LYRA’S POV.

But instead of pain, all I heard was a sharp crack—glass shattering and a low grunt above me.

Someone was standing over me. I lifted my head slowly, terrified of what I would see, and my breath broke in my throat.

“Zayn…?”

He was in front of me, shielding me with his entire body. His hand—his bare hand—was dripping with blood, tiny shards of glass glittering against his skin.

My vision blurred. “Oh my God—are you okay? Why would you do that?” My words came out ...