Lying broken and blood-soaked upon the ground, his life bleeding into the soil beneath him, Liam's vision was hazy—flickering and fading like a dying flame—but even in that state, his eyes found Mabel. Only her.
It was the second time he'd seen her face—really seen it. The first was during their initial sparring match, a blur of fists, movement, and tension. And now... here, at the edge of death, her face stood out like a fading portrait in his mind. Simple, elegant and unforgettable.
Even now, as blood painted her skin and her body hung limp against the twisting root that impaled her, she looked graceful. How the hell could someone look that good while dying? How could anyone still carry such quiet beauty when the light was draining from their hazel-brown eyes?
Something in him cracked.
Emotions surged—wild, feral and consuming.