Page 109 of The Beast's Broken Angel
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Probably.”
“Then I suppose I don't have a choice.” But we both knew that was a lie. I'd had a choice from the moment he walked into my life. I'd just been too much of a coward to admit it.
“Your shoulder really does need treatment,” Noah said after a moment, professional concern mixing with whatever this was between us.
“In a minute.” I wasn’t ready to let go yet, wasn’t ready to return to the cold reality of war planning and revenge. I pressed my face into the curve of his neck, breathing him in. “Tell me about those anatomy texts first. Why were you and Isabelle studying them?”
Noah pulled back slightly, something shifting in his expression. “When we mentioned the illustrations to Isabelle, she immediately recognized the style—Victorian-era, focused on nerve damage and pain response. She thinks they might have belonged to?—”
“Dr. Edmund Thorne.” The name tasted like poison. “Victorian asylum doctor who disappeared after his 'experiments' were exposed in the 1890s. His work supposedly ended up in private collections, used by intelligence services during both world wars.”
“You know about him?”
“I saw one of his books in Harrison's library once.” The memory surfaced unwillingly. “Wondered what it was doing there among all the legitimate medical texts. Now I understand he wasn't just collecting historical curiosities.”
“Now you think he was studying those methods,” Noah finished.
“He groomed me.” The realisation hit with sickening clarity. “From the moment he pulled me from that fire, he was shaping me into what he needed. A weapon pointed at my own family's interests while he played the loyal advisor.”
“Adrian.” Noah's hand found my scarred cheek, thumb tracing the ruined tissue with gentleness that still surprised me. “He underestimated you. You're more than what he tried to make you.”
“Am I?” I caught his hand, holding it against my face. “I've killed more people than I can count. Tortured men for information, for punishment, sometimes just because I could. I'm exactly the monster he created.”
“You're the man who protected my sister when you didn't have to. Who built a criminal empire on loyalty rather than just fear. Who let me close enough to hurt you.” Noah's eyes held mine. “Monsters don't do that. Men do.”
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to be the man hesomehow saw beneath the scars and blood. But Harrison was still out there, protected by powers greater than any crime family could match. And I was still the same damaged weapon he'd forged in childhood flames.
“The war's going to get worse,” I warned. “Harrison has government backing. Military resources. He'll come for everyone I care about.”
“Then we'd better make sure we're ready,” Noah said simply. Like it was that easy. Like choosing to stand beside me wasn't signing his own death warrant.
“You're either very brave or very stupid,” I told him.
“Probably both.” That ghost smile returned. “Now let me look at that shoulder before it gets infected and I have to sedate you again.”
I laughed despite everything, the sound surprising us both. “Threats already? We've been reconciled for all of five minutes.”
“I'm a fast learner.” He guided me to a chair, hands already moving to unbutton my shirt with clinical focus that didn't quite hide the heat in his eyes. “Besides, someone needs to keep you alive long enough to win this war.”
“And after?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Noah's hands stilled on my chest. “After, we figure out what life looks like when you're not consumed by revenge.” He met my gaze. “If you want there to be an after for us.”
“I want.” The admission felt like stepping off a cliff. “God help me, I want.”
“Good.” He resumed his examination, fingers gentle on damaged flesh. “Because I'm not going anywhere. Contract or no contract.”
I caught his hand again, needing him to understand. “I can'tpromise to be different. To be better. The violence, the darkness—it's who I am.”
“I know who you are, Adrian.” Noah's voice held no illusions, no false hope. “I've seen you at your worst. I'm still here.”
“Why?” The question I'd been afraid to ask. “What could possibly be worth?—”
“You,” he interrupted. “You're worth it. Even the broken parts. Especially the broken parts.”
I pulled him down for another kiss, slower this time, less desperate but no less necessary. When we parted, I could taste promise on his lips, could feel future possibilities I'd never allowed myself to imagine.
“Now,” Noah said, voice not quite steady, “let's deal with this shoulder before you develop sepsis and ruin all our plans.”