Page 18 of Kentucky Nights
“What did they do to you?” I stare at my fated mate in horror, a rage of violence building in my chest.
I’m glad I killed them all, and I’d do it again if it meant finding her.
In another swift motion, I’m wrapping my arms around her to lift her from the filthy ground. She’s limp, falling into my hold without a fight. Her eyes continue to stay closed even after jostling her around. She’s unconscious.
Good.
I don’t want her waking up to see a stranger holding her naked, bruised, and wound-ridden body.
She’s alive.
And naked.
I can’t help my reaction since she is my beloved, but I can control my actions. I turn my head, tug my shirt off, and gently put her head through the hole, then her arms. Pulling the shirt down, I swallow the lust, trying to possess my ability to string a thought together. Her soft skin brushes against my century-or-so-old calloused fingertips, and I am already craving to explore her body.
Now is not the time for those sensations.
My shirt falls to her knees, giving her privacy and keeping her wounds covered. Her body should only be revealed if she wants to reveal it.
Slipping my arms around her, I pick her up and hold her to my chest. My eyes water when her scent buries itself in my lungs. I inhale deeply, pressing her harder against me, and bury my nose into her hair. She was so close to death that I might not have been able to hold her in my arms. I almost didn’t get to experience how good it is to hold the one who is fated to me.
My tear drips into the gash on her cheek, and I lean down, pressing a gentle kiss on the middle of her forehead. “Come on, My Darlin’ Beloved, let’s get you home.”
Maybe dying can wait another day because living doesn’t seem so bad now that I have her in my arms.
The bites sting in the rushing water. Dirty river floods my mouth, choking me. Every few seconds, the rough waves take me under as if hands are pushing down on my shoulders in hopes I’ll drown. I struggle against the force, using my arms to bring me to the surface. I inhale water and air, the river teasing me with its promise of death.
The wild current smashes me against a rock, my head taking the brunt of the impact, and it knocks me out. I’m face down in the water and have no more energy left to fight.
It’s sad that I’m waiting for a waterfall to put me out of my misery. The bites all over my body burn from the filth I’m submerged in. Just as I have given up, someone clutches my arm, dragging me out of the water.
There’s hope.
“Well, well, well. Look what we have here, fellas. All that pretty just for me.”
I scream myself awake, bolting up to see a man sitting on the edge of the mattress with a rag in his hand. I scream again, scurrying away from him until I’m at the edge of the bed. My mind is playing catch-up. I have no idea where I am, who this man is, or how I got here.
The bed dips from his weight as he stands, and he lifts his arms. “I don’t mean you no harm, ma’am.” He takes off his hat, holding it against his chest. “I know you’re confused, and I’m happy to answer any questions to ease your mind.” His smooth, velvet, classic southern accent wraps around me. I could listen to him speak all day. “There’s no need to be afraid of me. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Where am I?” I croak, my hand flying to my throat when I hear how hoarse it is. My stomach grumbles too, and I can’t remember the last time I ate
“You must be dyin’ of thirst. Here.” An antique white pitcher with painted blue and orange flowers along the sides seems a bit ridiculous in his large hand as he pours the water into a vintage blue glass. “Before you go drinkin’ that, make sure you can keep this broth down first. You have to be hungry, but I want to see if you can handle this broth, okay? Then, you can tackle the breakfast in the kitchen. I made it myself,” he puffs out his chest with pride.
One hand holds a cup of water and the other holds a mug with broth. He holds out the glass with broth in it first and the amount of fear I felt eases.
There’s something about him that puts me at ease, and I’m not sure if I like how defenseless that makes me feel. No one should have that kind of power, but he does. The immediate safety is all too consuming, sitting here in this bed, wrapped in a warm blanket, and not faced with someone who wants to use me.
He waits for me to take the glass full of broth from him, but I cock my left brow, rearing back.
He smirks, my heart fluttering from the simple expression. “You don’t trust me. I understand. Does this make you feel better?” He presses the rim of the glass against his firm lips, gulping down half of the contents. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he holds it out towards me again. “See? It isn’t poisoned.”
It’s hard not to notice how handsome this stranger is. He has thick black hair with the sides cut short, but the top is long with natural waves. His beard is just as dark, reminding me of a starless night sky. I lick my lips as I look him over, my interest locking on the width of his chest and broad shoulders.
Even under the beard, I can tell he has a strong, square jawline. He has firm lips, not too thick, but also not too plump. He has high, rounded cheeks and a strong, straight nose. His skin is golden from being out in the sun so much. Every part of him screams ‘hardworking man’ and there isn’t one soft thing about him that I can see—other than his eyes when he smiles.
And yes, while his body is sculpted, muscles tightening the cotton shirt, it’s his eyes that announce kindness. They remind me of burnt pools of honey with brown and golden hues joining together to create their own personal, unique color.
I could watch this man all day without saying a single word, and I’d consider it time well spent.
