Page 21 of The Knight

"I want to," he says lightly. "Besides, someone has to look out for you. As we found out the other day, you're prone to disappearing at the most inopportune times."

I grimace, trying to adopt a light tone. "Let's hope that never happens again."

"It won't."

"Sure."

"I mean it." Reaching out, he captures my elbow in his hand, gently holding me still. "I want you to stay safe. Maybe someone should make sure you get back to your room okay, and don't go missing in the middle of classes. After all, those men who kidnapped you clearly know which school you go to."

"There's security around campus already," I point out. "I'm pretty sure someone will notice two strange adult men showing up out of nowhere."

Lukas's voice is soft as he asks, "What if they don't notice until it's too late, and you've been hurt? Those men incapacitated you very quickly. Don't you live alone in Rosalind Hall? Maybe someone should—"

"Lukas," I chide him softly, "I don't need you to protect me."

"Maybe you do." He's looking at me so intensely that I can see every shade of blue in his eyes. There's so much more there than you see at first glance. "I want to keep you safe, Brenna. I just don't know how."

"You could tell me what's going on," I point out, wishing that he would. "I know that I'm not being told the whole truth."

Lukas looks away, his hand falling from my elbow, and I know that I've hit the target right in the center. "Telling you the whole truth would put you in more danger, not less."

"How am I supposed to know what I should be scared of if you won't even tell me?"

"Be scared of everything," he advises me, sounding like a paranoid conspiracy theorist more than anything. "And hope that when this is all over, you can go back to your old life."

"Without Silas, that's just not possible."

Sadness turns his eyes down. "Regardless. You'll be better off when you've moved on from all this. Now—can we please just go to lunch? I hate not being able to answer your questions truthfully."

"Then answer them."

"Stop asking them." He's looking at me the way most people look at three-legged puppies. "Please? At least until finals are over. We can get you what you want without you knowing all the gory details of, well, everything."

He means that we can put Hass awayandhe can keep his secrets—though I suspect most of them are his friends' secrets more than anything else. His playing of both sides makes me grind my teeth, but it also gives me an opportunity, as we walk through the double doors to the dining hall, to ask a pointed question.

"Howarethe four of you going to help me get what I want? After all, it's not like..."

I go quiet as I seethem.

Georgia and Hass.

No longer separate but clearly—based on the way he's practically giving her a hickey in front of the entire student body—together again, for better or worse.

Watching them makes my stomach roil uncomfortably, so I have to look away. A dozen questions race through my mind, though. More than anything I want to know what he told the police—and what hedidn'ttell them. However it is that he wound up becoming the person who "stumbled" on me unconscious in the trunk of a car, I know it wasn't an accident.

As soon as I look away, though, curiosity draws my eyes back to them. Georgia has her head tilted back, neck bared to his attentions. They're sitting at a round table with other students—mostly ones I barely know. No one seems to be giving their little show a second glance, though.

I wonder how it is that she can let him kiss her like that after everything he's done to her.

I don't know why I care, after everything she's done to me.

Those clever eyes of hers flick over and land on me, and I quickly look away, pretending as if I wasn't staring at their PDA even though it's the only thing interesting going on in the entire dining hall. Lukas doesn't seem to have noticed my wandering attention; he guides me towards a table in the back, tells me to get a seat, and offers to grab some food for me.

"You don't have to do that," I tell him, face reddening as I wonder if he thinks I'mthatpoor. "I can get my own food."

"Actually." He awkwardly scratches at his neck, right near the collar of his ironed button-up shirt. "Your student ID was apparently deactivated by the administration. You'll have to get a new one now that you're re-enrolled. Until then it won't work."

That explains why I had to wait for someone to let me into Rosalind Hall at my return. Face burning, I realize what he's very politelynotsaying: that I can't afford a meal here without access to my scholarship fund. The real reason why he insisted on escorting me to lunch is abundantly clear.

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