Page 20 of Knight’s Salvation

Chapter 5

People don’t touch me.

That was the second time he’d said it.

Mia couldn’t get the look on his face out of her head. Before his eyes had lost color, turned a hollow black, and he’d shoved her away. When her fingers had met hard, warm flesh, there’d been the briefest flash of utter vulnerability then she’d seen his fear, and his inner demon had taken over.

Someone had hurt him, and that pain had marked him in a way she couldn’t hope to understand. Had he ever been touched with kindness? Going by his reaction, she guessed not.

Her head hurt—throbbed, actually—and she reached back and removed the tie holding her hair up, letting it fall around her shoulders. Zenon stood several steps away, his eyes trained on her. They flickered between yellow and black, and Mia pressed back into the couch cushions. “Zenon, what…what are you…your eyes…”

He dropped his gaze to the floor. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you again.” His voice was deep, rough. “May I take a look?”

“Um, yeah. Sure.”

He moved closer and her heart rate picked up, but not from fear. He came down on his knees in front of her, and when he lifted his hand, it hovered for several seconds before pushing her hair back over her shoulder.

He lightly brushed the spot where she’d connected with the exercise machine. His fingers were trembling. His touch was gentle, his skin rough and warm.

He cleared his throat. “It’s only a small cut. You don’t need stitches. Head wounds just bleed like a bitch.”

“Right, thanks.”

He continued to prod gently around the area and tingles traveled across her scalp. She watched him deep in concentration. His hair was down again, and he let it hang forward. His shield. It had a slight wave to it and this close she could see how soft it was. She had to fight not to reach out and touch, brush it back. Even with it hanging forward, he couldn’t conceal his face completely.

And Zenon was beautiful.

She’d noticed how young he looked back in the gym, but even with his hair tied back he’d hidden behind the perma-scowl and bad attitude.

But now she took the time to study his face. He had full, firm lips and straight white teeth, high pronounced cheekbones, and wide expressive eyes that he hid by looking down at the ground all the time. It was his strong nose and jaw that stopped him from being pretty. The only thing marring the perfection was the large circular mark on his right cheek. It went from just below his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth. The pattern was an intricate swirl and looked as though it had been burned into his flesh, leaving behind pale scar tissue several shades lighter than his golden skin. She inwardly winced.

“How did you get that? Is it a burn?” She raised her hand, her fingers hovering above his cheek. He flinched, and she dropped her hand back to her lap.

Stupid.

He’d shoved her for touching him less than thirty minutes ago, and she’d nearly done it again. What on earth was wrong with her? “Sorry,” she said.

“All knights have them.” He surprised her by answering.

“What?”

“The brand.”

“Why?”

“It stops us from entering Hell. An angel named Silas gave it to me when I was brought in for training.”

If she hadn’t grown up knowing who and what she was, the mention of angels and the fact Hell was real would have been hard to take in. “How does it stop you?”

“We die,” he said simply, no emotion in his voice whatsoever.

Jesus.

She was pushing it, but still she asked, “Why is it on your face? I mean, I’ve never seen any of the other knights with a mark like that, so I’m guessing theirs are in a less conspicuous place.”

“I fought them. It was the only place they could get to.”

Oh my God.