Synching With the Devil's Son

Chapter 11

Bella's P.O.V.

After I calm significantly down, I feel Lucien bend over to pick me up, carrying me effortlessly toward the river. I wish I could relish this, the feeling of being cared for by a strong, able bodied man, but I just keep my head buried in his shoulder, breathing unsteadily as I try to find my bearings. I have avoided physical contact with men since that horrible night three years ago, but for some reason, I am not afraid of his touch. When he sits me gently on a soft patch of grass as the river rushes swiftly beside me, I hear myself whimper at the loss of contact. I'm not sure what's gotten into me. Why I am allowing Lucien, of all people, to tend to me? I decide it is because at this moment in time, I am incapable of anything more than just sitting here in a state of shock, trying to regain some form of composure. Now that the imminent threat of an attack has abated, I am aware of all the wounds I incurred when I jumped into the hedge as they throb with my heartbeat. I feel so stupid, so weak, so...helpless. How do I explain what just happened to my nemesis without giving him cannon fodder to exploit all the darkest fears that still trouble me? I take a moment to look around at our surroundings. The trees have dispersed near the waters edge, erasing the pitch black of the forest and replacing it with luminous moonlight. The moon is almost full, and we are bathed its ethereal glow, allowing me to watch Lucien as he wets strips of fabric in the cold river. His large body blocks my view of the water, and when he stands to look down at me, he seems as tall as the surrounding trees. Still I am not afraid. The quiet of the forest, broken only by the sound of the rushing river, puts me at ease, and I cannot help but wonder what is happening here. I don't shy away from him when he brings the wet fabric over and begins to gently clean the blood oozing from my skin in some places, dried in crusty lines in others. I study his features as he focuses on his task. His perfectly proportioned straight nose sits over full lips, his thick black brows are furrowed in concentration, accentuating his unbelievably gorgeous blue eyes. His jaw, razor sharp, has newly formed stubble that conceals the small cleft in his chin I know is there, and I wonder, for a second, what he would do if I grabbed his face and planted my mouth over his.

I am startled out of my reverie when I realize the direction my thoughts have taken. I am being ridiculous, this is LUCIEN I am talking about. Still, after he accidentally pulls open a scratch while wiping blood off my skin, I watch in wonder as he winces with me. He observes me closely as he cleans me up, and I'm sure he can hear me swallow while I stare at his gorgeous face. All time seems to stop as we gaze at each other. Then, as if woken from a dream, he shakes his head, and heads back to the river, immersing another wad of fabric into the icy water. He places it over my eye, asking me to hold it there. I do as he commands and then watch in befuddlement as he repeats that action three more times, twice on my legs and once on my arm. I'm dumbfounded he's being so kind. His large, warm hands hold the cold compresses to my legs with such gentle pressure that I am starting to doubt everything I thought I knew about him. He must be possessed, an angel must have taken over his body, because the Lucien I know would be making snarky comments or laughing at my pain and fear.
He certainly wouldn't be helping me. I guess for now, I will accept his attention, no matter how false the pretenses are. After all, I could be hurtling blindly through the dark woods in an utter panic right now if it weren't for Lucien, maybe even have a broken arm or leg, or something even more serious, instead of small surface scratches. I should show him my appreciation, tell him that I recognize all he's done for me, but the only thing I manage to croak is, "Thank you," surprised at how awful my voice sounds.