CHAPTER 252

**WINTER**

I knelt on the plush lounge rug, antiseptic bottle in one hand and a wad of cotton in the other, heart hammering against my ribs. 

Every breath felt too loud in my own ears. 

Zion had slouched back against the oversized leather sofa like a spoiled prince, one arm draped over the edge, his jacket hanging half open to expose the gash on his arm. 

The jagged tear in his skin made my stomach twist, a cold, sinking pit forming deep inside me.

I pressed the cotton a little harder, my hands trembling despite my best efforts. My chest felt tight, constricted by the invisible weight of fear. 

He could have died. 

He could have—just gone—because of me, or because I wasn’t fast enough, or because someone had been reckless enough to hurt him. 

The what-ifs raced through my mind, each more vivid than the last, until the air in the room felt too thick to breathe.

A tiny, helpless hiccup of a sob escaped me before I could stop it. I tried to swallow it back, tried to convince myself I was fine, but the tremor in my hands betrayed me. 

My throat ached. 

The reality of what could have happened pressed on me like a physical weight, and I felt a single tear slide down my cheek.

Zion’s eyes snapped open, locking on mine. 

For the briefest moment, his usual smirk softened, replaced by something I couldn’t quite name—concern? 

Something unreadable and frighteningly tender. 

He reached out with the hand that wasn’t injured and brushed the tear from my cheek. 

The contact was deliberate, lingering a second longer than necessary, warm and grounding, yet sending a shiver down my spine.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low, teasing, trying to mask whatever he felt,

“Don’t cry on me, Snowflake. You’re ruining my dramatic moment. I can’t even suffer properly if you’re all weepy over me.”

I blinked, trying to suppress the lump in my throat, a soft laugh escaping me despite the fear still gnawing at my chest. 

I shook my head, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. 

My hands were steadying, but my pulse was still wild, and I could feel my heart pounding in my ears.

“You’re impossible,” I whispered, dabbing at his wound again, but my scolding was softened by the fluttering warmth in my chest.

His eyes twinkled at me, a mix of mischief and something soft that made my stomach flip.

“I’m going to give you some advice,” I said quietly, tilting my chin up to look at him, forcing the tremor out of my voice.

Zion’s smirk deepened, that infuriatingly charming curl of his lips.

“I’d rather you gave me a kiss,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. 

“You know, for bravery… or maybe just to make me forget the pain.”

I pressed the cotton a little harder against his skin, ignoring the sting that made him hiss. 

My voice dropped, firm but trembling slightly.

“Zion… I’m serious. I want to say something, and you’re going to listen.”

The smirk wavered for a fleeting second, a flicker of curiosity—or guilt—slipping through his mischievous facade.

“Do I have a choice?” he murmured, mock pleading.

“Not really,” I said, voice steady, eyes locked on his.

He groaned like a boy being dragged to detention. I laughed softly, a sound that didn’t feel entirely genuine. 

The thought of losing him, of imagining him lying somewhere, maybe unconscious, maybe worse… it made my chest ache. I leaned closer, hand still hovering over his arm.

“Alright,” he murmured, softer now, the teasing retreating slightly.

“I’m listening, Snowflake.”

For a heartbeat, the room felt too quiet, like the world had pressed pause just for us. My fingers trembled against his skin, the antiseptic-soaked cotton hovering over his wound but forgotten. 

His voice was softer, yes—but the sight of him sitting there, bleeding and smirking like it was nothing, made my chest ache.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. 

The image of him lying somewhere cold, lifeless, flashed across my mind unbidden, and my stomach turned to ice. 

He was always so reckless, so untouchable… but tonight had been a reminder that even Zion could bleed, even Zion could be lost.

My throat tightened as the words built in me, sharp and desperate.

“You will never—ever—throw yourself into harm’s way like that again,” I said, each word slow and deliberate.

“Not for me. Not for anyone. You hear me, Zion?”

His smirk wavered, just for a heartbeat, and I saw the stubborn pride in his eyes wrestle with something softer, almost vulnerable.

“Hmm,” he murmured, leaning back slightly, voice losing the teasing lilt.

“Look at you… bossing me around while I’m practically dying.”

I pressed the cotton firmer against his arm, ignoring the slight sting it caused him. 

“Not bossing you,” I said low, firm, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. 

“Protecting you. Because someone has to, and if you won’t do it yourself, then I will.”

I leaned closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead, voice soft but steady.

“And don’t you dare argue, Zion. You’ve got one life, and I’m not letting you throw it away like it means nothing.”

I could see the shift in his expression—half stubborn pride, half tenderness—and I knew he was listening, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

“Now hold still.”

Zion let out a theatrical groan, tipping his head back, eyes fluttering shut as if I’d stabbed him instead of cleaning the wound.

“Snowflake,” he rasped,

“If I don’t make it, promise me you’ll cry at my funeral. Loudly. Make it dramatic… I’m fading fast, Snowflake. The light… It’s getting dim… tell my story to the world.”

Then he cracked one eye open, a hoarse whisper escaping him.

“One last kiss before I shuffle off this mortal coil…”

When I didn’t move, he clutched his chest theatrically.

“Come on, Snowflake… at least grant a dying man his wish,” he droned, eyes fluttering shut.

“Think of the headlines: ‘Local Hero’s Last Request Denied By Cold-Hearted Girlfriend.’”

He cracked one eye open, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you? One last kiss before I go, Snowflake… you know, for the obituary.”

Then, with that infuriating wink, he added, low and velvety,

“Or at least make my death slightly more enjoyable.”

I leaned closer, cotton pressing gently against his arm, my cheeks warming.

“You know, if your heroic life truly depends on a kiss, I might just be obligated to save it,” I murmured, letting my fingers linger against his skin.

Zion’s eyes glittered, mischief dancing in their depths.

“Obligated, huh? I like the sound of that,” he whispered, tilting his head so our faces were inches apart.

“Maybe I should get wounded more often… just to see that gorgeous frown of yours in action.”

I pressed the cotton down harder, pretending to scold, though the flutter in my chest betrayed me.

“You are impossible, you know that?” I said, voice soft, teasing but tinged with fear I could no longer hide.

He let out a low hum, leaning closer, lips almost brushing mine.

“And you… You’re magical,” he murmured. 

“Even a scratch feels like… well… like you’re patching more than just a wound.”

I caught my breath, shivering slightly at the closeness.

“Focus, Drama King,” I whispered, though my fingers lingered on his arm.

“You’re already bleeding enough without distracting me further.”

Zion smirked, tilting his head to press a quick, teasing kiss against my temple.

“Don’t worry, Snowflake… I can handle a little multitasking.”

I pressed the cotton down a little harder, making him hiss.

“Oh, Snowflake… if milking it gets me this kind of attention, maybe I should be injured more often,” he murmured, eyes twinkling.

“Besides… your hands on me? Definitely worth a few dramatic groans.”

I rolled my eyes, though my lips twitched into a smile.

“Keep talking like that, and I might start charging you by the hour, Drama King.”

Zion grinned wider, utterly shameless.

“By the hour, huh? Sounds fair… though I might need a lifetime subscription, Snowflake. I’m not going anywhere.”

I narrowed my eyes, pressing the cotton firmer.

“Zion, can you be serious for once? You could’ve been—hurt. Really hurt.”

His grin faltered for a moment, and I saw a flicker of guilt—or respect—before he leaned back, quieter, teasing retreating.

“Alright, alright, I’m hurt, I get it,” he murmured, crooked smile tugging at his lips.

“But seeing you fuss over me like this… it makes the pain almost… worth it. You patch me up, you calm me down… hell, you even make the pain bearable. I’d let you kiss it better any day.”

Brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, my heart stuttered.

I dabbed at the wound again, the antiseptic burning sharply.

He hissed, biting back a groan, but his eyes sparkled with mischief.

Instead of answering, he lowered his head, lips brushing softly against my temple. A shiver ran through me, goosebumps prickling along my spine.

Then another, feather-light, along my cheek, sending warmth spiralling through my chest.

Before I could react, his lips lingered at the corner of my mouth, teasing, sensual, making my pulse quicken.

“Zion—” I warned, voice tight, heat blooming across my neck.

“What?” he murmured, voice low and lazy, as his lips traced a delicate path along my jaw, each touch setting my nerves alight.

“You do your job, and I’ll do mine,” he whispered, capturing my lips briefly in a soft, tantalising kiss that left me breathless.

“Besides… kisses have healing properties. Everyone knows that,” he added, the smirk in his tone as wicked as the sparks his touches left trailing over my skin.

I tried to glare, but it came out more like a smile. 

“Behave,” I hissed.

His laugh rumbled low in his chest, wicked and warm all at once.

“Behave?” he murmured, voice dropping to a husky drawl.

“Snowflake, you’re kneeling between my legs. You expect me to think straight when all my blood’s rushing south instead of to my brain?”

He bent closer, the corner of his mouth brushing mine as he spoke, each word a slow caress.

“Hard to be a saint when you make sin look this easy…”

Another kiss landed at the edge of my mouth, light but deliberate, like he was tasting the restraint between us.

“Besides,” he whispered, lips grazing my cheek again, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine.

“I’m injured. I need affection.”

Before I could react, his hand shot up, curling around the back of my head, pulling me closer. 

His lips collided with mine, fierce and demanding, claiming me in a way that stole my breath. 

The kiss deepened instantly, urgent and possessive, his tongue teasing mine as if he were making up for every moment of restraint.

My fingers dug into his shoulders, heart hammering as a shiver ran from my spine to the tips of my fingers. Heat surged through me, sharp and wild, as his other hand braced against the sofa, anchoring himself close.

“Zion—” I gasped, voice trembling, torn between the sting of the antiseptic on his wound and the fire of the kiss.

He hummed against my lips, a low, feral sound, pulling me impossibly closer, his eyes fluttering shut as if the world outside us no longer existed.

The kiss wasn’t playful anymore. 

Fierce and urgent, it consumed him—the taste, the closeness, the way he needed me in that instant. I gripped the rug to keep myself steady, heart hammering wildly.

Every pulse of his lips against mine carried both warning and promise, reckless and desperate all at once. I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak—just respond, my own lips pressed back, caught in the intensity of Zion’s reckless need.

The world shrank to the heat between us, the scent of him, the taste of him, until the antiseptic, the wound, and the lingering fear all melted into a single, burning moment.

Dad’s voice cut through the lounge like a whip, sharp enough to make me flinch. His jaw was locked so tight I could hear his teeth grind.

His eyes flicked between Zion and me, cold, hard, accusing—as if standing this close to Zion was a crime.

“Winter.” The single word was sharp enough to make me flinch. I snapped my head up.

He stood at the edge of the room, jaw clenched so hard it looked like iron, eyes snapping back and forth between me on the rug and Zion, whose face was dangerously close to mine, smirk daring him to intervene.