Page 36 of Forsaken Devotion: Part 2
He’d always been psychotic; he just wasn’t withme.
Why that caused butterflies in my stomach was beyond me; it just cemented how fucked in the head I was.
The door creaked open, and I whipped around.
“Occupied,” I called. Whoever opened it didn’t stop, then Lucian came around the bend.
“Lucian,” I gasped. “Get back to the bed.”
He scowled at me. His bruised face was no less handsome.
“You’re taking too long.”
I shut the shower off. Lucian leaned against the door, his face paler than usual.
“You’re just going to hurt yourself,” I snapped, and dragged the glass open before stepping outside to find him attempting to spread open a towel. “Lucian.” The urge to smack my face heightened with each day.
I snatched the cloth from him while he struggled. With quick swipes, I dried myself, trying not to feel self-conscious as he watched me.
I often found him just looking at me. Our bond seemed to like that as much as his touch because the warmth that bloomed in my stomach happened each time.
“Josephine . . .”
His eyebrows furrowed, and his lips stiffened like he was about to say something unpleasant.
Every time he was lucid, he’d been trying to talk to me about his rejection. When he started, it was always with the same hesitation and drawn expression that screamed his guilt.
“Not right now, Lucian.” Before today, I’d only made excuses to get out of the conversation. Either getting up to go to the bathroom, asking him if he was hungry, or dramatically yawning and sliding into the cot Melodie brought to the room for me to sleep in, but not today. “I understand you have things to say, but let’s focus on you getting better.”
His eyes skittered to the side, and the corner of his lips drooped.
He looked like a kicked puppy.
To avoid focusing on his sadness, I grabbed the scrubs and quickly donned them. Then I scrubbed my hair with the towel to wring out some water. Once I was satisfied, I slid on the slippers and left behind the wet sandals on the floor.
I straightened and found him watching me impassively.
“Let’s get you back to bed.” I hooked my arm around his waist, pressing my hip against his side. He remained quiet as I guided him. He didn’t attempt to talk about anything—to my relief.
13
Lucian watched me from where he lay across his huge bed. The bed I’d had illusions of also being mine. The knot in my throat throbbed.
I tucked the blanket around his waist and made sure it stretched to his sock-covered feet. Lucian was a menace. It shouldn’t have taken me by surprise, but damn.
He watched me as I shuffled around him quietly.
“You don’t have to do all this.” His mouth was set in a stiff line. He was incredibly aware, like he’d never been down for the count. It must have been all that sleeping he did while in the clinic.
I raised an eyebrow. He well knew I had to do all this. During discharge, the directions of care that the doctor listed, specifically for his ankle, were directed to me. I couldn’t have escaped if I tried; Lucian kept holding on to me. I hadn’t had a chance to do anything but agree to care for him.
“You took a beating for me; taking care of you is the least I can do,” I muttered. And yes, I deserved the guilt for my rashness. I’d pulled him into the mess, and he’d offered himself to Gideon Drake, that lying bastard. In my haste for answers, Ihadn’t taken precautions, nor did I stop to consider that I was Luna.
It was because I hadn’t anticipated keeping the title.
Lucian pushed himself up higher in a recline. The bandage on his side was nice and white; it hadn’t bled through, and the split skin had finally formed a seam around the stitches. Even his complexion was better. No longer sallow.
“Do you have any extra blankets around?” I asked.
