by C.K. Bryant
Chapter Nine
When Kira finally woke, it took her a few moments to remember what had happened and where she was. Octavion stood a few feet away, tending a fire. He placed two large logs atop an already roaring display of flames. Small streams of light filtered through the trees and touched the forest floor, making his image a bit hazy. She barely recognized this place as the clearing she’d first been brought to. The sun made it seem a lot less scary and mysterious.
To her right, a small structure came into view, a lean-to covered with branches and pine boughs, and decorated with feathers, glass beads, and small swatches of colored fabric. Just inside, Lydia lay on a pile of what appeared to be animal pelts, her covers made up of several layers of fabric and tapestries, their pattern and texture unlike anything Kira had ever seen. Lydia’s face had a healthy glow. Her eyes were closed—her face at peace.
Kira tried to pull herself up to get a better look at her surroundings, but her aching muscles betrayed her. Every joint in her body felt stiff and sore and she had one whopper of a headache. She rolled onto her back, expecting to see the blue sky through the branches above her, but instead discovered she also lay in a lean-to. It was slightly larger than the other, but without decoration. Like Lydia, she rested on a bed of animal pelts, but Kira’s covering was different—a plain tan weave intertwined with a white, satin-like thread. This must be his, she thought.
Kira tried to swallow, finding no moisture to quench her dry mouth. She peeled her lips apart to speak, but nothing came. She pushed back the covers in an attempt to get Octavion’s attention.
“Kira, be still.” His voice was heavy, yet gentle. Within seconds, he knelt at her side, his brow furrowed with genuine concern. “You need to rest.”
She opened her mouth, trying to force her words again, but they came out as a whisper. “I’m thirsty,” she managed to squeak. She tried to clear her throat.
He nodded, then lifted her to sit against the sturdy log wall of the lean-to. She cringed as the muscles on her right side tensed, pressing against her tender ribs.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
Kira lifted her shirt just enough to expose a dark bruise the size of a man’s boot. “No, they’re just a little sore.”
A low grumbling sound escaped his chest. He touched the tender flesh with the tip of his fingers, putting gentle pressure on several of her ribs. “Does that hurt?”
She tensed. “A little,” she confessed, lowering her shirt. “I don’t think they’re broken, just bruised.”
His focus was still on her side, even though the fabric covered the evidence of her attack. “Did I do that?”
“No, that stupid blonde guy kicked me.”
Octavion turned his head to one side, as if looking for something through the trees. “Perhaps I should teach those boys a lesson before I release them.”
“They’re still here?” she squeaked out again, her throat still begging for water.
He nodded. “It is a slow process, and I must be careful not to miss anything. Our lives depend on it.”
“Process? What are you doing to them?”
“They have seen too much. I am merely helping them forget.”
He adjusted her blanket and reached behind him to pull a large leather bag from one of the shelter’s supporting branches. At the smaller end of the bag was a plug. He pulled it loose with his teeth and pressed the opening to her lips. At first, the water trickled onto her tongue, barely satisfying her thirst. She grabbed his hands and brought it closer, pouring water into her mouth and spilling it over her face and onto the blanket.
“Easy,” he said, pulling it back. “Too much will make you sick.”
Leaving her hands on his, she looked into his eyes. The last thing she should have been thinking was how strikingly handsome he was, but for an instant, she allowed herself the luxury. In addition to his hypnotic eyes, he had strong, masculine facial features—from his thick brow to his sultry lips, he was gorgeous. Even the fine stubble along the chiseled contour of his jaw and chin was alluring. His hair fell in light brown waves, barely touching his shoulders. She tightened her grip to avoid a sudden urge to run her fingers through it.
Octavion raised one brow and grinned—exposing his dimples. “Are you well, Kira?” he asked, as if he knew exactly what she thought of his looks. She could see it in his eyes—that he too saw more in hers than anyone else ever had.
Kira’s face warmed with embarrassment as she released his hands and lowered hers to her lap. “Yeah, much better, thanks.”
“I owe you my life for saving my sister.” He returned the water bag to its branch. “I will forever be indebted.”
Kira looked past him at Lydia, lying so still. “Is she okay?”
He didn’t answer, but took Kira’s arm and examined the bandages around her hand and wrist. His touch was gentle, but his grip held her where she’d rolled against the rock and it hurt. She pulled away and rubbed it.
He looked at her curiously. “I am sorry if I hurt your hand. I barely touched it.”
Kira pushed up the sleeve of her jacket to expose a nasty purple and black bruise, still swollen. “This one’s yours,” she whispered.
The color paled in his face. “You have every right to fear me, Kira. I have treated you no better than your attackers.”
Kira wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want him to feel bad, but he needed to know how much harm his temper could cause. When she didn’t respond, he covered his handiwork and unwound the bandage around her palm and wrist, this time being careful not to touch her arm. She looked at the swollen cut and tried to stretch her fingers. The skin pulled against the scab, sending a twinge of pain through her hand.
“Be careful not to reopen the wound,” he said.
Kira pulled her hand away. “Will you stop worrying about me and answer my question? Is Lydia okay?”
He sat back on his heels and sighed. “Yes.” But his troubled expression said something entirely different.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“It’s been three days and she still sleeps.”
“Three days?” Had she been asleep that long? “My mom’s gonna freak.”
“I think they are still away. I went down this morning and saw no sign of your mother or her . . . friend.”
Kira sighed. “Paul’s a jerk. He won’t care if I’m gone, but mom will worry. Are you sure they’re not back yet?”
“I am sure.”
Kira turned her attention back to Lydia. “What about her dad . . . umm . . . I mean your dad?”
Octavion smiled. “Not a problem.”
“Oh. Well then, I don’t understand why you’re so worried about her. I barely woke, right? I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
“You have stirred. I have been able to give you nourishment. She has not moved, and I am concerned.”
He’d said she could die saving Lydia’s life, yet here Kira was, still breathing, but Lydia showed little sign of recovery. “What did I do wrong?”
“Do not blame yourself. You saved her.”
“Not if she isn’t waking up. What if I put her in a coma or something? Maybe I should have let you make a deeper cut or not fought you.” She threw back her blanket and tried to get up. “Let me try again.”
“Kira. No.”
At first, Octavion merely kept her from getting up, but she was so weak, his restraint quickly turned into an embrace. Feeling his warm body against hers, she gave in and relaxed. She lay in his arms, drawing what she could from his strength. Kira wanted this nightmare to be over. “She can’t . . . die.” Exhausted, she gave in to sleep.
