Page 52

After a long pause, she nodded. I guided her into the study, my hand hovering near the small of her back not quite touching. The hearth still glowed with embers, and I crouched to coax flame from them. Grateful for a task that let me turn away from the sight of her devastation. My hands shook as I fed kindling to the coals.

Get yourself together, I ordered silently. She needs you steady.

When I rose, she stood rigid, clutching my coat like armor, her eyes tracking my every movement with wary distrust.

I couldn't blame her. I was a Hunter. The enemy. She had no reason to feel safe with me.

The fact that I desperately wanted her to feel safe was a problem I couldn’t afford to examine.

I poured brandy instead of tea, my father's voice echoing in my head: Sentiment is weakness. Mercy is failure. I pushed it aside and pressed the glass into her hand. “Drink.”

Her throat bobbed as she obeyed, coughing when it burned. I caught the glass before she dropped it, my fingers closing over hers. “Easy,” I murmured.

“Sit.” This time she obeyed. The coat shifted, revealing the jagged tear of her bodice, the swell of her breasts, the ugly bruising already spreading across her collarbone.

White-hot rage flooded through me. I wanted to find those men again. Wanted to make them pay for every mark on her skin, every moment of fear they'd caused. The violence of the impulse shocked me—I'd killed before, but always coldly, efficiently. This was different. This was personal.

From the writing desk, I fetched a small medical tin: salve, bandages, a vial of laudanum I rarely touched. When I returned, Lily’s gaze tracked the items with weary suspicion, and I realized how this must look to her. A Hunter. Medical supplies. A woman at his mercy.

“I’m not dosing you,” I said quickly. “Let me see your shoulder.”

She hesitated, then let the coat slide aside, one arm guarding her chest. The bruise was dark and spreading fast.

My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached.

“May I?” I asked, my fingers hovering over her skin, waiting. I wouldn't touch her without permission. I refused to be another man who took without asking.

After a moment, she nodded barely, just a small tilt of her chin.

I touched her as gently as I knew how, fingers ghosting over the bruise, assessing the damage. Her skin was warm beneath my palm, and I felt her pulse fluttering like a trapped bird. My own heart hammered in response, though whether from anger or something else entirely, I couldn't say.

Every gentle touch was like a betrayal. Of my father. My duty. Everything I'd been raised to be. I was supposed to be interrogating her, discovering what she was. Not kneeling at her feet like a penitent, fighting the urge to press my lips to each bruise and beg forgiveness for belonging to the same species as the men who'd hurt her.

She flinched when my fingers brushed a particularly tender spot, breath hissing between her teeth. But she didn't pull away.

“Salve first.” I smoothed it in careful strokes, and her lashes fluttered closed.

I found myself unable to look away. The firelight painted gold across her features. The curve of her cheek, the line of her throat, the way her lips parted slightly as she breathed. She was beautiful. Heartbreakingly so. And I had absolutely no right to notice.

“Does that help?”

“It helps that they’re not here,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Two words. Such simple words. But they unmade me completely.

My throat tightened. I couldn't speak, couldn't trust my voice not to break, so I simply nodded and focused on the task at hand. I set the salve aside and reached for a bandage.

She was silent, but the tension in her body shifted. Less resistance. More surrender. The trust implicit in that small change made my chest ache.

I didn't deserve it. God, I didn't deserve it.

“They said awful things,” she murmured.

“You shouldn’t have had to hear it,” I said. “You shouldn't have had to endure any of it.”

She met my eyes, steady. “Men can be vile creatures. But that doesn’t mean I’ll get used to it.”

“Nor should you.” The words came out sharper than I meant, almost vehement. “You should never have to become accustomed to cruelty. Lily,” I said, more softly. “You are safe here. With me. I swear it on everything.”