Chapter 557 FALLEN FROM GRACE (BONUS - 4)

CELESTE’S POV

For all my appreciation of beautiful things, none of them had ever truly left me awestruck.

My jaw had never dropped over an expensive Birkin, and my heart had never raced for sexy Louboutins. I’d certainly never been speechless in the presence of dashing suitors.

But this person managed to spark every one of those reactions in me, and then some.

His hair was dirty blond, clipped close at the sides while the curls on top fell messily across his forehead. His nose was slightly crooked, as if it had been broken once and never quite set straight, and his eyes were a deep, earthy brown.

He wasn’t conventionally beautiful; the old Celeste might have dismissed him entirely. Yet there was something magnetic about his face that made it impossible to look away.

Maybe it was the furrow between his brows, the purse of his full lips, the spark of fury in his eyes softening into concern. The velvety smoothness of his voice when he spoke.

“Christ, you’re shivering.”

He unzipped his black hoodie without hesitation, shrugged it off, and crouched beside me, holding it open like a shield he meant to wrap around my shoulders.

That movement snapped me out of my stupor, and I scurried backward, hissing like a stray cat. “Don’t touch me!”

He froze, his hand and hoodie dangling between us.

I pushed myself to my feet—or I tried to, but my hands slid in the mud, and I landed hard on my ass.

The man reached out to me again. “Here, let me help—”

“I said, don’t fucking touch me!”

He recoiled like he’d been stung. He blinked at me once, twice, then stood and looked down at me expectantly.

This time, when I pushed myself up, I managed to stand upright.

“Here,” he said, still holding out the hoodie. “You should...” His gaze darted pointedly to my torso, which was still exposed.“...cover up.”

I grabbed the openings of my shirt and yanked them together, buttoning it with trembling fingers.

“Take the hoodie,” he urged. “You’re going to catch your death of a cold.”

“I’m f-fine.” I inwardly cursed myself and clamped my teeth to stop them from chattering.

He rolled his eyes, and his hand finally dropped, a hoodie sleeve hovering centimeters over a puddle.

“Are you okay?”

A jagged laugh ripped from my throat before I even registered my bitter amusement.

“Do I look okay?”

I looked like literal shit. My clothes and hair were drenched and caked with grime; my body throbbed from being slammed into the ground; my nerves still buzzed with leftover fear and adrenaline.

“Right. Stupid question. Do you need anything?”

I shook my head, wet hair slapping against my cheeks. “I don’t—”

Fuck, my bag and jacket.

I hugged my arms around myself and began walking back down the alley.

As I passed him, he turned, and suddenly warmth wrapped around me.

I stilled.

He’d draped his hoodie over my shoulders. It was ridiculously soft and warm and smelled like expensive detergent and woodsy, citrusy men’s cologne.

It took every ounce of self-respect not to hug it closer and inhale.

“Wouldn’t it absolutely suck if you survived those two dickbags only to succumb to pneumonia?”

I gave him a sidelong glance. He wore a henley underneath, the fabric hugging his muscled forearms in a way that left nothing to the imagination.

I tore my gaze away. “I’m not paying for your dry cleaning.”

“You know, most people would just say thank you.”

I slid my arms into the sleeves and zipped it up, biting back a sigh at the delicious warmth. “I didn’t ask you for it.”

He fell into step beside me. “Okay, what about an apology?”

I scoffed. “An apology?”

He nodded. “I’ve always dreamed of having a soccer team of kids, but after your assault earlier, I might as well start researching adoption agencies.”

“Good,” I muttered, continuing to walk. “The human race doesn’t deserve to keep multiplying.”

He snorted. “So, what, you’re going to make it your mission to castrate every man you meet?”

“I’m not going to apologize for trying to protect myself.”

“You did an amazing job of that, by the way.”

There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in his voice. I don’t think he was making fun of me.

But self-loathing over my non-existent self-defense skills and helplessness drowned out my common sense, and the filter between my thoughts and mouth vanished.

“Why would I deny you the glory of trotting in on your white horse to battle the dragons and save the damsel in distress?”

His laugh didn’t sound quite amused. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were mad at me.”

I flashed him a sardonic smile. “How could I possibly be mad at my knight in shining armor? Pardon me while I fall to your knees and kiss your feet.”

I skidded to an abrupt halt.

It had been ages. So, so long since I’d let myself speak to anyone like that.

Most people had fight or flight; I had sweet or bitch. But when I left Nightfang, I shed the acerbic Celeste Lockwood persona like a snakeskin.

I’d built a filter between my mouth and brain, and another between my brain and face, to keep my words and expressions pleasant for everyone I met.

I managed to be civil and cordial to pigs like the Ninth Circle, but here I was, being a bitch to the person who literally saved me.

I’d stopped in front of my bag and jacket, and the man wordlessly reached down and picked them up.

“Do you live near here?” he asked, voice soft.

I didn’t trust my mouth anymore, so I just nodded.

“Well, this knight would be remiss in his duties if he didn’t make sure the damsel was safe in her tower before his departure.”

There was a teasing note, an attempt to lighten the mood, and if I wasn’t feeling like absolute shit, I might have indulged him.

I wordlessly grabbed the bag and jacket from him and turned on my heels.

He fell into step beside me again, silent this time. The walk felt like both forever and two minutes.

“This is me,” I mumbled when we stopped in front of my apartment building.

Under the entrance’s dim light, I realized his eyes weren’t simply brown. Green and gold glimmered within, catching what little light there was, and I found myself unable to tear my gaze away.

He gave a dramatic bow. “Your castle awaits, princess.”

I jerked back, recoiling on instinct.

“Don’t call me that.” My voice lashed like a whip, and I cursed myself again. He didn’t deserve my animosity, but that damn filter must have broken when I fell earlier, and I had no idea how to fix it.

The teasing instantly fell from his face, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Got it.”

I unzipped his hoodie, shrugged it off my shoulders, and held it out to him.

He reached out to take it, but when he pulled back, I tightened my grip on the fabric. He stalled, raising a questioning brow.

I swallowed. Took a breath. Thought the words in my head and voiced them slowly, carefully.

“Thank you for saving me.”

Dimples. He had dimples on his cheeks that winked into view when he smiled at me.

“You’re welcome.”

I let go of the hoodie and stepped back. He mirrored my movement and gave me a boyish two-fingered salute.

And then he was gone.

I watched him retreat for two seconds before I retrieved my key and unlocked the door.

My legs dragged like lead as I climbed the stairs to my apartment, and my fingers, numb with cold, fumbled clumsily with the lock.

When I accidentally stepped on a cockroach that scuttled in front of me as I walked in, I barely noticed.

By the time I made it to the bathroom and stripped off my wet, grimy clothes, numbness had nearly swallowed me whole.

My mind tried to replay the last hour, but I’d mastered the art of ignoring the bad, of shoving unpleasant, uncomfortable memories behind mental doors and locking them tight.

I’d finished my shift at the Blue Lantern as usual; I’d walked the path home uneventfully.

Then I turned to the mirror.

This time, it wasn’t the dark, short hair that made me recoil. It wasn’t the pale skin or sunken eyes.

It was the red, swollen spot on my neck—where Clancy had bitten me.

That was all it took for the doors to burst open.

Sensation slammed into me with the force of a wrecking ball, and I shattered beneath the onslaught—the crushing grip, the stench of tobacco and anchovies, the rough scrape of the beard, the weight pinning me in the dirty puddle, the fear, the despair.

I doubled over the sink, and acid burned my throat as I threw up. My stomach clenched violently, leaving me gasping between heaves as tears streamed down my face.

I clung to the sink until my knuckles ached, gagging long after there was nothing left, my body still trying to purge the terror surging through my veins.

When I was done, I slid to the floor, my back pressed against the shower stall, and hugged my knees around myself.

The bathroom was silent now, but the silence offered no comfort. My pathetic self-hug offered no comfort.

Eventually, I’d have to stand, clean myself up, and step back into a world where no one cared I was hurting.

It had been a long time since I left home, but this was the first time I felt truly, utterly alone.