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... was dead in his arms, the weight of him settling wrong, the tension leaving his muscles like a cord cut, the last heat draining out through the open ruin of his abdomen.

Blood kept coming even after the heart stopped, sliding out in thick, warm sheets that cooled by degrees and turned sticky against Dax’s gloves. It pooled under Killian’s hips and lower back, saturating the grass until the spring green went black and glossy. The smell of it hung heavy - metallic, wet, and intimate - too ...

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