coat, jerking me back. Buttons pop. Fabric rips. I spin, slam my fist into his throat—not a proper hit, not enough to disable him, but enough to disrupt his breathing.

Enough to run.

I bolt, sprinting blindly out of the alley and into the open street. My chest burns. My legs scream. My lungs feel too tight.

I scream—loud, ragged, desperate. It tears at my throat. It echoes off the surrounding buildings.

The woman doesn’t chase me this time—she vanishes, melting into the shadows like smoke.

But the man is fast. Too fast.

I feel fingers snag my hair, wrenching me back with brutal force. My scalp explodes with pain. I scream again—this time from pure fear—as he drags me toward the alley mouth.

“You don’t scream,” he snarls in my ear. “You make this easy.”

I claw at his hands, nails scraping skin, but he’s strong, and I’m losing leverage. My heel slips. My breath is swallowed by panic.

Then—

A sound breaks through the night. A familiar voice ripped from raw instinct.

Declan.

He crashes into the man with catastrophic speed. Not controlled, not measured—feral. The impact slams the attacker off his feet. Declan’s shoulder drives into his ribs with enough force to send a crack through the alley like a snapped branch.

The man hits the ground, wheezing. He tries to crawl away.

Declan doesn’t let him.

He drags the man up by his collar and smashes him against the wall so hard my teeth clench. The man’s head whips back, cracking against brick. Declan follows with a punch—one, two, three—each one unbearably precise and devastating.

Blood sprays. Bone gives. Declan doesn’t stop, though.

His jaw is clenched so tightly the muscles quiver. His eyes are bottomless, black with hatred and adrenaline, and something far more frightening—fear for me.

“Declan,” I whisper, voice trembling. He doesn’t hear. Or maybe he does and refuses to respond.

The attacker slips to the ground, choking on his own blood. Declan grabs him by the throat and slams him up again, eyes wild.

“Who sent you?” he growls.

The man can’t answer—can’t speak. Declan doesn’t care. His fist rises again⁠—

“Declan!” My voice cracks. “Stop!”