Chapter 24 Sanctuary
Sanctuary
Duty, Honor, Country.
— THE UNITED STATES MILITARY ACADEMY AT WEST POINT
Iroused from my drugged fever safe in his arms. Asleep, his face was different. Less haunted, more tranquil. He hadn’t shaved, and a deep purple stained the skin beneath his eyes, but still, he held me captivated.
He’d saved my life.
I tried to recall our previous conversation, but it was like grasping at the wispy strands of a dream. Key phrases jumped out at me, the loudest ringing through my now sober mind.
You are mine. If they take you from me, I’ll kill them all.
How did I become so damaged? I was basking in the love language of Lucas Scott, which coasted along the lines of a sociopath. More than that, I didn’t care. A ferocious fire had ignited inside me. He’d claimed me as his, but he also belonged to me.
I’d lost so many, but my heart wouldn’t survive losing him. The fickle universe would have to take me with him. Lucas Scott was mine, and I would keep him, or I would die.
There was no in-between.
The aches in my body had faded to tolerable.
I started to disengage, letting him sleep while I tested my legs, but as soon as our bodies separated, his eyes snapped open.
His arms tightened around me, keeping me close while he stared his fill.
After a moment, he tested the temperature of my forehead, then trailed his fingers down the side of my face. “Think you can eat?”
I nodded.
He eased away, leaving me cold, and disappeared through the door. With less pain than I imagined, I scooted to the edge of the bed and planted my feet on the floor.
Then I hesitated.
Injuries aside, I hadn’t eaten in days. I’d be woozy and weak on my feet. Lifting my shirt, I peeled at the tape of the bandage near my hip bone. A one-inch closed incision glared at me, clean and healing. Two more defaced my stomach.
I wore no pants, only a pair of his boxers, and I tried not to imagine him cutting through my fatigues to reach my bare, bleeding skin.
I’d begun to peel at the tape on my legs when he reappeared in the doorway, carrying a plate of apple slices with fresh water. The corner of his mouth twitched as he set the plate beside me, the water on the table. “Try to eat. I’ll do this.”
Cross-legged at my feet, he removed the tape with delicate, skilled movements. Once the bandages lay in a pile beside him, he traced his finger near the worst injury. “This is the one that almost killed you.” His voice was lifeless. “I did the best I could, but your leg won’t ever be the same.”
It was the same leg I’d broken before Daniela died. It hadn’t been the same since then anyway.
His eyes flicked to mine. “How are you feeling?”
I rolled my wrists and shoulders, but everything ached, even my head. “Stiff and weak,” I said, grimacing.
“You probably need more blood.” He stared at my leg like he’d made a grave mistake in not bleeding himself dry for me.
I took his chin in hand, forcing him to look at me. “You did enough. I’ll be fine with a little time.”
He didn’t argue, but that meant nothing. In the end, Lucas would do what he wanted. He always did.
I leaned down to set my forehead against his. “Please don’t hurt yourself to shave a couple of days off my healing time.”
He sighed. “Just eat.”
Several slices of apple later, my stomach was full, and I set aside the plate. I chanced a small smile at him. “Will you help me stand?”
After a staring contest in which I was pretty sure he considered handcuffing me to the bed to keep me from hurting myself, he finally nodded. With him bracing my elbows, I planted my weight on my feet, trying to lean on my right leg. My left sparked with fire.
Still, I was upright.
A satisfied smile stretched. “I did it! Am I allowed to shower?”
His brow lifted. “Can you stand without assistance?”
I glared down at my shaky legs. “I’d really like to feel clean. Will you help?”
After another bout of vexed eye contact, he unhooked the tubing from the line in my hand, taping the Luer lock. “Can you walk?”
“Let me try.” Heavily favoring my injured leg, I managed some slow but bearable steps. He started the shower while I brushed my teeth.
Before I could undress, he touched my waist, and I met his gaze in the mirror. The threatened animal vibe had returned, and his hand fisted the fabric of my shirt so tight his knuckles blanched. I thought he might say something, but the words gleamed instead in the desperation of his eyes.
I can’t lose you.
“I know,” I whispered, and stretched an arm back to circle his neck. He dropped a long kiss on my shoulder.
How had we reached this impossible place, grasping onto each other with broken fingers?
He released a held breath before helping me undress and step into the shower. The heat eased away the discomfort. My left leg throbbed, but it could bear weight.
While he faced away, leaning in the doorway, I cleaned myself. I relished every drop of hot water until it ran cold, then grabbed the towel he left for me. “How are you here?” I asked as I dried off. “Won’t they wonder where you are?”
“No. Every other day I’ve had to leave, but it’s Saturday.” Under his breath he added, “Fucking finally.”
Saturday? My stomach cramped as I considered how long I’d been down. I would have bled to death in his closet if he hadn’t come. What were the odds that he’d see the light just as it turned red?
When would my dumb luck run out?
I tried to brush past the sudden fear in my gut. “Heaven forbid wars be fought on weekends.”
He shrugged. “Even God got a day off.”
Wrapping the towel around my body, I shot an incredulous look at the back of his head. “Are you comparing yourself to God, Lucas?”
He turned to flash me a small smirk. “No. I’m taking two days off.”
I almost laughed. I wanted to laugh. At the cheek. The absurdity. The sheer impossibility of this situation.
But I couldn’t laugh.
My body had forgotten how.
He turned to face me full-on. “It’s taking everything in me not to chain you to the bed. You’re doing too much too soon.”
I looked down at myself. “I’m just standing here.”
“You’re going to undo everything I’ve spent the last week trying to fix.”
The ache in my leg had begun a steady throb, and my entire body felt vaguely as if it was spinning in space, so I capitulated without argument. “Help me dress, and I’ll get back in bed.”
He retrieved some of his clothes while I stood in front of the mirror and opened the towel.
I gaped at what I found.
Dehydrated and pallid. Skin stained with bruises. Purple and red dyed my whole thigh, and the deep wound Lucas had sewn shut stood out bright and jagged, the blue stitches a macabre reminder of the violence I’d barely survived.
“How did you save me?” I asked as I took in the extent of the damage.
He flicked a hard gaze toward me. “Luck.”
“Or skill?”
Mouth tight, he helped me don an old blue T-shirt emblazoned with Duke Medicine in white letters.
“You went to Duke?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he guided me—gently, but forcefully—back to the bed. My hands splayed over the clean cotton. “Did you…change the sheets?”
He swiped up the plate and shoved the glass of water into my hand. “Sorry,” he quipped. “I wasn’t aware you preferred dirty bedding. Drink this.”
“Wow.” I took a sip. “Your patients must have loved your bedside manner.”
“I was a surgeon, not a babysitter,” he said and left the room.
I stared at the doorway, bemused. For not-a-babysitter, the man certainly did a fine job taking care of me. He returned with the plate refilled, this time with a bowl of broth, strawberries and three slices of cheddar.
I lifted the cheese between two fingers, eyeing it.
“You need protein,” he said as if he assumed I would argue.
I moved my gaze to him. “The NAO has cheese?”
His expression eased. “The NAO has everything.”
Anger spilled into my blood, heating it as I tried to remember the last time I’d enjoyed the simple pleasure of cheese. This inoffensive orange square in my hand represented years of deprivation and loss. I ripped into it with my teeth, wishing I could do the same to the NAO.
A soft caress nuzzled my cheek. “Don’t waste your energy hating them right now. Just focus on yourself.”
“Who are you to give advice like that? All of your energy goes toward hating them.”
“I didn’t almost bleed to death. I have energy to spare.”
I glared down at my NAO-infested plate. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll eat this whole meal if you tell me why you hate them so much.”
He sat at the corner of the bed. “I told you—”
“They hurt your sister. Yeah, I know.” I rolled my eyes. “What did they do to your sister, Lucas? How did you go from doctor to executioner? Why did Commander Haynes shoot your father?”
For the third time that day, we entered a battle of stares, and I locked, unblinking, onto the blue in his eyes. His throat worked with a swallow, but finally—finally!—he capitulated.
“Fine. Eat.”
My heart leapt, but I kept the thrill off my face, opting to shove a spoonful of broth into my mouth instead.
Lucas’s sigh was heavy, weighted by memory.
He set his elbows on his knees and spoke to his clasped hands instead of me.
“I was in my last year of surgical residency when the Capitol Hill Massacre went down. Things moved fast after that. All military officers were called in for active duty, even those of us on an educational deferment.”
He glanced up to make sure I was eating, and I shoved a strawberry in my mouth.
“I came from a military family. My father was a colonel when this all started, and he lived and breathed for this country. My mother passed from cancer fifteen years ago. Sophie was ten at the time, and I was already away at college. My father didn’t know what to do with her, so he got strict, and she did the typical rebellious teenager thing and learned to hate everything he loved. ”
“Including this country?” I asked with a mouthful of cheese.
His head fell. “Yeah.”
“So, what happened?”