Page 14 of The Queen's Knights

A warm hand squeezes my knee, then grips one of my forearms where I have them wrapped tight around my belly.

“You don’t have to keep talking,” Lance says. “I won’t hurt you.”

I take a breath and open my eyes, finding the will to smile when I see the deep concern etched on his bruised face. It’s a little comical with his cotton-stuffed nostrils, which helps diminish the power of the memory that had me in its grip.

“I wasn’t worried about you,” I say. “I wouldn’t have let Percy leave if I was. And he wouldn’t have left if he didn’t trust you. He’s usually a better judge of character than I am.”

I glance at the door, belly roiling for another reason now. Percy and I have barely spoken since I left his bedroom the morning after the Masquerade. I know I’m the one who needs to bridge the chasm between us, but I’m not quite sure how, not as long as he’s holding back. I know I can trust him with my safety, but we started down a path with too many barriers to trust for things to end any way but badly.

“Do the cops have any idea who did it? They have security cameras in this building, don’t they? Surely they could find him.”

“They did the bare minimum, and that’s it. I’m not holding my breath. It isn’t your concern.”

That earns me a pained look, and he swallows and turns away. His jaw spasms, and I’m briefly struck by how very handsome he is without a mask covering the top half of his face. He has thick, dark lashes that frame hazel eyes, an odd combination with his otherwise Latino features. I have the strangest urge to reach out and caress the contour of his strong cheekbone.

When he turns back, he has a determined set to his jaw. “If they won’t find him, I will.” The flash of fury betrays the intent he doesn’t speak—that he’d probably kill the bastard for me, if he could only learn his identity.

“Lance, no. I just want to move on. The club is helping me do that. What I do there has done more to help me reclaim my power than finding my attacker ever could.”

“But you still don’t feel safe here. That’s not fucking cool. And what if you weren’t the only woman he did that to?”

I blanch at that thought. He’s right, but if I let myself think about it, I won’t even be able to function.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “and I know it’s none of my business, but the thought of you being hurt that way…” He struggles for more, but eventually settles on a frustrated curse.

“I appreciate the concern, really.” I smile, genuinely comforted by his outrage, and reach for his hand. He takes my hand and squeezes, studying my face.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says in a hushed tone so blatantly honest and uncensored I blush. I retrieve my hand and resist the urge to avert my eyes from his. But our last encounter empowers me.

“You’re not so bad yourself, aside from the obvious.” I make a circular gesture indicating his face.

He chuckles and grabs the roll of paper towels Percy left on the table, then rips one off and holds it over his face, carefully removing the cotton from his nose. He dabs gently at his nose, which has stopped bleeding, but the bruises beneath his eyes have gone a deep shade of purple and blood still tinges his teeth.

“I wish this wasn’t how we were first properly introduced. Please tell me you’re turned on by the rough look.”

I tilt my head as I study his mouth, for the first time very aware of how skilled he was with it the other night. His nervous laugh is deep and sexier than I think he realizes. I momentarily forget who we are, andwherewe are, as our gazes lock. The moment stretches, charged with what I know we’re both thinking. But Percy returns, and the noisy din of students in the corridor outside yanks me back to the present.

“Sorry, it’s all I’ve got,” Percy says, handing Lance a rolled-up T-shirt while giving me a suspicious look.

Lance heaves a shaky breath and accepts the proffered shirt, shaking it out. “Dude, are you fucking with me? Youwantme to get beat up again, right?” He gives Percy an incredulous look.

I frown and he turns the powder-blue shirt around. A pink cartoon pony frolics across the front. Above it arches the words, “Free Pony Rides.”

A laugh bubbles up and I can’t contain it. “Oh, Percy. Really?”

“Just keeping him humble,” he says with a smirk.

Lance pulls the shirt over his head, which ironically fits. He turns and gives me a faux smile. “If I don’t make it to class on Thursday, you’ll know who to blame.”

ChapterTen

Gwen

Lance is back in class looking no worse for wear on Thursday. His bruises cause several of the young women in class to stare at him, and rather than sit near the frat boys in the back, he parks himself front and center five full minutes early. The young woman who usually has that spot looks pissed when she finds him there and is forced to find another seat.

I shouldn’t encourage him, but I return his smile. He shoots a look over his shoulder at the trio who beat him up and flips them the finger. When Percy is prepping handouts, Lance volunteers before any of the usual helpers to distribute them. Since my class is an elective for most of the students, I have a mix of ages, but the vast majority who take the class are women. Half of them track him around the room, every bit as interested as they usually are in Percy. It’s probably because his bruises are even more shocking today, having turned a deep shade of purple. But a pang of jealousy hits unbidden and lingers throughout the ninety-minute lecture.

I’m in my office after class with the door open when a knock sounds. I look up to see Lance leaning on the jamb with a smile that makes my pulse speed up. Percy appears at his shoulder, looking irritated.

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