18. Camilla
I’ve been alone for over an hour, and as much as I hate to admit it, I’m lonely. Which is kind of strange seeing as I’ve spent most of my life alone.
My mother died when I was young, and my father was too busy for me until I could start training to be his successor. I suppose I could have spent time with my cousin, we were close enough in age, but he’s an asshole, and I try to spend as little time as possible with him and my uncle. Any friends I had always had to be kept at arm’s length because I couldn’t have them implicated in my father’s business dealings.
And yet, the longer I spend in this room alone, the more I crave human contact. Perhaps it’s because I haven’t had a moment alone since I got here. Bishop and Kovu have spent every minute here with me, and I’ve got used to having someone around, even if I should be terrified of them because of who they are. But all they’ve shown me is kindness, and each day I spend here with them, the more I lean into the feeling of safety.
Of course, I’m not so naive as to think this can last. Sooner or later, I’m going to get better, and they’re either going to hand me over to Charles or they’re going to get me out of the city. There isn’t a scenario where I stay here with them, and even having the thought that that’s something I might like makes me every bit the idiot everyone claims me to be.
The door swings open, and Kovu comes strolling in with Kaos hot on his heels, but there’s only one thing I can focus on. Blood. So much fucking blood it makes my stomach turn. Is it his? Was he hurt on whatever business he had to attend to? Would I care if that were the case? Red stains his hands, his arms, and the front of his gray T-shirt. There are even flecks of dried blood on his scarred cheeks.
I push against the pillows to try to get up but hiss out a breath of pain and allow myself to lean back into them.
“What have I told you about trying to move suddenly?” Kovu snaps.
I glare at him. “Sorry for wanting to make sure you’re okay, asshole.”
His brows tug together like he isn’t sure what I’m talking about before his eyes follow my gaze to the stained fabric of his shirt. “Oh this?” He gestures to the blood, and I nod. “This isn’t mine, Little Lamb.”
I should hate that my first response is to sigh in relief that he’s not hurt, that the blood doesn’t belong to him, but I don’t. I grew up in this world. I saw more than any child should ever see, and I was forced to participate from an age most would find unseemly.
“Were you worried about me, Little Lamb?” He smirks as he strides around the bed to stand beside me. The faint scent of rust fills the air around me, but it doesn’t make my stomach roll like it should.
“Of course not,” I breathe. It’s an obvious lie, and by the way his brows quirk up, he knows it.
His bloodstained hand reaches out and cups my jaw gently. There’s still some bruising there, but he’s careful not to put too much pressure on my bruises. My stomach should turn at the feel of dried blood on my skin, but instead I lean into his touch. “Liar,” he whispers. “You don’t have to worry about me, Camilla. I can take care of myself.”
I barely swallow back my retort. The last man who told me he could take care of himself gave me away and then died for trying to save me. But saying that would mean admitting I feel something toward him, and that’s a terrible idea. They can never know I’ve grown fond of them or that when they’re gone, no matter how short a time, I feel an ache until they return, because all I can hope is that it’s some kind of survivor’s attachment. Like when Bishop saved me, I automatically grew attached to him, and that can’t be a good thing, especially when I’m certain they’re going to hand me over any day now.
“Were you good for Kaos?” he asks, shooting a smirk across the room where the large man is leaning against the doorframe watching us. The anger from earlier is still vibrating through his corded muscles, but I can barely drag my attention away from Kovu to care.
“He’s an asshole,” I say at the same time he says, “She’s a brat.”
“So as well as I expected then.” Kovu chuckles and releases my chin, but I feel the loss immediately. Fuck. I know better than this. I know better than to care about men who hold my future in their cruel hands. “I need to go get cleaned up before Crew and Bishop get back, they don’t like it when I drag blood through the house.”
“I can’t imagine why,” I say dryly, and I get a scoff from both men.
“Not you too. Fuck, between the three of you, I’m going to have to clean up my act.” He turns on his heel and heads toward the attached bathroom as if he hasn’t just implied I’m staying. And if I am staying, in what capacity will I be here? Prisoner? Bargaining tool? Something I can’t dare hope for? The more time I spend here, the more dangerous it is for me.
I need to bide my time until I’m healed enough, and then I need to get the hell out of here before the men of the Legion can destroy me.