Page 83 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

Cold fills the wound, and my eyes open with a jerk. My hand moves slowly to my shoulder. It’s not just wet, it’s swelling.

I squint at the sight of Lucian’s bare torso. “Why are you shirtless?”

He holds up a wet cloth. “Because my shirt is covered in your blood.”

I try to speak, but all that comes out is a croak. “You don’t have to talk, but know I am missing your witty remarks.” He smiles a little, and I can’t help but think that it’s for my benefit.

“Hey.” It is only when I hear his voice that I realize my eyes are closing. “Marquees, stay with me.” I look at him. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Focus on me.” His calloused hand touches my cheek. He smirks, the action sending my eyes to his lips.

“Are you looking at my lips again?” he says joyfully. So carefree. Like it’s a day in the sun. “Listen, I know you like them,” he says and whispers, “perhaps a little too much, if you ask me, but I do have other attributes.”

I can’t stop myself from laughing. The sound is a sorry one. “Ass,” I mumble.

“It’s all right,” he says. “Soon you’ll find better comebacks.” He sounds so sarcastic, but the way his fingers rake through my hair feels anything but. “We can’t all be witty and pretty.”

“You sound like a bad poem,” I croak.

“Well if my words are too much for you, then go ahead and look at my lips again.”

It’s like his words are a spell because when he says look, I do.

He smirks again.

Ass.

My hand reaches for the wound, but he swats it away, mumbling, “Hold on.” I watch as he fills the wound with literal shadows. “I have to do this bit by bit, so as not to freeze you,” he whispers.

He’s keeping me from bleeding out. That’s what he was doing when he was going on about his lips.

The shadows don’t aid in the pain, but they will keep me alive long enough to take care of the body.

I wonder if I would’ve bled out if he didn’t come.

I don’t want him saving my life. I don’t want to owe him a thing. I don’t want to talk about his lips and call him an ass.

I don’t want to be reminded of the intimacy that I can feel for him.

I try to sit up and Lucian says, “You need rest.”

“No,” I croak and sit up all the way, despite or maybe even in spite of the pain. “We have to…”

“We’re not putting him in the lunar lake,” Lucian says immediately.

“I never said?—”

“You were going to,” he says.

“Not necessarily.” That was exactly what I was going to do.

“He won’t sink here. Sulva has a thing about secrets. Everything comes to light eventually. If we take him to the coast, he’ll be further away when he does resurface.”

“Okay,” I say. My mouth is so dry. “Let’s go.”

“I can do it.”

“Without me?” I ask. Why would he do that?

“Yes,” he answers.

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