After a few minutes of fierce combat, Lucian was able to bring the men to their knees—crippled, broken, and sprawled across the ground, groaning in pain.
He stood a few inches away, expressionless, watching them writhe.
Blood stained his knuckles, the dim light glinting off the crimson.
When he felt Emily's trembling hands clutching his arm, his hardened expression softened. Her eyes shimmered with worry as she fussed over him, checking his face and body for wounds. His lips curled up softly
"You don't have to look so scared," he said gently, his lips curving faintly. "I'm fine."
Emily shook her head, her voice trembling, she was on the verge of tears. "Your hand…Lucian, you're bleeding." She turned his fist over in her small hands, her heart hammering at the sight.
"Not my blood," he said with a hint of amusement. "It's theirs."
"Lie," she whispered, glaring up at him.
"Alright then," he sighed, "maybe a scratch or two. But it's really nothing."
