Page 7 of A Touch Of Death

I slap a hand over my mouth and stare at the white fox with a startled gaze. Suddenly, the fox yips again and starts barrelling around the room like he's doped up on sugar. I sit up in the bed, the comforter falling into my lap. The shirt I'm wearing hangs on my skinny frame, the left side still falling off my shoulder and exposing my collarbone and my dart wound with it.

The little fox stops his running around to jump on the bed. He sits on my lap over the comforter, and if a fox could glare, that's exactly what he'd be doing. His gaze is trained on my shoulder, and his lips turn up in a snarl, the beginnings of a growl vibrating through his chest and into the comforter beneath me.

Tentatively, I reach my hand out to scratch his head. I rub my hand over the soft fur on his head before moving my hand lower to scratch him just behind his ear. His growl stops immediately, and his tongue lolls out of his mouth. Taking a stab in the dark, I guess he's not too fond of my puncture wound either. "Yeah, wasn't a pleasant feeling for me, either."

He huffs before jumping off the bed when there's a knock at the door. So there's more than one here? That calls the anxiety I was missing before to the surface.

There's a cough, and a male’s muffled voice sounds from behind the door, "Uh, hey, can I open the door? Zayn said you were awake, so we just want to check on you."

Who's Zayn? Who's the mystery man behind the door? How did I get here? That pool of dread doubles in size. Despite the safe feeling I have here, five years worth of distrust and paranoia is hard to shift overnight.

My head swings towards the fox, and his eyes have widened in panic, too. It would be funny in any other scenario. He looks around frantically before darting behind a pile of clothes that have been abandoned on the floor next to the desk. Not a second later, the door opens slowly.

My mouth pops open in shock when the mystery man steps into the room. The man who walks through the door is one I've never seen before but feel like I've known all my life. He’s tall, probably six foot two, if I were to guess. His hair is a dirty blonde, styled short on the sides and long on the top. The mop of hair has been gelled in a style that's pushed it out of his face, but still looks good. He has the lightest brown eyes I've ever seen, a yellow hue tainting them where the sunlight hits them just right, framed by dark lashes. His bottom lip is fuller than his top, and a straight nose sits just above them. He's lean, with a swimmer’s body, and the white shirt he's wearing displays the defined muscles in his arms and chest. Panic and anxiety flee from me like they were never there before, replaced by the same sense of safety and security I felt when the fox was near. Somewhere amongst the confusion in my head, I know for certain this new stranger won't hurt me either. How is that possible? What could this possibly mean?

Before I can question the feelings I'm getting, the stranger introduces himself. He offers me a brief smile before he says, "My name's Spencer. I don’t know if you remember, but my brothers and I saved you this morning. You were lying unconscious in the river, so one of my brothers pulled you out. We dressed you and brought you home with us, so you could recover and maybe tell us what had you lying in the river in the first place."

I blink rapidly, trying to figure out what he said through the sudden fog in my brain. Before I can forget my manners, I blurt, "Thank you. For saving me."

He offers me a bigger smile. "Anytime. Think you might be up for an interrogation? We'll go easy on you."

I can sense the humour in his voice, and a sudden flicker appears around him.His aura. Wait, can I use my abilities now? I only ever remember sleep restoring small spurts of energy, some spurts are bigger the longer I rest, but I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep. Five years of having my gifts suppressed has left me feeling more like a slightly evolved human more than a fae. Which wouldn't be far from what I was for those five long years. Supressing my abilities was like extinguishing all that I am. It's horrific and nothing short of barbaric, but such were the conditions of how I lived for all that time.

The light around him appears more prominently now that I remember I'm not caged and doped up with whatever ability-dampening drugs they'd pumped into us. His aura is gold and shimmery with flecks of yellow sprinkled throughout. After years of researching auras and identifying the species to go with them, I know for certain this man - Spencer - is a mage.

Spencer's eyes grow amused, and I realise I've been staring too long while I had my epiphany. I shake my head and promptly remember what he said. Interrogation, questions, yes. I'm sure they have a few. I have some of my own.

"Sorry. Sure, I'll answer your questions. I have some I'd like answered too, so we'll call it a trade rather than an interrogation." I offer him a timid smile, and he nods with his grin still in place. I throw the cover off my bare legs, shivering at the chill of air that hits them after being encased in warmth for so long. I swing my legs over the bed and stand precariously, aware that my feet are still sore. They're covered in large pairs of socks, and if I wiggle my toes slightly, I can feel another material underneath. Bandages, maybe?

Spencer notices my unsteady stance and makes a move to hold my arm to give me balance. His hand is gentle as he grips my elbow. "I'm sorry. I forgot about your feet. We should have all come in here instead of making you walk so soon."

"It's fine. I've had worse." That is apparently the wrong thing to say because he frowns, and his features darken. An odd reaction for someone who doesn't know me, but apparently everything is strange right now. My punctured shoulder is still on display, and his eyes glance briefly to the mark, which causes his features to tighten and his expression to darken even more so.

He doesn't comment, simply aids me in walking. Before we leave the room entirely, Spencer leans around me and says, "And get your fluffy ass out here too, Nix. Don't think we all didn't know you were in here."

There's the sound of rustling clothes, but we shuffle out of the bedroom before I can look back. We step out of the room, and I notice four more doors in the hallway behind me. One of those has to be a bathroom, and the others must be bedrooms. So there's four strangers, not three. My grip tightens on Spencer's arm, and he leans in to hold more of my weight, misunderstanding the reasoning behind the sudden tension that's rushing through me. I might feel safe with this man, and the shifter before him, but who’s to say the two I haven't met yet will have the same effect? My back stiffens, and my walking becomes jerky.

I push through my sudden flare of anxiety, moving towards an open plan living room, the kitchen to the right, and a homey living room to the left. There's an island that separates the two spaces, with four bar stools lined against it. A body that holds the same height as the mystery man occupies one of those stools, while another stands at the stove with his back to me.

The stranger at the island looks up and offers me a shy smile while the other flicks a gaze over his shoulder, offering me a nod before turning back to his task. Once again, the sudden burst of apprehension leaves me as soon as my eyes meet each of theirs. I'm suddenly calm, and walking a lot easier, my battered legs taking on more of my weight as we go.

Spencer leads me to one of the barstools, leaving a space between me and the stranger with hair as dark as night, killer green eyes, and a small smile. I sit down, wincing when one of the cuts on my leg meets the plastic of the stool.

"Thank you," I almost whisper to Spencer, giving his arm a squeeze of appreciationand thenletting him go.

He squeezes my shoulderandmoves towards the man at the stove, but notbeforesnatching up a hat from the countertop and placing it on his head backwards. There's a clearing of a throat, and my attention is pulled towards the man with black hair sitting on the stool besides me. "How are you feeling? You looked a little worse for wear when we found you."

I can imagine I did after jumping off a cliff into a waterfall. I’m sure I don’t look much better now. I can feel my hair sticking up in all directions, the dry sensation of the strands brushing the bare skin of my neck and shoulders.

I then realise his accent is completely different from Spencer’s. It’s richer, almost. One of the guards had a similar accent, and I overheard him once saying he’d be glad to go back home to England after their mission. Could this stranger be from the same place, or somewhere similar?

I offer the stranger a smile and tell him honestly, "I've been better. My body hurts, and the cuts and bruises are aching, but I'm fine other than that. The injuries will heal in an hour or so."

Why did tell them that? Stupid Novia. I have no idea who these guys are. They could very well be working with the facility I escaped from for all I know. Feeling safe does not earn trust. I don't know them, so I shouldn't be telling them shit before I know what I'm dealing with. They probably don't even know I'm a fae.

"We know," the dark haired man answers quietly. He speaks quietly enough that only my ears hear him. My eyes widen a fraction before I remember I'm in the real world now. Other Naturals exist. I've already met a shifter.

Drawing my aura, I look at the dark haired man over. A dark blue and purple haze surrounds him, flecks of silver sprinkled throughout. Vampire. That would explain how he answered a thought I hadn't spoken out loud.

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