Page 33 of The Shape of my Scar (The Unbroken #1)
F aolan drifted in and out of consciousness, lulled by the gentle hum of the engine, the warm pressure of the pillows Thane had wedged around her, the muted light behind her eyelids.
After the constant beeps of medical equipment and the chaos of the ward, it was the best sleep she’d gotten in weeks.
Distantly, she was aware that the car had rolled to a stop.
She felt a shift in the air, cooler, and the sound of the door opening. The buckle of her seatbelt clicked free, and a low voice murmured, almost to himself, “I’ve got you… Hold on, love.”
Strong, careful hands lifted her, and she didn’t have the energy to protest. The warmth of his chest, the faint scent of woodsy aftershave, and the strength of hard muscle holding her surrounded her.
She vaguely registered the beep of a lift button being pressed and the swish of the doors closing. Then a short walk, followed by a soft beep—a keycode, maybe—and she was carried across a threshold into quiet, dim light.
Then she was laid down on a cloud.
Soft, smooth covers tugged gently to her chin.
Then the rustle of fabric and the brush of a kiss, light as breath, on her forehead.
Then nothing as she sank deep.
***
When she woke, the light outside the shuttered window was that strange, golden wash of early evening. Her mouth was dry and her arm ached. She blinked slowly, taking in the unfamiliar ceiling, the muted tones of slate and ash blue, the clean, minimalist decor.
This wasn’t her flat.
Her flat didn’t have sheer grey drapes or elegant armchairs angled by a picture window. It didn’t have a water painting of a house on top of a hill. Belated, she remembered that it didn’t have a lift, either.
There was a bottle of water on the side table, and an extra blanket folded at the foot of the bed. No clutter.
She sat up fast, heart thudding.
The door creaked open.
“You’re up,” Thane said quietly, leaning against the frame. He was bare-chested, a towel slung around his shoulders, hair damp.
Tattooed lines sprawled across his left shoulder and arm—ink like branches, ravens woven into shadowy wings, a skeletal figure riding a horse etched across his bicep.
She stared.
He followed her gaze, then said, “That’s me. Death.”
She blinked. “The Horsemen?”
A wry, humourless smile. “In more ways than one.”
She squared her shoulders. “Why am I here, Thane?”
His expression turned shuttered. “This is my apartment. You’re safe here.”
“I wanted to go home.”
He inhaled sharply and then explained in an annoyingly patient voice, “Your home doesn’t have a lift. There’s a leak in the kitchen. More importantly, Faolan…” He stepped in fully now. “The place is bugged. High-tech stuff, not cheap.”
She stared at him.
“I had it swept. If I didn’t, Lirian would have insisted. Whoever it was, they were thorough. Hidden cameras, audio mics. They would have been able to hear you swallow a sip of water.”
Her mouth went dry. “What?”
“It’s not safe. Obviously, we haven’t caught all the key players,” he said softly. “Please… I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“You should’ve discussed it with me first,” she grumbled.
“I know.” He looked away. “I’m sorry.”
But from his stance, it was obvious that he wasn’t letting her go anywhere.
“I made chicken noodle soup. Are you hungry?”
She didn’t answer, still trying to make her slow brain crabwalk through all that information.
“Do you need help to get to the bathroom?” he asked.
“No.”
But he was already crossing the room, steadying her as she tried to get out of bed. His hands were gentle as he helped her stand. His hand swept up to gently squeeze the back of her neck in a strangely possessive gesture before letting go.
Once she was steady, he walked just ahead and opened a sleek door to the side.
“I’ll help you with your bath after you have eaten,” he said. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
She scowled. “I’ll be fine. You don’t need to stay; I can take a bath myself.”
“I can wait,” he replied simply, in a tone that brooked no refusal.
The bathroom was opulent. A walk-in shower and a deep stone bathtub stood next to each other.
Clean towels and shampoo that smelled expensive were neatly stacked in a cupboard.
On looking closely, there was also her favourite brand of shampoo, face cream, and other toiletries.
She took her time while her eyes kept wandering back to the array of bottles on the shelf.
This had been well-planned. When she emerged after doing her business, she found him still waiting just outside the door.
“You alright?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Obviously. It was a wee, not major surgery.”
She tried to brush past him, but his arms came up, catching her lightly around the waist, and she immediately stiffened.
“I don’t like these liberties you’re taking with my body,” she muttered.
He groaned as his hands tightened around her waist. “Let me hold you for a minute.”
“Thane…”
“Please.”
There was a raw desperation there, like something he had been holding back for a long while burst wide open. Like Pandora’s box, there was no stuffing it back.
She stood frozen, unsure until he slowly wrapped his arms around her. She could feel every muscle plastered against her front. Every breath he took as his chest rose and fell felt like bellows against her ear.
The scent of him was overwhelming—familiar and dangerous to her mental health.
He held her for a long moment, then reluctantly let her go, his fingers lingering.
In the kitchen, he pulled out a chair and set a steaming bowl of soup in front of her, with thick slices of bread on a wooden plate.
She sniffed it warily. “Smells decent.”
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t take the bait.
They ate in silence.
“You know, you have a real issue with boundaries,” she finally said. “Hugging random women you hardly know. Kidnapping them.”
He looked up slowly.
Those mismatched eyes—one hazel like gold, the other glacial blue—pinned her in place like a moth on a corkboard.
“You’re not any woman,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re everything I—”
His jaw worked. Then he said, almost gruffly, “Let’s just eat.”
But Faolan couldn’t stop wondering what he would’ve said if he had continued.