by Tara Quan
A low voice—strong, confident and relentless—commanded her attention. “That’s it. Let’s take a look at those big green eyes.”
His name hovered just beyond her grasp. Her memory was like a rippling pool of water. A masculine shadow danced against the crimson backdrop of her closed lids. The swift arc of a woodman’s ax reminded her of falling stars. Distorted images folded over each other until she saw a narrow face blanketed by strands of gold. She raced toward the safety promised in those piercing blue eyes and chased his apparition farther into the abyss.
The faster she ran, the more distant he became. Her grandmother stood at the edge of Scarlet’s vision, lying in wait until her savior tripped and fell. A splash of blood accompanied the sound of parting flesh. The scraping of a bone saw harmonized with Eleanor’s maniacal laughter. Scarlet’s wail was trapped in her throat. Her pleas went unheard by a hundred smiling faces. And then like all the others, his head was on a spike. White, unseeing eyes accused her of drawing him into a deadly game for which he had no stake.
Roughened fingers smoothed damp hair off her face. Callused palms chilled her cheek. “Forget everything else. Just focus on lifting your lids.”
Something cold, wet, and coarse traced a line from the corner of her eye to her temple. The friction caused a series of painful tugs, but the cool contact alleviated the oppressive heat. Her vision shifted from red to black as the wiping motion was mirrored on the other side of her face.
“Try again. We’re running out of options. You need to get your head in the game and wake the hell up.”
Part of her bristled at his tone. The last thing she needed was someone else bossing her around. But her eyelids no longer felt as if they had been glued shut. Relief overcame indignation.
She concentrated on the muscles just under her brows. After what felt like forever, a sliver of light broke through the black curtain. Instinct made her recoil from the painful flash to seek the dark once more.
She heard a soft pitter-patter followed by rustling sounds. “I dimmed the light. Come on, lazybones. You must be tired of sleeping by now.”
He was right. She wanted nothing more than to escape this prison. Wherever his voice came from, it was miles away from the oppressive yoke of guilt and duty. For the first time in her life, she yearned to escape. Accusing gazes dogged her heels as she forced her lids to lift. When she succeeded, her hazy vision focused on a circular shape. It took a moment before she realized she was staring down the barrel of a pistol.
“No hard feelings, but I can’t take my finger off the trigger until you say something.”
Her eyebrows drew together as she struggled to comprehend his threat. She had been bitten. He had no way of knowing if she was alive or undead. Though her first instinct was to reassure him, it felt as if a web had sealed her mouth shut. It took a staggering amount of effort to extend her tongue and moisten her lips. How was she supposed to make her way home if she could barely summon the energy to confirm her mental competence?
“Won’t…eat…you.” Her words felt like sandpaper as they scraped past her throat. She didn’t recognize her own voice.
“I’m tempted to change your mind.” He lowered the weapon. One corner of his mouth quirked into a crooked grin.
The compulsion to get back on her feet dissipated into naught. Her attention flitted to the dimple on his cheek a moment before she lost herself in those blue eyes. At long last, she remembered his name.
Something about Marcus’ face looked different, but she couldn’t quite place the source. Wanting to touch him, she tried to lift her arm. It seemed as if she were buried under a pile of bricks. She furrowed her brows as consternation flooded her awareness. What was wrong with her?
He placed his sidearm on the floor and leaned forward. Something shifted over her right hand. She breathed a sigh of relief when his fingers laced through hers. If she could sense contact, there was still a chance she would be able to move.
His voice was low and soothing. “Don’t worry. All your body parts are still there. You’re just covered in snow.”
She managed to tilt her chin by an inch and saw a mound of white. Her heart raced as fear reared its ugly head. How could she know he was telling the truth? “I need to see…”
“I get it. Give me a second.” He scooped the snow off her. As the weight lessened, her pulse decelerated. Again, she tried to move and failed. The gut-wrenching horror must have showed on her face.
“You’re just a little weak. Hold on.” His closed his hand over her wrist and lifted her arm. Once it appeared in her line of vision, calm settled in. “See. No need to freak out.”
Her lungs deflated. She could feel the soaking wet T-shirt on her chest and against her thighs. The sensation brought a modicum of comfort. “Why?”
He placed her palm on her belly. “Your fever was high enough to fry your brain. It’s how infected patients become undead. Even now, you’re running so hot I have to dump fresh snow over you every hour or so.”
Her ears registered the sound of trickling water. She managed to twist her head to the right. A glance confirmed she was lying on the bathroom floor. “The storm…How long?”
He rose, limiting her field of vision to his denim-clad calves and bare feet. “You’ve been unconscious for three days, but the storm just hit last night. It’s a good thing you came to. I ran out of IV fluid twelve hours ago.” He started to walk away.
“No. Please…don’t.” The thought of him leaving filled her with panic.
He stilled. “I’m just going to the stove.”
Part of her brain chided her own foolishness. Every aspect of her current behavior seemed irrational. Yet it took several calming breaths before she gave him permission to continue. “Don’t take long.”
Until he returned, time was a slow ebb, marked only by the sound of water. She watched him place a shiny metal cylinder and a pillow on one of the few patches of dry concrete next to her. Then he bent down until his face was against the floor. For reasons she couldn’t explain, looking into his eyes made her feel a thousand times better.
“I need you to swallow some chow. You’re severely dehydrated.”
Eating was the last thing she felt capable of doing. “I can’t. My head hurts.” Even to her own ears, she sounded whiny. At least her vocal cords seemed to be back under her control.
A wide smile made lines form at the corners of his eyes. He sat up and cradled the back of her head with one hand. He tilted her face to meet the ceiling before a scoop of snow landed on her forehead. She experienced pure bliss.
But too soon after, lines of tepid liquid flowed down the side of her face and soaked her hair. It didn’t take long before her head burned once more.
“If you want me to do that again, you need to do as I say.” His threat held a teasing note.
She pouted before accepting the trade with a tilt of her head. He closed both hands around her shoulders and lifted. She nestled into his broad chest and filled her lungs. She wanted to stay there, but he quickly lowered her back onto the floor. This time, a pillow propped up her neck and back.
Not ready to ingest food, she stalled. “Your face changed.”
Judging from the twinkle in his eye, her evasive tactic hadn’t fooled him. “I shaved, that’s all.”
Her eyelids fluttered as an earlier memory of him resurfaced. “Before…you had hair on your face.”
He gave her a measuring look. “I still do—it’s called a beard. It’s just shorter now.”
Though she had read the word in books, she had never heard it spoken out loud. A request slipped out. “May I touch it?”
There was something calculating about the way he scrutinized her. “Why do you want to?”
Because complex thought was too difficult, she answered with the truth. “I’ve never seen one up close before.”
He placed his palm over her forehead. “You’re still burning up. Chances are you’re not going to remember any of this.” She couldn’t tell if his
words were directed to her or himself.
Her brows drew together. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He shook his head and made an exasperated sound. “You’re delirious. I’m taking advantage of a hundred-pound helpless woman who is clearly non compos mentis.”
His hair was a tangled mess—she wanted to run her fingers through it. “I’m a lot heavier than I look and am of very sound mind.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Now where did a girl like you learn Latin?”
She snorted. “I didn’t. I just like to read old legal mysteries.”
“Me too.” He sounded curious. “Any idea where I can get my hands on some?”
Since it felt nice to share, she offered, “I have a bunch stashed away in my cottage. I’ll show you where it is when I get better.”
He leaned forward. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll steal all your stuff?”
She considered the possibility. “It’s okay. I’ll probably be dead soon.” She wondered if she sounded as forlorn as she felt. “Corpses can’t read.”
“Why do you think you’re in danger?” He placed his hand on her cheek.
She looked into his eyes. “Can you keep a secret?”
He nodded. “It’s sort of my job.”
For some reason, his meager assurance was enough. “My grandmother wants to kill me,” she whispered, “and I might have to let her.”
His gaze turned flinty. “Why?”
It was surprisingly easy to answer his question. “Because if I don’t, hundreds of other people will die.” Not willing to deal with the overwhelming sense of moroseness, she shifted her attention to the task at hand. “But before I do all that, I want to touch your face.”
He was silent for a long moment. Just when she became certain he was about to refuse, he lifted her fingers with his free hand and pressed them against his jaw. “Happy now?”
She lost herself in the dichotomous of sensation. She hadn’t thought a face could be smooth and rough at the same time. Tiny pinpricks scraped over her skin, but they didn’t feel at all painful. She wondered what it would be like to press her lips where her fingers lingered. Would he let her? “Why did you shave your…” She paused to search for the word he used. “Beard?”
Her gaze lowered to the small lump at the center of his throat. It lifted and fell before he answered. “Do I look better without it?”
She compared her memory of him to his current appearance. Without the layer of grime and facial hair, it was easier to catalog his features. He had a wide forehead and a cleft on his chin. His face was narrow, his cheekbones high, and his jaw was set at a sharp angle. The bridge of his nose was a straight line from his forehead and ended in a sharp point. His upper lip was thin and his lower one full. It made him appear as if he were always smiling.
And because the beard’s removal made it easier for her to see that smile, she nodded.
His cheeks dimpled. “I live to please damsels in distress. Now…” He gently lowered her hand to her lap. “I need you to eat something.”
Without waiting for her response, he reached for the metal cylinder. After shaking it, he unscrewed the top. She sighed before reluctantly taking a sip. The warm brew’s acrid taste almost made her choke.
“What is that?” she asked once she managed to ingest a small mouthful.
He continued to press the container’s opening against her lower lip. “I added a few nutrition packets to hot water. Bottoms up, Red. You need the calories.”
“Whatever this calorie thing is, I don’t need it that badly.” When he stared her down, her eyes grew moist. The sudden manifestation of weakness horrified her. She was acting like a child and had no idea why.
“Those puppy-dog eyes won’t work on me.” His voice was stern, but his hand lowered by a quarter of an inch. “If you didn’t want to drink this, you shouldn’t have broken into a building full of undead.”
The man had a very good point. Nonetheless, she eyed the liquid and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I can. It makes me gag.”
His determined expression softened by a fraction. “You have to try. You haven’t eaten in three days. I’m surprised the IV drip managed to keep you alive. The URV in your bloodstream probably helped.”
She bit her lower lip. “Can you pinch my nose?”
His expression turned quizzical. “I could.”
She took a deep breath. “Then do it. It’ll force me to open my mouth, and you can pour the whole thing down.”
Her proposal elicited a low chuckle. “Are you always this melodramatic when you get sick?”
She considered his question. “No—I don’t think so.” Falling ill forced her to become reliant on another. Throughout her childhood, obedience was necessary for survival. Her mother was incapable of coherent thought; her grandmother would just as soon walk away and let her die.
Without knowing how or why, she was certain Marcus would stick around no matter how poorly she behaved. The knowledge made her uncooperative. Guilt warred with reluctance. If he could sew up her wounds, keep her alive for three days, and let her feel his beard, the least she could do was follow orders.
She heaved out a breath and opened her mouth. After she swallowed every last drop of the disgusting concoction, he scooped up some snow and pressed it against her forehead. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Mmm…hmm.” When it all melted, she nuzzled his hand. “Why do I feel like sleeping again?”
He kept his palm against her face. “Because it’s what your body needs. Don’t fight it.”
She doubted she had the ability. Her eyelids were already growing heavy. “Don’t leave.”
His fingers trailed over the other side of her face. “I’ll be right here. Get some rest. I’ll take care of you.”
* * * *
Marcus’ strong arm circled her waist as Scarlet tumbled forward. Frustration made her eyes burn. She needed to get out of here. She needed to go home. How the hell was she supposed to make it through the woods if she couldn’t take a single unaided step?
“Still think you can crawl your way through a blizzard?” He pulled her against his chest. Her hands flattened over hard muscle. She tilted her head up and glared at the cleft on his chin.
His mouth was unsmiling. His voice held no emotion. But she could sense he was amused by her floundering. It made her want to punch him. “I just need to rest for a moment.”
His pectorals vibrated against her palms as he laughed. “I hate to shatter your delusions of grandeur, but you might want to revise that estimate to a few days. Last night, you literally couldn’t move a muscle. No one gets from there to full strength in under twenty-four hours.”
Backing down wasn’t an option. He had already seen too many chinks in her armor. If her warped recollections proved accurate, she had also revealed more than she should. “Let me go. I want to try again.”
He lowered his head and tried to make eye contact. She focused her attention on the arm seam of his T-shirt. “While watching you land flat on your face has comedic appeal, I’m mature enough to resist the temptation.” With far too much ease, he scooped up her legs and lifted her off her feet. “It’s past time you got back to bed.”
Her voice grew high-pitched as he deposited her on the mattress. “I told you—I need to get back to my grandmother. She’s old and weak. She needs my help.” To her dismay, the lie came out stilted. She had told countless untruths to Eleanor and Mother Gothel. She had obfuscated her actions so many times she couldn’t always remember where the tale ended and verity began.
But a single glance from his blue eyes made her cheeks burn with guilt. His unwavering gaze threatened to choke away air. The desire to tell him her fears was an unrelenting lure. For the first time in her life, she understood why she had been indoctrinated to fear males. This one man held the power to turn her plans to ash.
He made a circling motion with his finger. “You’re beginning to sound like a broken record.”
Her wayward attention shifted t
o the least pertinent topic. It had been near impossible to focus ever since she woke up. “A broken record of what?”
“I have no idea. It’s just something people say.” When she opened her mouth, he lifted his hands in the air. “Let me just make my point real quick before you waste what’s left of your energy on a stupid argument.”
He marched to the bunker’s exit and unlatched multiple bolts. With a single heave, he pulled the door inward. A pile of white powder tumbled onto the floor as a freezing gust of wind blew in flurries of snow. Outside, the storm howled its fury. He turned to face her, quirked an eyebrow, and sealed the opening.
“It’s not that bad,” she muttered through chattering teeth. Though dry, his knee-length T-shirt did little to protect her from the sudden drop in temperature. “I’ll be fine.”
Once he was done shoveling the icy mess over to the drain in the bathroom, he returned to sit on the mattress. “This is the worst blizzard I’ve seen in years. Anyone caught out there is either dead or dying. Give yourself a break and just chill out for a few days.”
Because her previous attempt to stand had drained all her strength, she closed her eyes. “Why does it feel like we speak different languages? I have no desire to be any colder than I am now.”
He pulled the fleece blanket over her. Though the warmth was welcome, her shivers didn’t subside. “I’ll try to moderate my slang if you’ll refrain from constant attempts to break your neck. Your legs can’t support your weight. You can barely move, let alone walk. Stay put and accept my free nursing service.”
She released a tired breath. “You don’t understand. My grandmother is…”
“…counting on you. Has anyone ever told you it isn’t safe to blush when you lie?”
She opened her eyes and saw his patronizing gaze. What little resolve she had crumbled into a weakened mess. It was near impossible to keep up a pretense so far removed from the truth. “There are people who will suffer if I don’t make it back.”
