Submitting to my Ex Uncle-Chapter 207

Celeste was out of the car before he finished speaking. The smell of smoke and antiseptic hit her the moment she stepped in.

She found Dominic in the side of the living room, half seated on the edge of a couch. His shirt was cut open, with blood staining his skin. One of his men was pressing a cloth to his side, while another cleaned the wound on his shoulder.

Her steps faltered at the door. For a moment, all she saw was blood. So much of it.

Dominic looked up then. Their eyes met.

"Celeste." His voice was hoarse, and roughened by pain and exhaustion.

Celeste’s stride made no mistake. She crossed the room in two steps and the sight of him, so stripped of armor, so obviously human, brought a rage into her that had nothing to do with fear. It was fury at the world for letting him be hit at all, and fury at the men who’d done it.

"You idiot," she spat before she could stop herself.

"Celeste," he said again, voice rough. He didn’t like her here, but it relieved him that she was right before him.

She didn’t reach for his hand. She reached for his face.

She slapped him. Her slap was clean and hard. It landed across his cheek with the sharp sound of disappointment turned physical.

Dominic tasted copper and the sudden metallic tang of his own bleeding lip. He tasted blood on his tongue from her slap.

Surprise flickered in his eyes. But his jaw came up afterward, steadying.

"You could’ve died," she said, and it was mostly accusation. Mostly fear. Her voice shook in the last half of the sentence.

He tasted the blood on his lip, wiped at it instinctively, and the movement was small and brave and foolish. The bruise was already darkening along his cheekbone.

"You could have been a dead man," she said, voice breaking now. She didn’t let the words fall soft. She made them real because she needed him to feel the size of the hole she’d imagined.

He went still. The bruise at his cheek pulsed like a small, angry moon.

She swallowed hard. "What the hell were you thinking?"

He gave a small smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. "I am handling it."

"Handling it?" she snapped, her voice breaking. "You’re bleeding out."

He winced slightly but didn’t look away. "You shouldn’t be here."

"Well, I am."

Dominic’s fingers found her wrist and squeezed it. Not hard, but with a quiet authority that said he was there, that he was present, and that even wounded he could make the world stop.

"You’re alive," she said again, quieter now, as if the word itself was enough and not enough.

He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them they were steadier, the pale skin around them making his dark lashes look too heavy.

"I’m alive," he agreed. "Thanks to some quick men and a slow plan."

His attempt at levity fell flat. She didn’t laugh. She wiped at his mouth with the edge of the bandage the medic had left, and a small smear of red stained her fingers. He watched her do it like it was the most normal thing in the world for her to be handling his blood.

"You said you didn’t want me here," she whispered. "But you showed up like this and you expected me not to come?" Her voice rose and cracked. "You promised me, Dominic."

He inhaled and the pain folded across his face. "I know."

He stared at her for a second, and something in his expression softened. "It looks worse than it is."

Her gaze dropped to his side, where the gauze was already red. "You’re a terrible liar."

The medic stepped back. "He needs rest," he said quietly before leaving them alone.

Celeste moved closer. Her hand trembled as she reached out and brushed his hair back. "You should’ve called me."

He caught her wrist, his grip gentle. "I didn’t want you walking into this."

Her voice lowered. "You think I wouldn’t have come?"

He didn’t answer. His eyes said enough.

She exhaled shakily, her anger melting into fear. "You could’ve died tonight." She repeated facts.

He looked at her, unblinking. "But I didn’t."

"That’s not the point."

He tilted his head slightly, watching her. "You were worried."

"Of course, I was worried!" she burst out, her voice breaking. "You think I can sleep when you’re out there bleeding for men who would gladly shoot you in the back?"

He smiled faintly, but it was tired. "I had to go."

"Then take me with you next time," she said quietly.

His eyes darkened immediately. "No."

"Yes."

"Celeste."

"I’m not asking." Her voice trembled, but the conviction didn’t waver. "If something happens to you, I want to know. I want to be there."

"You’re pale," she said, absurdly, because it made the fear practical. If she named it, she could measure it.

He gave a tiny, tired smile. "That’s the new trend."

She slapped his shoulder this time, gentler, the kind that said stop trying to be brave at the cost of your life.

"Rodger said you were hit twice," she said, keeping her voice steady. "Tell me the truth."

Dominic glanced away, toward the door where Rodger waited with his jaw tight. "Second shot grazed me," he said. "They thought they had me."

"They almost did," she answered, meeting his eyes.

He looked back at her and reached for her hand, his fingers cold against her warm skin. "I’m sorry."

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Dominic finally let out a low sigh, brushing his thumb against her wrist. "You shouldn’t have come."

"But you’re glad I did," she said softly.

His lips twitched into a faint, defeated smile. "Maybe."

Celeste leaned forward then, resting her forehead against his. "Don’t ever do that again," she whispered.

"I can’t promise that."

"I know."

Her eyes slipped shut. For a while, neither of them spoke. Dominic’s breathing slowed, his hand still around hers. Celeste stayed there, holding onto him, refusing to move.