He kissed my forehead and let long seconds pass in thick silence. Finally, he said, “I will. Until I die.”
24
Sanctuary
Duty, Honor, Country.
—THE UNITED STATES MILITARY ACADEMY AT WEST POINT
Iroused from my drugged fever safe in his arms. Asleep, his face was different. Less haunted, more tranquil. He hadn’t shaved, and a deep purple stained the skin beneath his eyes, but still, he held me captivated.
He’d saved my life.
I tried to recall our previous conversation, but it was like grasping at the wispy strands of a dream. Key phrases jumped out at me, the loudest ringing through my now sober mind.
You aremine. If they take you from me, I’ll kill them all.
How did I become so damaged? I was basking in the love language of Lucas Scott, which coasted along the lines of a sociopath. More than that, I didn’t care. A ferocious fire had ignited inside me. He’d claimed me as his, but he also belonged to me.
I’d lost so many, but my heart wouldn’t survive losing him. The fickle universe would have to take me with him. Lucas Scott was mine, and I would keep him, or I would die.
There was no in-between.
The aches in my body had faded to tolerable. I started to disengage, letting him sleep while I tested my legs, but as soon as our bodies separated, his eyes snapped open. His arms tightened around me, keeping me close while he stared his fill. After a moment, he tested the temperature of my forehead, then trailed his fingers down the side of my face. “Think you can eat?”
I nodded.
He eased away, leaving me cold, and disappeared through the door. With less pain than I imagined, I scooted to the edge of the bed and planted my feet on the floor.
Then I hesitated.
Injuries aside, I hadn’t eaten in days. I’d be woozy and weak on my feet. Lifting my shirt, I peeled at the tape of the bandage near my hip bone. A one-inch closed incision glared at me, clean and healing. Two more defaced my stomach.
I wore no pants, only a pair of his boxers, and I tried not to imagine him cutting through my fatigues to reach my bare, bleeding skin.
I’d begun to peel at the tape on my legs when he reappeared in the doorway, carrying a plate of apple slices with fresh water. The corner of his mouth twitched as he set the plate beside me, the water on the table. “Try to eat. I’ll do this.”
Cross-legged at my feet, he removed the tape with delicate, skilled movements. Once the bandages lay in a pile beside him, he traced his finger near the worst injury. “This is the one that almost killed you.” His voice was lifeless. “I did the best I could, but your leg won’t ever be the same.”
It was the same leg I’d broken before Daniela died. It hadn’t been the same since then anyway.
His eyes flicked to mine. “How are you feeling?”
I rolled my wrists and shoulders, but everything ached, even my head. “Stiff and weak,” I said, grimacing.
“You probably need more blood.” He stared at my leg like he’d made a grave mistake in not bleeding himself dry for me.
I took his chin in hand, forcing him to look at me. “You did enough. I’ll be fine with a little time.”
He didn’t argue, but that meant nothing. In the end, Lucas would do what he wanted. He always did.
I leaned down to set my forehead against his. “Please don’t hurt yourself to shave a couple of days off my healing time.”
He sighed. “Just eat.”
Several slices of apple later, my stomach was full, and I set aside the plate. I chanced a small smile at him. “Will you help me stand?”
After a staring contest in which I was pretty sure he considered handcuffing me to the bed to keep me from hurting myself, he finally nodded. With him bracing my elbows, I planted my weight on my feet, trying to lean on my right leg. My left sparked with fire.
