Chapter 29 - A Gas Station

When they got away from the road, Lucian put Ayra on her feet. 

The dense foliage offered some respite from the open road, but Ayra’s lungs burned as she struggled to keep up with Lucian’s long strides. 

He slowed only slightly, his hand gripping her wrist to ensure she didn’t fall behind.

After what felt like eternity they emerged onto a narrow dirt road. Ayra doubled over, gasping for breath, but Lucian didn’t let her rest for long.

“We've arrived,” he said, pointing to a dilapidated gas station a short distance away. Its flickering neon sign cast an eerie glow over the otherwise desolate area.

Ayra followed him silently, her legs trembling with exhaustion. He was all but carrying her once more, honestly. 

The gas station was quiet, fluorescent lights overhead casting a harsh glare over the aisles of dusty merchandise. Lucian led her toward the back, keeping a careful eye on the door.

“You can sit,” he said, gesturing to a worn-out bench near the restrooms.

Ayra sank onto the bench and her body finally succumbed to the exhaustion and adrenaline. She watched as Lucian paced the small space, his phone in hand.

“Who are they?” she asked in the end, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lucian paused and his dark eyes met hers. For a moment, he seemed to debate his response. 

“I'm not sure,” he said in the end. 

“Figures,” she muttered, leaning back against the wall. She was beginning to doubt Eleanor was the one who sent them. 

Ayra liked to believe her aunt was not unfeeling enough to send killers after her niece. 

Lucian’s lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. Instead, he walked over and crouched in front of her, his expression softening ever so slightly.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice low.

Ayra shook her head. “Nothing serious,” she said, though her scraped knees and aching muscles told a different story.

Lucian nodded and stood to pull a small first aid kit from a nearby shelf. 

She sat rigidly on the edge of the bench, her brows furrowing as she watched him.

When he returned and knelt before her with the kit in hand, Ayra instinctively leaned back. 

"I can do it myself," she said, her voice coming out sharper than she'd intended.

Lucian didn’t so much as blink. He popped open the kit and pulled out a bottle of antiseptic. "It doesn't matter," he replied, his tone maddeningly calm as he pointed at Ayra's arm. 

She looked and spotted a rather nasty gash running across her forearm. She hadn't noticed it before. 

Perhaps due to the adrenaline or the general pain of her body swallowing that specific pain. Whatever it was, she began to feel its sting immediately she looked at it and hissed in pain. 

Grabbing a cotton pad, Lucian soaked it in the antiseptic, his hand already reaching for her arm.

Ayra still jerked back, her voice rising. "Lucian, I said I’ve got it!"

She didn't quite know why she was being so defensive but it felt right somehow. 

His gaze lifted to hers, steady, unyielding, but... oddly patient. 

"You’re being stubborn," he said, quieter now but still firm. The softness in his voice disarmed her, as did the way his dark eyes held hers. 

Why was he treating her like this? What in the world was this?

Her resolve faltered under his gaze. Hesitantly, almost begrudgingly, she extended her arm, revealing the raw gash wrapping almost fully around her arm. 

The wound looked worse under the light, the jagged edges flecked with dirt and dried blood.

"This is going to sting," he warned, his hand wrapping firmly but gently around her wrist to steady her.

Ayra tensed. Her breath caught as the antiseptic made contact. She bit her lip, suppressing the hiss of pain that threatened to escape. 

Lucian worked methodically. His hand was steady and his touch surprisingly gentle. 

The pads of his fingers brushed against her skin as he cleaned away the grime. She couldn’t help but notice the callouses that spoke of a life far rougher than his usual demeanor implied.

"You’ve done this before, haven't you?" she muttered, though it was more to distract herself than out of genuine curiosity.

The antiseptic stung something fierce. 

Lucian’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, so subtle she felt she might have imagined it. "Occupational hazard."

Her laugh was brittle. More bitter than amused. "Right. Because playing hero is such dangerous work?"

He paused for a fraction of a second, just long enough to glance up at her. "If I did not know better, I’d think you were trying to start a fight."

He was amused. 

Ayra looked away, her face warming. She didn’t know why she felt so defensive. 

Maybe it was the proximity, the fact that his full attention was on her, or the way his care felt so out of place in the chaos of her life. Whatever it was, it rattled her.

Lucian continued to work in silence, while Ayra thought. The scrape on her arm wasn’t the real reason for her unease. It was Lucian himself. 

He had been hunting her for days, after all. The man who now knelt before her, cleaning her wounds with a care was nothing like the Director she'd expected: nor was he like the man she had met in his office all those days ago. It hardly made any sense to her.

"Why are you doing this?" she blurted out before she could stop herself, scrutinizing the man. 

He didn’t look up. "Because you’re injured."

"That’s not what I mean, and you know it," she said quickly, her voice sharper than she’d intended.

Lucian’s hand stilled for a moment but he resumed his task a moment later. "What do you mean, then?"

"I mean..." She hesitated, struggling to find the right words. "Why are you being... nice? Why do you even care?"

He looked up at her then, his gaze unreadable, but she could almost see warmth in them. Scratch that, his gaze WAS warm. 

Bloody why?