“No more than a little slap, the weak bastard,” I say, my lower lip trembling. I shake my head. “I'm okay.”
His eyes search mine, frantic and desperate. “Tell me you're okay. Say it again.”
“I'm okay,” I whisper, running my hand over my nose and wiping my eyes. “But you? You're bleeding everywhere. God, Ash?—”
“Doesn't matter.” His other hand comes up to frame my face, both palms cupping my cheeks. “You shouldn't be here. You promised me.”
He doesn't seem to notice or care that he's smearing blood across my skin, and I'm crying freely now.
“I was never going to stay home…” I interrupt, my hands gripping his wrists. His pulse races beneath my fingers. “Do you think I'd let you face him without me here? You think I'd let you do this alone?”
Something cracks in his expression. The hardness falls away, leaving nothing but raw vulnerability.
“I don't want you to see me like this,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and broken.
“What do I see?” I whisper back, rising on my toes so I can press my forehead against his. “I see all of you, Ashland. The protector. The monster. The man who's been watching over me. I see you, and I'm not afraid.”
“You should be. You should be terrified of me.”
“It's too late.” I slide my hands up his arms, feeling the tremor in his muscles. “Take me home, Ashland. Please.”
“Home.” He repeats the word like it's foreign to him, as if he can't quite believe what I'm saying. “Take you back to the cabin?”
“Aye. I choose you. I choose this. I choose us.”
A shudder runs through him. His eyes close briefly, and when they open again, they're wet.
“You'remymonster, Ashland McCarthy. The only man who's ever truly seen me. And I'm yours. I've been yours since the night you saved me. I just needed to grow up a bit, didn't I?” It comes out as a half sob, half laugh.
Then he's kissing me—right here, in front of everyone—with Crowning's dead body still warm in the ring behind us. His lips are split and taste like copper, but I don't care. I kiss him back just as desperately, just as fiercely.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead is pressed against mine, his eyes closed and his breathing ragged.
“Mine,” he whispers against my lips, then kisses me again—soft and reverent this time.
“Yours,” I whisper back.
I cling to him, and he holds me like I'm the only thing keeping him upright.
“Let me clean you up,” I say softly.
He nods, but his grip on me tightens. “I need to get you out of here. Let Seamus clean up this mess. Really.”
I nod, catching movement in the corner. Tiernan stands where he was coaching during the fight. There's something like approval in his gaze. He nods at me, and I nod back.
The crowd parts for us. No one dares get too close. Ashland keeps one arm wrapped around me, like he's afraid I'll disappear.
“How'd you get here?” he asks as we push through to the exit.
“Kyla.”
“Christ,” he growls, then bends to kiss my temple. “I love you, and I'm still gonna whip your pretty arse for coming here.”
But there's no heat in it. Just exhaustion and overwhelming love.
I actually laugh, then reach up to wipe some of the blood from his face. “I know. And you're gonna let me tend to those wounds when we get home,” I tell him.
“I know,” he says. “And you're never doing anything this fucking reckless again.”
