Page 17 of Wreck and Ruin

AIRLIE

Present day

It’s such a cruel contradiction that a world so gifted at creating such beauty, can also harbor those with a darkness that runs so deeply through their veins, that they're capable of hurting somebody the way they hurt my stranger.

My eyes follow the lines of his sculpted muscles, trailing the dozens of silver scars etched into his strong, sleeping body. Tiny grains of sand cling to his sun-kissed skin in places, and I’m tempted to reach out and touch them, though I think better of it.

“Have you finally come to take me?” he murmurs. His deep, gravelly voice is thick with sleep and dry like he hasn’t had water for a few days. I really did try to get to him sooner, but I was too weak to risk the swim.

Three days have passed since I last saw him, and he hasn’t had any food. My eyes flick to the empty water bottles, crumpled flat and tossed across the cave, wishing I could offer him more than the three that I brought with me today. Father only left me with five this time, and I’ve been drinking from one sparingly so that he wouldn’t notice that I’m running out quicker than usual.

My footsteps are soft and quiet as I tip-toe toward his body, splayed across the stone floor. He’s lying on his side with his back facing me, his cheek resting atop his bloodied hands, using them as a pillow. I kneel beside him, and with trembling fingers, I sweep a strand of his black, disheveled hair away from his neck and gently tap his shoulder to wake him. When he doesn’t move, I nudge his shoulder again, this time a little harder, careful not to disturb his body too much, not wanting to reopen the gashes or aggravate the dark purple bruises covering his ribs. His body shifts with the contact, but still, there’s no response.

Needles jab at the inside of my chest as fear claws at my heart. The possibility that something may be terribly wrong with him hits the pit of my stomach. I know he hasn’t eaten in days, but I’m almost certain it hasn’t been more than three.

How is it that I managed to keep my pet spiders alive on nothing more than mosquitoes and moths, but I struggle with a pet man?

I scramble closer to his head, still on my knees, and place a finger beneath his nostrils to feel for any sign of air. The faintest breath brushes against my skin. I’m not at all sure if it’s enough to keep him alive, but I'm not leaving it to chance.

With what little strength I have, I move his body, pushing and pulling until, finally, he rolls onto his back. A second later, I straddle him without hesitation.

I’ll worry about his wounds when I am positive he’s not dying.

He lets out a grunt with the movement, but nothing more. Somewhere between panic and helplessness, I press my ear to his chest, blocking out the sound of the waves, focusing only on the steady thrum of his heartbeat. I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing, but the thumping beneath my ear is strong enough to offer me a sliver of hope. I lean back slightly, my hand coming down to slap his face, and I feel a jolt ofsomethingbetween my thighs. It only takes a second for the reality of my position to hit me, and I start to slide off his body, but before I can, the sound of shifting chains fills the cave. Then, his warm hand presses gently on my upper thigh, anchoring me in place.

Panic floods through me, and my breaths become shallow. I grab his hand, trying to remove it, but in an instant, I’m flipped through the air, and before I can comprehend what’s happening, I’m lying beneath him. His weight presses down on me, the rough ground digging into my back. His forearm is pushed up against my neck, the cold bite of the shackles digging into my skin, and his expression hardens into a look that I can only describe as lethal.

His brow furrows, and he pulls back slightly, piercing me with enchanting blue eyes. They're beautiful, bright like the sky. But it’s the darkness within their depths that I’m drawn to. It’s something I feel, not see, a force that dances with the constellations as he stares at me, his intensity so powerful, it could almost burn through me.

He removes his arm from across my neck, resting it somewhere above my head, but his body remains pinned against mine, unmoving, his eyes taking me in.

“Tell me you're real,” his voice is barely a whisper, yet the softness of his tone doesn't mask the fear, or maybe it’s relief? It’s hard to tell. Fear doesn't seem right. He clearly has the upper hand here. Still, none of that matters in this moment. The only thing that matters is that he is okay.

I feel like thousands of little spiders are racing through my chest, but I keep the nervousness locked inside, not brave enough to let him see my reaction to him.

I feel an exchange of intense energy wrap around my core, pulling me to him. As though our souls are communicating. Telling each other things that we cannot verbalize. An unspoken understanding orbiting between us that I’ve not had with anyone else.

Not even with Father.

I’m being absurd. This is just my body reacting to him. Nothing more. Father doesn’t like it when I disobey him, and there is a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that these thoughts I’m having are all wrong.

Father would be furious.

I’m unsure whether or not my stranger is just as unforgiving, and I can’t say I’m eager to test that theory.

“You’re alive,” he breathes, but it sounds more like a plea than a statement.

Of course, I’m alive. Why wouldn’t I be?

The look on his face is a tangled mess that I refuse to try and unravel, so I muster up as much courage as I can and shoot him a look, one that demands he move away from in between my naked legs, hopefully snapping him back to reality. The reality where Father would unleash Hell on Earth if he caught us like this, much less that he is tied up here in the first place.

I brace myself for whatever punishment is coming, but he catches the hint instead, his expression shifting before he quickly peels himself off me, his back hitting the wall with a sharp breath as he slumps against it, trying to steady himself.

“I’m…sorry. Forgive me. I, uh, must have dozed off.”

Dozed offfeels like a slight understatement.

His eyes flicker to mine before dropping to the rest of my body, and I realize that I’m still lying on the ground. I scramble to my feet, then take a step back, looking down at him. My gaze lingers on him for a moment, as he stares back in absolute horror. It’s all I can do not to turn and walk away, just to escape the crushing weight of his obvious disappointment as he takes in the sight of my body. I’ve never felt this way before. I’m not quite sure what this feeling is, really. I wonder if it’s the shame that Father always talks about.

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