Page 83 of A Bond so Fierce and Fragile
He might have killed one of them for how broken her voice sounded.
“You… cannot fix this, Merrick.”
Those five words shattered his heart. Hurt worse than anything he’d ever felt before, and made him want to curl into himself, hide within the mounting cloud of souls pressing all around him.
But he wasn’t ready to take it in. Wasn’t ready to hear that she didn’t mean her hands…
So instead he pushed those thoughts away and growled “Watch me” as he continued replacing her bandages.
Lessia remained quiet as he finished, wrapping the strips of fabric higher up her wrist than before to ensure the broken hand would be properly stabilized.
As he did so, flakes of dried blood fell from her skin, whirling in the slight breeze let in by the dark wooden planks of the walls.
Merrick swallowed, telling himself to be fucking nice and not rip her damned clothing to shreds to examine every single injury immediately. Telling himself to be kind like she’d once told him he was.
“May I?” As he gestured to the jacket he’d given her, he felt like slamming his hand into his face when the anger within him still broke through the words he’d meant to be gentle. But he couldn’t hold back the fury rising within him like the hot liquid he’d once seen a mountain spit out in a neighboring realm.
When he’d first seen her on the ship, he’d realized she was injured all over—physically as well as mentally. But what he could smell now…
There was so much fucking blood. Some of it might not still paint her skin red, but it was there… It hadn’t been washed off, only been replaced by more.
Another vibration in his chest shook the bed.
Lessia only nodded.
His heart could barely hold on when the woman before him raised her arms—the swallow she seemed to have tried to hold back echoing in the second he stared at her.
Merrick bit down on his bottom lip until the skin broke.
She was worried, not for herself but for what he’d think of her. Merrick could sense the flicker of shame within her as he reached for the jacket.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
That wouldn’t fucking do.
Moving as slowly as he could, Merrick peeled off the jacket he’d helped her into, and he refused to let his eyes drift away when she was finally freed from the fabric.
When Lessia cast her own down, he reached out to lift her chin.
“You’re beautiful.” Merrick didn’t whisper, forcing his voice to remain strong, to be heard clearly.
He wouldn’t let that fucking Torkher win by shying away from what he’d done.
Merrick’s name was carved on her stomach.
On her sides.
On her arms, even on the one where the black traitor mark appeared starker than ever against her fair skin.
On her chest, right over her heart.
And from the smell of iron and coal dust, he was certain more of Torkher’s carvings lined her back.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Merrick made sure his fingers were assured as they whispered over her skin, not cowering from the words now darkening it.
