Please
Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
—EMILY BRONTË,WUTHERING HEIGHTS
We entered the house, and Lucas gripped my arms. “I know it hurts. I’m going to need you to bite through the pain, okay? We don’t have much time.”
Frazzled and scared, my voice shook. “What do you mean? Why aren’t I safe with you?”
“I need to make sure Miller is dead.”
I gaped at him. “What?”
“He was alive when those guards came. He’ll have every Hunter in this territory after us. Afteryou.”
“Who cares? You’re not going back there.” Heat spread across my face and neck as outrage and betrayal corroded my insides. He was thinking of leaving me? After all this?
His hands on my arms tightened, and his voice went ragged. “I’m dead now. Do you understand that? There is nothing that will stop the Hunters from finding me. But if I kill Miller, thenyouare safe. I have to make sure he’s dead, Sophia.”
“He won’t even be there. They’ll have taken him for medical treatment?—”
“I can sneak into the hospital?—”
“No.” I stomped my foot. “You will stay here with me. I spent a week being tortured in his house, praying for deliverance, and whoever was listening sent me you. You aremine.” My voice rose to a hysterical shriek, and I grabbed his shirt. “You’re mine! Do you hear me? They can’t have you!”
If he decided to leave, I’d have too little strength to stop him. Love was the only power I had over Lucas Scott. I needed him to love me enough to let me save him. Shaking and crying and so scared I could barely breathe, I pressed my hand to my pounding heart.
He raised his hands, placating me. “Alright. Just breathe, sweetheart.”
“Iambreathing.”
“Then do it better.” He took my hand and led me to the master bathroom, turning on the shower. Using only his left arm, he undressed me. His soiled T-shirt and the scarlet silk pooled at my feet. He stared at the wounds on my back for several moments before testing the water and easing me into the stall.
The water had little pressure, but it stung, and sobs escaped my throat. He gently cleaned away the blood and dirt from my back while I scrubbed the crusty red from my hands and hair.
“Do you really think he would have lived through that?” I asked.
“He’s survived worse. The trauma surgeons on base are very good.”
I glared at the shower wall before glancing at him over my shoulder. He held his right arm against his chest.
“What happened to your arm?”
He sighed and showed me the hole in his upper sleeve where a bullet had entered. Shocked, I turned, reaching out as he stepped away. “It’s fine,” he said. “Let me take care of you first. Please.”
Staring into those pleading eyes, I nodded, letting him finish. He helped me out and inspected my entire body. Besides the emblem on my back, I had bruises on my throat, teeth marks on my breasts, and lacerations on my wrists. Luke’s mouth tightened further with each injury he examined, and his normally bright eyes morphed into a flat blue.
After his thorough perusal, he met my gaze. “I can try to minimize the scarring on your back.”
I nodded.
After helping me dress in sweatpants, he disappeared into the kitchen. I eased my aching body face down on the bed, and the day replayed against my closed eyelids while tears gathered.
Lucas reappeared with a plate of food, then gathered an armful of supplies from his closet and dropped them onto the bed next to me. He placed his hands on either side of my waist, beckoning me closer. “When did Miller do this to you?”
“This morning,” I said, carefully chewing the slices of apple he’d brought.
Miller had given me so little food in the last week I was worried I’d be sick if I ate too much.
