Healing Wounds
The next morning, the city was bright and cold.
Ava woke up sore. Her wrists had red marks from the rope and her head still felt heavy from the drug they used.
Lucian was already awake. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching her with soft, worried eyes.
Morning, love, he said quietly. How do you feel?
Like someone hit me with a truck, she answered, trying to smile.
He didn’t smile back. He just leaned over and kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, then her lips small, careful kisses, like she might break.
I’m okay, she said.
You have bruises, he whispered. I hate seeing them.
He helped her sit up, brought breakfast on a tray, warm toast, fresh fruit and tea with honey. He fed her little pieces with his fingers, the way you feed a scared bird. Every time she tried
