Page 27 of The Beast's Broken Angel
“You have an observant eye,” he finally said, his voice dangerously soft. “Most doctors nevernotice.”
My fingers hovered over a particular section near his collarbone. “This was done later. And it's a different type of burn pattern.”
“Very good, Noah. Yes, some were... additions. Not all received in the original fire.”
The implication hit me like a punch to the gut. Someone had deliberately burned him after the initial injury. Torture, most likely.
“I'm sorry,” I said, the words inadequate but sincere.
“Don't be. They taught me valuable lessons about pain. About control.” His mismatched eyes held mine, searching for something. “Does that change how you see me? Knowing someone did this deliberately?”
My hands were still on his skin, and I suddenly realised how close we were standing. The professional distance I'd been maintaining was slipping, replaced by something far more dangerous.
“It helps me understand you better,” I admitted. “No one survives something like that unchanged.”
“And yet you don't look at me with pity,” Adrian observed, his voice lower now. “That's... unusual.”
“Pity is useless,” I said, forcing myself to continue the examination despite the crackling tension between us. “And insulting to what you've survived.”
Something shifted in Adrian's expression – surprise, maybe even approval. My fingers traced a particularly severe scar along his ribs, ostensibly testing nerve response, but the touch lingered longer than strictly necessary. His skin was warm beneath my gloves, and I found myself wondering how it would feel without the latex barrier between us.
The thought shocked me enough that I stepped back, nearly dropping my testing tool.
“Everything all right?” Adrian asked, a knowing glint in hiseyes suggesting he'd read my thoughts with disturbing accuracy.
“Fine,” I lied. “Just... connecting some dots about your medical history.”
“And what conclusions are you drawing?”
I met his gaze directly, deciding honesty was safer than pretense. “That your scars tell a story you don't share with many people. That your previous doctor was missing crucial information because he never asked the right questions. And that proper treatment needs to address both the physical and psychological aspects of what happened to you.”
Adrian's eyes narrowed slightly. “You believe there's a psychological component to my condition?”
“There always is with trauma this severe,” I said. “The body doesn't exist separately from the mind.”
“And you think you can address both?” There was challenge in his voice, but curiosity too.
“I can try,” I said simply. “If you'll let me.”
The moment stretched between us, charged with something that wasn't entirely professional, wasn't entirely adversarial, but existed in some dangerous territory between the two.
“You're different from what I expected,” Adrian finally said, sitting up. “Most people are exactly who they appear to be. You're... not.”
I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a warning.
“Remember, seven PM for The Raven's Nest,” he said, heading for the door. “Dominic will sort you out with clothes. Don't wear anything that stands out.”
“What exactly am I supposed to be doing there?” I asked, anxiety spiking at the reminder of tonight's mysterious outing.
Adrian paused at the doorway, looking back at me. “Learning. Seeing the full scope of what you've signed up for.”
“I'm just a Nurse, Adrian.” I said, the words coming out before I could stop them.
His smile was cold as winter. “Labels change, Noah. I was once just a kid. Now I'm something very different. Tonight your education begins in exactly what you've gotten yourself into.”
After he left, I slumped against the examination table, the lingering scent of his cologne mixing with antiseptic. The morning's examination had left me confused as hell. Professionally, I was fascinated by his unique case. Personally, I was repulsed by my captivity. But there was something else, a disturbing pull toward him that I couldn't quite suppress despite knowing exactly who and what Adrian Calloway was.
I checked my phone, finding a text from Dr. Whitman confirming Isabelle had received her scheduled treatment. That was my lifeline, the reason for all this. My sister was getting the care she needed.
