Shaking off the odd fog that clouded her mind, Jocelyn hastily lowered herself beside his weak form. She had not gone through all of this only to have Lucien die on her now, she silently swore, her hands reaching out to stroke the satin of his hair. “Lucien, you are wounded.” “Give me a moment,” he murmured, his voice so low she could barely discern his words. “Shall I go for a doctor?” With an effort he lifted his head to regard her with a strained smile. “A doctor would be of little use to me, I fear.” She bit her lip at his teasing words. “Oh . . . of course.” “Do not fear. I heal very quickly.” Hoping that he was not merely attempting to disguise how injured he truly was, Jocelyn shifted so that she could wrap her arms about him and pull him against her. She needed to have him close. She needed to feel the beat of his heart and his sweet breath against her cheek. Instantly she was surrounded by his warm strength, and she could at last draw in a deep breath. There was a great comfort in simply having him near.
