11. Held
The world rocked. My stomach twisted.
Corvin's voice growled in my ear, hoarse and thick rather than smooth and melodic. "Don't you dare die on me." He cradled me against his chest. "You're much too clever and far too beautiful to just die. You know that, don't you? I'll never forgive you if you die. Don't leave me, clever girl. Please."
I tried to speak, my head spinning. My eyelids refused to cooperate.
Wait.
I was alive.
How?
The pain had mostly gone as well. No wounds or bruises bellowed for attention. All that was really at issue was the cold and fatigue. "What did you do?" I murmured. My eyelids cracked open.
He scoffed, his yellow-and-green striped face paler than usual as he peered down at me. "Saved your sorry hide, you ridiculous creature. For someone so clever, that was foolish. What were you thinking?"
I cringed, startled at how the harshness in his voice stung me. No, not the harshness. The disappointment and the pain.
"Why were you trying to run from me?" he demanded. He shoved the something out of his way, glaring at me.
"I fulfilled my part of the bargain. I came with you to your home."
"And you thought you'd just leave?" He scowled, his breaths rough. "Of course you thought that." Another sharp breath followed, the lines in his face hardening.
My eyelids drifted shut. I tried to lift my leg. My leg resisted, but my toes twitched. The muscles ached. Relief flooded me—then darkness claimed me.
A heavy thud roused me along with the smell of old, salted fish.
I startled, my eyes opening just long enough to see he'd gotten me back inside his home and kicked the main door shut. The heavy scratches and gouges in the rock mostly remained, but the ones nearest the lock had vanished.
Murmuring, Corvin took me to the guest room, then hesitated. Gently, he set me on the stone. "Give me a moment." He scooped up my mat and carried it out.
My mouth was dry. Everything ached, but I could feel all my fingers and toes.
I stared up at the ceiling. The fissures and cracks blurred.
Focusing, I twitched my leg again. It responded slowly but without too much pain. Just an ache, as if I had overworked it. That was something, thank the Creator.
Footsteps scraped across the stone. Corvin returned, lifted me gently, and carried me to his room.
He had placed the two mats together and seemed to have found a third, though it now looked even more like a pile than a bed. After he placed me on them, he slipped a balled-up tunic under my head for a pillow. It smelled like old fabric, stale water, sea salt, and a hint of lavender. "You just need to rest," he said, his voice soft. "You're going to be all right."
Despite his harshness the previous night and the sharpness of his tone moments before, he was startlingly gentle.
The world faded in and out.
He put some sort of foul-tasting liquid to my lips. Then he examined me, his fingers pressing against my arm and side and head and his claws brushing along my flesh. His breath whooshed over my neck and shoulder.
I couldn't keep my eyes open.
He rubbed my hands and wrists, his grip powerful and yet soothing.
"You're like ice," he murmured.
The warmth of his hands around mine was so strong it almost burned, but I couldn't rouse enough to pull away. I just wanted to disappear back into the comfortable haze of sleep, yet questions provoked me despite my exhaustion. They nibbled at my mind, demanding answers.
He'd saved me somehow.
I tried to speak, but my tongue was like a brick in my mouth. A small attempt at asking how resulted in a garbled string of syllables.
"Wasn't going to let you die," he grumbled in response. He pulled my shoes and the oversized socks off. Then he mumbled something about it being too cold and how he hadn't realized it. He rubbed my feet and ankles, scowling.
I winced slightly. Despite his claws, he handled me with care, pressing and massaging to get the blood flowing. It stung and ached, yet also felt incredible. Painfully good.
He continued to mutter and growl, but sweet night, the man knew how to get the blood flowing again. His hands moved along my feet and calves with steady intensity, working away the knots and forcing the blood through. Sometimes his claws lightly scraped my skin, sending shudders of pleasure through me at the stimulation.
Though I cringed, I didn't fight him or kick. Not even when his claws brushed that ticklish line down the center of each of my feet.
It was the first time in ages someone had actually taken care of me.
I swallowed hard, the weariness still pulling me down. This was horrible. I should hate him. Except—honestly—it was really hard to even dislike someone who was this skilled at making me feel good.
It's just—I knew I should hate him.
"You're sleeping in my bed tonight," he said. "With me. It's too cold for you to be in the guest room. There's no heat here." The last words had a bitter note to them. "No heat anywhere." He continued to rub my ankles, his grip strong and firm. "But I'm not letting you die from the cold. Or anything else."
"How am I not dead?" I murmured.
"You just aren't. Rest. We can talk tomorrow." He massaged my feet a few minutes longer and then lay down beside me, pulling up the blankets over us.
"Hmmph," I protested.
"We both know you're cold," he growled. "I'm not going to hurt you. But I am going to keep you warm."
"Fine." I set my jaw.
He pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me.
It was all I could do to keep from gasping.
Oh, salt's bane!
I hated myself now instead of him. Hated how much I enjoyed his arms around me and even the smell of him. He smelled more of salt water than the cologne he had worn before, and his body wrapped completely around me, burying me in blissful heat and comfort.
I was a traitor to my mother and to my own independence, because right now all I wanted was to be held.
He tucked his chin over the top of my head. "How do you feel?" he demanded. "Am I hurting you?" His voice was so much rougher than before, vibrating through me. A faint tremor passed through his arms.
"No," I admitted reluctantly.
"Good." He burrowed a little closer. "I just—I just want you to be all right." He adjusted the blankets and extra garments over us. His hand pressed against my side where the wound had been.
Had been.
It didn't even hurt now.
He pressed his cheek to mine, his voice a low rumble. "You're not in pain." I couldn't tell whether it was a question or a statement. "It's not coming back."
"Should it?" I tensed as his hands pressed along my side to my waist and stomach and along my hip.
Tagger hopped up on us and curled up like a cat, draped over our sides. His whiskers tickled my cheek.
A long pause followed. "No…it shouldn't." His voice softened. "You're safe." He hugged me closer. "You're safe, Mena."
Was I?
A long silence passed.
Maybe I really did feel safe. Even with his claws lightly pressed into my arm and his foot tucked over mine. His body was like granite behind me, but it was soothing as well.
Sleep claimed me before I could torment myself further.
A cold, wet snout poked my cheek. Warm, fishy breath filled my nose.
Wincing, I opened my eyes to find Tagger staring into my eyes. He booped me and then hopped back, his tiny black claws and coarse paw pads making soft claps on the stone floor.
I sat up slowly, my body not nearly as stiff or sore as I expected. I guessed the healing that had kept me from dying yesterday had finished its process and made me better than when I started.
The door was slightly ajar.
I stood. My knees and spine cracked, and when I stretched, it felt wonderful. Tagger hopped near the doorway, urging me to come out.
I complied.
To my surprise, Corvin had prepared something special.
The table had been set with several items: a plate of salted fish, fresh out of a tin of oil so that the filets shone in the pale-blue light, a couple scratched jars of pickled vegetables of some sort, a leaf-wrapped bread that was falling apart, a tall, striped pitcher without a handle, and a cracked stone plate.
Corvin placed a couple battered serving utensils on the table before turning to face me. He wore the same black garb as yesterday, the garments immaculate and crisp, and his boots shiny.
"I made you breakfast," he said, his demeanor somber. Something was bothering him. He held a large mug in his left hand. His gaze was downcast. Three deep lines formed over his brow.
"Thank you." I folded my hands in front of myself as I approached the table.
"It's not much," he said. "I know the pickled vegetables are safe to eat. And the fish. I—I suppose I don't know about the bread. It's salt pumpernickel, and it was wrapped in leaves. But it was cracked. It's…salty."
A small smile tugged at my mouth. "Thank you." I brushed my fingertips over the tabletop. "And thank you for helping me. How did you heal me?"
He scowled, the lines in his brow deepening. "It was nothing. The medicine. That's all. That's what it was."
Something in the way he said that made me even more suspicious. Something had happened. Something he hadn't expected and wouldn't explain.
Even stranger, I wanted to be close to him again. I curled my fingers against my palms, steadying myself. Then I drew in a deep breath. "I thought I was dead."
Raw emotion cut through his eyes, darkening the brightness. "Well, you aren't."
"How, though?"
His throat bobbed. "Just…"
It was significant then.
I stared at him hard, folding my arms. "How did you heal that wound? It felt like that spike on the crab's claw tore me. I…I felt myself going cold. I was bleeding out. And I couldn't move my legs. I think—I think I broke my back. I was paralyzed and bleeding out. Wasn't I?"
He grabbed a jar from the cupboard and made another mug of the strange herbal concoction. It smelled foul but familiar. "Yeah," he murmured, his gaze fixed on me and his frown still present. He drank the cold, murky liquid.
"So what happened?" I approached him, then flinched. Where had I smelled that before?
"I healed you. Accidentally."
"Seems like a really lucky accident."
He grunted, then finished the mug of whatever herbal concoction he was drinking. "I have duties to attend to. Tagger will stay with you. There's dried and salted salmon if you want it. And whatever else you find in here."
I nodded, rubbing my arm as I contemplated what he said.
"Don't try to run this time." He removed his cloak and handed it to me. "To keep you warm. You can explore the rest of the rooms here. Use anything you like. But don't leave. All right? I—I'll see about doing something to make it warmer."
I accepted the cloak but twitched my shoulders noncommittally.
"Promise me," he said, sterner this time. His bright-green eyes darkened. "You can't get to the surface through the cave anyway. Those vents that you're smelling the air from aren't big enough for anyone to get through. All access points are below the sea, and there are more giant crabs in there among other things. Plus it's a maze."
I narrowed my eyes at him.
He responded in kind. "Promise me that you will stay here until I return, and I will go check on your mother. There's a storm right now, but I can make sure she's safe."
"Another storm? How bad is it?" My arms dropped to my sides.
He shrugged. "Bad enough that they can't get any signals out. And the boundary's still got them trapped, so even if another ship does come by, they can't get anywhere. Yet."
"So they're just out there, alone in the cold?"
"No." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "There is shelter on the island. They aren't the first to be trapped there. Just…trust me. I'll make sure your mother is safe. All right?"
"Fine. I promise then."
"Thank you." He sighed, then pulled the cloak up around my shoulders. "I'll be back soon."
I watched him leave. Tagger hopped up on the table beside me. He tilted his head and squeaked.
"I never thanked you for helping me." I held out my hand. When he sniffed my fingers, I scratched him. His fur was every bit as soft and dense as it looked. As I offered him some of the fish, I smiled at him. He snatched it out of my hands and gobbled it up.
I didn't touch the water-logged bread. The dwarves were able to eat that kind of bread even after it fell into the ocean, but I wasn't certain it wouldn't make me sick.
Instead I tried a few pieces of the greasy fish and some of the pickled vegetables: pickled mushrooms, pickled green beans, pickled onions, and pickled beets. Not the most appetizing, but the sharp, vinegary flavor reminded me of hot summer days when my family had been whole and the family table had been loaded with the summer harvest. Even when I was working at the tavern and Erryn had been fighting against giving up her dream of being a singer, it hadn't been so bad. Bowls of fresh greens, deviled eggs, loaves of egg-washed wheat bread, tureens of steaming soup.
Cooking had been one of the few things in those final days that Erryn, Mama, and I could all do together. Sure, we tended to fight somewhere between peeling the carrots, chopping the onions, and kneading the bread. But usually by the time the table was full and the blue taper candles lit, we had settled our differences enough or someone had cracked a joke to clear the air.
My breath caught in my throat. I pressed my hand to my cheeks, pushing back the tears that welled up.
Those days were gone.
Maybe I could convince Corvin to let me go.
He wasn't nearly as dreadful or frightening as he might be, and the way he had held me last night…my heart stuttered. I swallowed hard. As much as I wanted to see Mama again and hug her, a sort of pain struck me at the thought of leaving Corvin.
This place wasn't good.
It was miserable and wretched.
Surely he'd find the idea of a new life and new home at least tempting.
Tagger thrust his snout against my hand again, asking for pets.
"Maybe both you and Corvin could come with me," I murmured as I gave him the belly rub he requested. He squeaked in pure happiness, wriggling on the table for a few minutes until at last he had had enough.
Now to decide what I was going to do with my time down here.
I crossed to the nearest of the locked doors and tested the handle. This time it yielded at once. The door creaked open. I peered inside.
My eyes widened, my hand flying to my mouth. "What!"