“Yeah,” I said, shoving away the sudden flare of self-consciousness. “I—I’m a medic.”
“You want…to help me?”
DidI want to help him? Why on earth had I offered it? I didn’t care that he was in pain.
Except…I did care.
“I think I do,” I said as heat climbed my cheeks.
He scratched his neck. “Right. They, uh, weren’t exactly happy I managed to lose the general’s daughter. She was in my care when she was taken. I was…questioned.”
“Questioned,” I repeated, tone flat.
He said nothing.
“You meanpunished.”
Still nothing.
My heart thumped, and my gaze shot down his body, searching for injuries. “What did they do to you?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll survive.”
“But they hurt you…”
Lucas released a heavy, bitter laugh. “It’s nothing compared to what they’ve done to my soul.”
My entire body froze at that admission. I wanted so badly to believe he wasn’t the man I’d expected in the beginning. Would he give me proof?
“I can’t fix your soul,” I said, voice raspy. “But maybe I can fix the rest.”
The room went utterly still while he examined every inch of my face, and whatever he saw there urged him to surrender. He extended a hand toward the wall, an invitation to sit. Only after I was settled did he take a seat next to me.
I curved my fingers in the universalgimmesign. “Let me see.”
He proffered his arm. “There’s nothing you can do.”
With a quick tug of his sleeve, a gasp clawed through my throat. Three familiar brands marred the radial aspect of his forearm, two long healed and one bright red, fresh.
The Brotherhood Cross.
“Why?” I whispered.
He glared at them. “They’re a reminder of what we’re fighting for.”
I swallowed my pity. “It’s an odd place to put them.”
His gaze drifted to mine, and he offered his hand like he wanted me to shake it. I set my palm against his, and my attention dropped to his forearm. Every time he greeted someone, the marks would be visible.
An announcement.
This is who I am.
But he hadn’t chosen these signatures of ownership. These reminders to hate.
What had he done to earn the other two?
I released his hand and traced the scars. When I reached the fresh wound, I found no signs of infection or necrosis, though I could only imagine the pain. I started to ask what he’d been using to tend it, but his gaze was hyper-focused on my mouth.
