Chapter 14 Dimitri
DIMITRI
Idrive fast. Too fast.
Blood drips into my right eye. I blink it away, wiping at my face with the back of my hand. The steering wheel is slick under my grip, more blood.
Theirs or mine? Hard to tell anymore.
Every breath burns. My ribs ache and my left shoulder throbs. At least I'm alive.
The sun will be rising soon, and my body feels like it's been pushed through a meat grinder.
Athena whimpers beside me, her breathing irregular. She hasn't spoken since we fled. Just silent tears carving paths through the blood spatter across her cheeks.
"Are you hurt?" I ask, breaking the silence.
She doesn't respond. Just stares ahead, eyes wide and glassy.
"Athena." I glance at her. "Athena, are you ok?"
She jerks, like my voice finally reached her. "What?"
"The blood." I gesture vaguely at her. "Is any of it yours?"
She looks down at herself as if seeing the blood for the first time. Her hands rise, trembling, fingers spreading wide before her face.
"No," she shakes her head. "It's not my blood."
"Good."
There's a long pause.
"What about you?" she asks suddenly, looking directly at me. "You're bleeding everywhere."
I laugh. "Some of the blood is mine."
Her eyes widen. "How bad? Are you..." She hesitates. "Are you going to die?"
I let out a slow breath. "I hope not."
Silence falls between us.
The gas gauge catches my eye, needle hovering just above E. Shit.
We won't make it to another station.
The road begins to wind, climbing slightly as we approach the mountains. The moon is bright enough to illuminate the landscape. Dry vegetation and up ahead, ancient ruins, columns rising from the earth.
Faint ropes block off access to what's left of the area. It looks like an old tourist site that's been abandoned.
Suddenly, the car sputters and the engine coughs, struggling for the last drops of fuel as I guide us toward the ruins.
"What's happening?" Athena asks, panic lacing her voice.
"We're out of gas," I say as the car dies completely.
I coast to a stop on a small dirt track about fifty yards from the ruins. Far enough that no one driving by would notice the vehicle. Close enough that I can walk there without bleeding out.
I reach behind the seat, grab my bag, the first aid kit, and a bottle of water. "Come on. We can't stay here."
She hesitates, then opens her door.
I get out, clenching my teeth to hide the pain as the movement sends fire through my muscles. I start walking and Athena joins me. In the moonlight, she looks like a ghost. Her dark hair wild around her blood-streaked face, my borrowed clothes hanging off her frame.
"There," I point to the ruins. "We'll hide there until morning."
She doesn't argue. Just follows as I lead us toward the columns.
A flimsy rope barrier surrounds the ruins, a pathetic attempt to keep tourists from climbing all over history. I step over it without a second thought.
"We can't go in there," Athena says, stopping at the barrier. "It's protected. Archaeological site."
I look back at her. "We just killed how many men, and you're worried about trespassing?"
She looks at me for a moment and then steps over the rope.
We walk through fallen columns and broken stone, careful of our footing in the dark. Every inch of me aches. I'm banged up worse than I thought.
The area seems to be a small temple, half-collapsed but still impressive even after thousands of years.
Near the back, partially hidden by vegetation, stands a small structure with three walls intact and part of a roof. Once a storage room or maybe a priest's quarters. Now, it'll be our shelter for the night.
"What is this place?" Athena asks.
"Plato lived here," I say as I duck through the low entrance.
Athena makes a small sound, almost a laugh. "Pretty sure he didn't."
I turn and give her a look.
"Wait. You're joking, right?" she asks, hands on her hips.
I shrug. "Maybe he came here once."
Truth is, half these places are nameless to me. Just old stones where people thought their gods would protect them.
"Shit," I hiss, knees buckling.
Athena's there, fast. She grabs my arm, steadying me.
"You're hurt bad," she says.
"I've had worse," I grunt as I sit down, pressing my back against the stone wall.
She kneels beside me, opening the first aid kit.
I try to shove her hand away out of instinct.
She grabs my wrist.
"Please, Dimitri," she says. "You saved me. Let me at least patch you up. Then we're even."
Her hand's shaking. But her grip's steady.
I meet her eyes.
This is the first genuine moment I've felt with her. No lies. No games. Just her. Just me.
Two people in the dark, trying to survive.
I let out a slow breath.
"We'll see about even," I say.
But I don't argue. I let her help me.
Because for some fucked-up reason, I want her hands on me.