by Eve Langlais
“What happened?”
Because he obviously didn’t remember, she told him, reliving her rescue for the umpteenth time and still unable to make sense of it. “After you left, the guy I maced paid me a visit.”
The door to the room creaked open slowly, and Jarl smiled at her from the doorway. He said something in Russian.
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
Jarl stepped into the room and shut the door. The cruel smile tugging his lips widened. “Take off your clothes.”
Her head shook wildly as she barked a sharp, “No.”
“Do it. Or else.”
How could his “or else” be worse than what would happen if she obeyed? His intent was obviously evil.
Her chin lifted. “I am not doing anything for you. Release me.” A bold demand that got the expected laughter.
“You want to fight? Let us fight.” He beckoned, eager for it, knowing she was screwed. A can of mace and a well-aimed knee was about the extent of her self-defense abilities. “Take off your clothes, or I’ll do it for you.” The switchblade emerged from a pocket, and her mouth went dry.
If she fought, he might cut her. If she didn’t… He might still cut her. A no-win situation, so what would be the deciding factor? Courage or cowardice?
Charlotte screamed and ran for him, her quickly formulated plan being to startle him enough she could dart past him. Maybe make it to the hall and the stairs.
Then what? She’d figure it out if she— Oomph.
She slammed into his midsection, and he belched a huge grunt. But he didn’t budge. He recovered quickly and shoved her from him, brandishing the knife before him, muttering a stream of Russian curses, some of which she understood. They were the first words she’d picked up when she relocated.
Jarl advanced on her, no longer laughing or smiling.
She might have made things worse. She retreated, but she didn’t have far to go. Her back hit the wall and halted her escape.
He stopped right in front of her. His fetid breath washed over her face as he leaned down and whispered in Russian. Probably something violent and obscene.
She closed her eyes as the tip of the knife came to rest on her blouse, right by the first button.
Then the door slammed open. Hard enough that it hit the wall with a bang and bounced.
In stalked Lawrence, his eyes almost glowing in his rage, his lip pulled back in a snarl. He appeared utterly ferocious and acted completely unafraid as he went after Jarl and his knife.
There wasn’t actually any competition. Lawrence picked Jarl up as if he weighed nothing and tossed him. The thug thudded into the wall and slumped.
Lawrence wasn’t done. He grabbed Jarl by the shirt and hauled him over to the nailed window. He shoved the man through it, the glass shattering and falling with the body.
She gaped. “You threw him out a window.”
“He deserved it,” Lawrence growled as he turned to her, heaving, seething with rage. It was terrifying and captivating all at once. He held out his hand. “Come.” His voice sounded different, lower and gruffer than usual. Scary, too.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. We leave. Now.”
“Out there?” In the darkness and cold? She grabbed the coat she’d shed and quickly put it over her sweater. She’d lost her scarf but still had her boots while Lawrence remained in his suit, now torn and stained with— Was that blood?
She took a step back. How had he escaped and come to her rescue?
He waited by the window, hand outstretched. Did it matter how he’d gotten to her? He was the good guy. Self-defense wasn’t a crime, and he wanted to help her escape.
She placed her hand in his, and he drew her against his body, the heat radiating from it welcome considering her inner chill. A peek out the window showed a sad-looking porch roof, the shingles buckling and peeling. On the ground, Jarl rolled and groaned.
“Quickly,” said Lawrence. He slid out the window first, proving it large enough, and stood on the roof. It didn’t collapse under his weight. He once more held out his hand.
Being careful of the glass in the frame, she stepped out, fingers gripping his, hoping her feet wouldn’t slide out on the warped and sloped roof. A sharp yell drew her gaze over her shoulder to see Mean Lady had entered the room.
“They know we’re escaping,” she exclaimed, rather unnecessarily.
Rather than reply, Lawrence released her hand and quick-stepped to the edge of the porch awning. He didn’t hesitate or even look down, just leaped.
She remained frozen for a second after his hissed, “Are you coming?”
Before she could move, she was grabbed. Mean Lady had acted quickly and had a hold. Startled, Charlotte reeled away and managed to break free.
Which set her off balance. She fell on her ass and slid.
Oh shoot—
A thought that started during her plummet but ended as she was caught by brawny arms.
She blinked. “Am I alive?”
The grin on Lawrence’s face was much too happy for the situation. “As if there was any doubt.”
Someone yelled, setting off the alarm at their escape. There were on the far side of the house from the front door, in partial shadow, and yet it wouldn’t be long before they were spotted.
“Let’s go.”
Lawrence laced his fingers in hers and pulled her into a run, kicking at Jarl as they passed, sending him back to the ground.
Charlotte tried. She really did, but she couldn’t keep up with his pace. Her feet had no rhythm; she kept stumbling and tripping. When he abruptly stopped, she thought for sure he’d yell at her for being so clumsy and slow.
Instead, he tossed her over his shoulder and took off running again, so fast their previous pace was like walking in comparison. The night air bit coldly, and his shoulder dug into her stomach. The lightly falling snow didn’t improve the situation, but it apparently muddled the trail because he sprinted across the fields for the woods and made it within the boundaries. The yelling faded, as did all light, but he didn’t stop.
Lawrence kept running, jostling her as she clung to him, face buried against his back. It lasted minutes. Hours. She couldn’t have said, only that she was sore when he finally slowed. He didn’t set her down even when they reached a ramshackle cabin. He didn’t knock, simply booted open the door, which was pretty brave given she expected it to fall over with the slightest blow.
The inside proved more solid than expected and yet decrepit, with everything covered in a thick layer of dust. The cobwebs had cobwebs. There were mice droppings and other hard lumps of poop that had solidified over time. Basic furniture filled the space from a table with a hanging curtain and a crusted basin sitting on top of it to the pair of stools, round disks from a tree trunk on wooden legs. The bed consisted of a pile of abandoned blankets that puffed dirt and probably lung disease when he tossed her onto it.
She coughed and gasped, struggled to escape the surely vermin-infested bedding, only to find herself pinned by Lawrence.
“What are you doing?”
“Sleeping,” was his grumbled reply.
“We can’t sleep. What if those people come after us?”
“They won’t. And it’s not them you need to worry about.” Rather than explain what that meant, he nuzzled her and growled. Like literally and it was rumbly enough to vibrate her skin.
She could have sworn he turned angry. “What’s wrong?”
“I can still smell him on you.”
She assumed he meant Jarl. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it won’t be long before that’s replaced by whatever dead and pee-covered aroma permeates this place.”
He rubbed his cheek on hers. “I want you to wear my scent.”
“That’s weird.”
“Indeed it is given I’ve never wanted to do that before.” He lifted his head enough he could gaze at her. “There’s something different about you, Peanut.”
“Is that a b
ad thing?”
His lips quirked. “I don’t know yet. After all, we’ve only known each other a day.”
“Not even.” And what a tumultuous time so far.
“I’m tired.” He rested his forehead against hers.
“Shouldn’t one of us keep watch?”
“I won’t let anything harm you.” The words flashed hotly over her lips, which parted, as if anticipating a kiss. Only he returned to nuzzling her neck, whispering against her skin, “Why do you smell so good?”
Why did he feel so good? Tingles raced throughout her body. She couldn’t help but subtly writhe as his mouth dragged over her neck.
She should push him away.
She deserved this. After all she’d almost died.
She enjoyed it until he bit her.
“What the hell?” she yelled.
“Mine,” was his guttural reply.
“And then you started snoring like a freight train.” She concluded the story with no mention of how she’d spent a good while after aching between her legs, calling herself all kinds of dumb.
“I do not snore,” Lawrence protested.
“Yeah. You do. Loudly. And you weigh a ton.”
“Do not.” Hotly exclaimed. “I am in excellent shape.”
“Never said you weren’t. Everyone knows muscle is heavy. I can even testify about it since I was the one squished under you for hours. Maybe even days. You’re lucky I didn’t have to pee!”
“I was drugged,” was his sulky reply.
“Is that the excuse you’re going to use to explain why you went all vampire and bit me?”
“Excuse me but I am not a blood-sucking vampire. Wait, I didn’t suck your blood, did I?” He sounded hesitant.
“No, but you broke skin. See.” She tilted her head to show him her neck.
He appeared shocked. “I cannot believe I did that.”
“You did.”
He closed his eyes, and his head rolled back. “This isn’t good.”
“Ya think?” She remained on the bed for the moment, wondering if they’d missed an entire day given how dark it was inside the cabin. Colder now, too. Struggling to sit, she drew her knees to her chest and hugged them.
“It’s probably too late to reverse it,” he mumbled.
A dumb observation and an odd way of phrasing it. Wait… Was he implying he might have some kind of sickness? Like rabies or something? Wasn’t that the bad thing that could happen from bites, or did that apply only to wild animals? Did they have a shot to fix what he’d done?
He reached out to touch, but she flinched. “Oh no you don’t. Last thing I need is your dirty fingers introducing even more bacteria into the wound.”
“It won’t get infected.”
“You can’t know that for sure. I need medical attention.”
“You’ll be fine,” he grumbled. He rubbed a hand through his hair. “I don’t suppose you happen to know where we are.”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
“Have a phone?” he asked rather hopefully.
“They took them, and we escaped without getting them back.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate?” she screeched. “We’re lost in the Russian wilderness with killers after us, no food, no car, nothing. We’re fucked.” She didn’t often resort to strong cussing, but these weren’t ordinary times.
“You are super cute when you’re mad.”
“That is the most chauvinistic thing you’ve said thus far.”
“How is telling you you’re cute bad?”
“Because.”
“And that’s where we’re different. I’d love to know how handsome I look when I’m angry.”
“Less handsome and more like a beast.”
His expression turned sober. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Because it is. You looked like someone else. It was kind of spooky.” Hot too, but she wasn’t about to mention that part out loud.
“This is awkward.” He grimaced and paced the tight space.
“Shouldn’t we be concentrating on finding our way back to civilization instead of worrying about the fact you have a beasty angry face?”
“We are not going anywhere. Given the amount of time we’ve been gone, it won’t be long before someone comes to find us.”
Her mouth rounded. “What? Then we need to leave.” She didn’t want to imagine what would happen if Jarl and the others caught them again.
“Don’t panic. The people I’m talking about won’t hurt you. Physically at any rate. But they are quite good at embarrassing. Given it’s been more than a day since they’ve been in contact with me, they’ll be starting their search soon.” He went to the door that had swung closed but barely.
“So we just need to wait for your friends to find us? How? No one knows where we are.”
“That won’t stop them.” He shoved his head outside for a moment before declaring, “About two o’clock in the afternoon. If they’re on the ball, then I figure we won’t see them until this evening at the earliest. More likely tomorrow. Maybe even the day after if the snow doesn’t stop.”
“Snow?” She scrambled from the bed, feeling the chill even more than before. Apparently, he’d done her a favor by mauling her in his sleep. She’d not realized just how cold and uninsulated the cottage was. “We should get out of here. Why are we waiting for your friends?”
“Because you’re cold and exhausted,” he pointed out. “And so am I.”
He had a point. He’d carried her for hours, longer than she would have lasted. Still…She hugged herself, as the cold felt more pronounced now that she wasn’t draped over him.
“Let’s see if I can get a fire going.”
“By what? Lighting up the place? It might be an improvement,” was her dry remark.
“How about we use the fireplace instead.” He gestured to a hole in the wall lined with rocks and dark with soot.
“Can you really get a fire going?” At the possibly of heat, her expression brightened.
“Yes, but here’s hoping the chimney is clear.” He crouched down and peeked up the chute. “I see a bit of debris, but there is daylight. Hand me the broom.”
She opened her mouth to ask what broom when she saw it by the door. Rather than argue that he was ordering her around, she handed it over.
Lawrence shoved it up the chimney, and debris fell. Leaves and branches, other stuff that might be the detritus of a nest.
“That should do it. And good news, this will give us some quick flare. But we’ll need wood to keep it going.” He glanced around, and before he could ask, she’d grabbed a log from the rough crate by the door.
“Will this work?”
“Yes, but I’ll need to find more, or we won’t make it through the night.”
There was an old lighter sitting on the hearth that sparked when he struck it. Unfortunately, it didn’t do much more than that.
Rather than declare defeat, he pried apart the lighter and used a loose stone from the fireplace to strike what had to be the flint, sparking it over and over into the dried leaves that had fallen. It took a patience she wouldn’t have managed herself until it finally caught, a tiny flame with its even bigger curl of smoke.
It grew quickly, licking at the wood, soon crackling as it fed hungrily. She couldn’t help but draw close, holding out her hands to the heat. “Oh, that’s nice.”
“Enjoy it while you can. Given how dry that wood is, it won’t last long.” He stood and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
He cast her a glance over his shoulder as he opened the door and let in a swirl of cold air. “I’m going to see what I can forage.”
“What about me?”
“I wouldn’t recommend going out of sight of the shack.” He left without waiting for a reply.
Left her shivering and suddenly very afraid again. A feeling exacerbated as she peeked outside and saw the gray skies dropping fluffy snow
flakes. Already an inch on the ground and falling fast, which had the benefit of quickly hiding his tracks. A gust swirled flakes into her face, and she recoiled, slamming the door shut. It didn’t remove all the chill but did block the windy draft. Meanwhile the fire crackled in the fireplace, already throwing out warmth to chase the chill. She wanted to snuggle close to it.
Glancing around, she didn’t see many options to get comfortable. The blankets on the bed were crusty. The mattress would probably fall apart if she tried to drag it close. Under the table with the bowl sink, dishes and pots sat precariously stacked on a shelf.
There was a cabinet still upright on another wall. Three open shelves at the top with more clutter but a closed door shuttered the bottom.
It took a mighty heavy to get it open, the latch on it grimed with age, but inside she found treasure. A pillow and a sleeping bag, plus a patchwork blanket. Musty smelling but protected from the mice and other occupants over the years. She even found some unopened cans. The labels fell off when she grabbed them. Probably expired, but given how her tummy growled, so long as the contents didn’t show signs of fuzz or movement when she opened the can, she would have to take a chance.
But not yet. Not in the filth around her.
The broom he’d used for the chimney leaned close by. The stiff bristles snapped off in a few places as she swept the dirt away from the area in front of the hearth. Foolish, as if cleaning would help. Still, she felt better once she’d cleared a spot. Only then did she unzip the sleeping bag and lay it out in front of the fire. The pillow acted as a cushion for her butt. The blanket remained folded for the moment, as the fire had warmed the hut considerably.
It made the brutal blast of cold air all the more startling when the door suddenly opened. Lawrence stood framed in it for a moment, seemingly undaunted by the storm.
“I found the old woodpile.”
“Looks like you found the storm too.” Snow draped him head to foot, frosting his hair and eyebrows, even clinging to parts of his jaw.
“There’s already a few inches on the ground. I predict a few more at the very least before this system moves on. I’m going to get more wood.” He dumped an armful into the bin by the door. He made two more trips, filling that box and then piling some beside it.
