Page 32 of Of Sins and Sacrifice

What now?

He’s holding his palms up, the blood from the injuries diluted from the alcohol. I need something to clean the residual blood with—and the dirt that’s probably snuck into the open flesh.

There’s nothing around that I can use. His shirt is already dirty from the soil. And I’m not about to use my precious suit.

I eye him up and down.

I suppose there’s only one thing that will work.

Grabbing the hem of his undershirt, I tear a wide strip of cloth from it.

His eyes widen, but he doesn’t move. He lets me continue.

I don’t look at his torso, instead focusing solely on his palm as I use one side of the cloth to clean his wound before turning it to the other side and wrapping it around his hand. I repeat the process for his other hand, and by the time I’m done, his undershirt is half torn, now barely reaching his belly button.

That means I can see his stomach.

His very, very hard stomach.

Uhm.

I gulp down and look away.

I shouldn’t be noticing that.

“Done. You can be on your way now,” I suddenly say.

“Why would I leave when you’re treating me so well, tiny darling?” he murmurs in a low voice.

I release a scandalized gasp.

“Stop calling me that!”

“Why?”

“It’s… Well, it’s not proper.” I straighten my back and look straight ahead. The last thing I need is to notice the green hue of his eyes or the way they sparkle in the moonlight.

Good grief.

I’ve made my fair share of mistakes, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never made so many in a single day as I did today. Not only did I help save mortals, but now I am engaging in conversation with one! A half-clothed one, too!

He chuckles at my serious expression.

“Then I suppose I should have your name. Miss…”

His eyes twinkle with amusement. He watches me closely, waiting for my reply.

“M-Minerva,” I grumble.

What am I doing? Why am I giving this stranger my name?

By the Source, Minerva, you must have gone mad!

“Minerva,” he repeats. But no amount of mentally berating myself can make me ignore the way he says my name. His voice is rough, and I detect a slight lilt in the way he accentuates each letter.

“I am Lucien. Pleased to meet you, Minerva.”

“Well, I am not,” I shoot back, folding my arms over my chest with a huff.

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