She threw the trash away and zipped the kit up. Her stomach growled then, and she pressed a palm against her middle. Blush crept into her cheeks.
“Guess I should get back to work,” I teased.
“You’re a terribly slow chef,” she bantered back.
I grabbed the rinsed baby red potatoes from beside the sink and headed back to the chopping board. First ensuring there was no blood in the prep area, I changed my kitchen knife. Before I started slicing—because I didn’t trust myself to look afterwards—I glanced toward Lucy. She was now perched on a barstool across the kitchen island, I and caught her watching me.
"What?" I asked, the corner of my mouth lifting.
"Nothing," she replied, a small smile playing on her lips. "I just like watching you cook."
My stupid chest fluttered at her words. How quickly shit had changed. Not long ago, I’d wanted her to leave as quickly as possible, now I wanted to keep her from leaving at all costs.
Lucy was a miracle none of us had expected. She’d been cured and sent to us. After that, she became the cure.
Once the peppers and potatoes were fully prepped, I moved to check on the bread dough I'd prepared earlier. Lifting the cloth that covered the bowl, I examined the rise. Not quite there yet. I'd started making bread because I'd read that the smell of it baking was comforting, and Lucy deserved that comfort, that sense of home. My first dozen loaves were terrible. The next dozen passable. Tonight, I had a feeling the yeast rolls would be my best attempt yet.
I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel and walked to the island where Lucy sat. She was no longer looking at me but had turned her attention to the wooden figures I'd carved for her. My heart quickened, seeing her focus so steadily fixed on my gifts.
Lucy's fingers moved over the miniature motorcycle. She pinched the back of it, pushing it back and forth across the butcher block counter. Next to it sat a small female figure with flowing hair. The detail wasn't perfect, but anyone could tell it was meant to be Lucy. I'd spent hours on that tiny wooden face, trying to capture the shape of her eyes and mouth, the slight point of her chin.
She seemed completely absorbed. I leaned against the counter, content just to watch her. Her silver-white hair fell forward, slipping down in curtains to frame her face. Her mouth curved into a smile as she picked up the figurine of herself, bringing it to stand next to the bike.
Goddamn, she was gorgeous. Too pure, too bright to belong in the shadows where DemonX dwelled. But we couldn’t let her go, even if it meant Lucy slipping into our darkness.
When she picked up the carved dog, something in my chest constricted. I'd made that one on a whim; I didn’t even know why. The detail on that piece was rougher. Still, I'd managed to capture the playful pose, the floppy ears, the wagging tail.
Lucy rolled the wooden dog between her palms. Then she patted its head, a gesture so innocently childlike that it made mythroat tighten. How much of her childhood had she lost, locked away in hospitals? How many simple joys had been denied her—running through grass, petting a family dog, eating ice cream on a hot day.
Fuck, I’d been a product of the system, and I still got to be a kid sometimes. I was able to hit the skate park, scrounge up a few quarters for a fudge bar, make mistakes, throw tantrums, and eventually form a pack family.
I wanted to give Lucy everything she’d missed out on. I wanted to rewind time and show her the wonders of childhood. But I couldn’t do that. I could only make every moment now full of things that made her look this way. Curious, content, carefree.
A new kind of heat spread through me. Not my oldest companion anger. Not desire. This was something infinitely tender, and more terrifying.
Lucy arranged all the carvings into a little scene. The motorcycle, the dog, herself. Her mouth moved, murmuring something under her breath.
I swallowed hard against a rising tide of emotions. I could give her decent food, wooden toys, and a safe place to heal—from the far away past, and from the recent past when we’d been misguided idiots—but I couldn't truly give back the years that sickness stole from her. No one could.
"I never got to have a pet when I was a kid," she said suddenly, index finger resting on the back of the carved dog "Before I ended up in hospitals full time, I mean." Her voice was casual, but there was an undercurrent of old pain beneath the words. "Everyone was worried about my immune system."
I nodded, unsure what to say. Had Lucy ever spoken about her past before? I didn’t think so… We knew everything from the files, but it wasn’t the same as hearing it from her mouth, hearing how she’d felt when ill, abandoned, treated with excruciating drugs.
She picked the dog up and set it on its side, a faraway look crossing her face. "I wonder if my parents got Tom a dog."
Tom. Her brother. The child her parents didn’t sign away to state care. He’d be grown now. Did he even wonder where his sister was? My jaw tightened, fingers instinctively reaching for the folded knife in my pocket. I wrapped my hand around it, letting the cool metal ground me.
The thought of Lucy's family stirred within me a primal urge to protect. These were the people who had abandoned their daughter to strangers in hazmat suits, who had stopped visiting, and stopped calling. They’d made Lucy a government ward, subject to the same type of system me and my brothers grew up in. In my mind, Lucy had no parents. No sibling.
But the wistful note in her voice when she mentioned her brother made me hesitate.
"We can contact them if you want," I said slowly, measuring each word. My hand tightened around the knife reflexively. I wasn't sure it would be a good idea for Lucy's parents or brother to be anywhere near DemonX. The pack might not show the restraint I was struggling to maintain. We might not hate her family for our own sakes, but we certainly hated them for hers.
Lucy's head snapped up, green eyes locking with mine. "No, I—" She swallowed hard, the movement visible in the delicate line of her throat— "I don't think I ever want to see them again. I was only curious."
Her words sent a pang through my chest. I felt the pain not for her family, who deserved whatever fate karma had in store for them, but for Lucy, who deserved so much more than the hand she'd been dealt. The certainty in her voice told me everything I needed to know about how deeply their abandonment had cut.
I wanted to reach for her, to pull her against me until the sharp edges of her aching dulled, but I remained where Iwas, uncertain. Physical comfort wasn't something that came naturally to any of us at DemonX. We were more accustomed to threats than tenderness, to fists than embraces. The few touches any of us had shared with her, picking her up, sitting next to her on the sofa, brushing hands during a task, were easing us into an affection not rooted in carnal pleasure.
