Chapter 15 Elanie #2
He waved a hand through the air. “Leave the fishing to me. I just need your bionic superstrength to chisel out a hole in the ice.” Turning toward the mountains, he frowned.
“But first, we need wood. You might survive another cold night, but without fire, I’m not sure I will.
” He gazed down at his boxers. Which meant that I did too. “I should probably get dressed.”
“How do you expect to get wood?” I asked while he stepped past me back into the cave.
He reached down for his pants, hissing while he pulled them on. “Saints alive. These are freezing.”
“Sem, we don’t have an axe.”
Sliding his arms into his shirt, he covered up his skin one button at a time. “After that storm, I bet I’ll be able to find plenty of sticks on the ground.”
“We also don’t have a lighter or matches or flint.”
His eyes twinkled. “You’ve never made a friction fire before?”
“No.” If I had access to the Vnet, I’d do a search. But I couldn’t even connect to the weak SBN signal this far back in the cave. “I don’t even know what that is.”
A corner of his mouth hitched. “A friction fire is when you take combustible materials and grind them together hard and fast enough that you get a spark.”
“Oh?” I squeezed the back of my neck, halting the tiny shiver working its way up my spine at the thought of Sem at the same time as grinding and combustion. “That sounds…hard.”
His right brow ticked. “It certainly can be.”
“You’ve done it before, though? Made things combust by”—I cleared my throat—“grinding them together?”
“I have.” His face seemed rendered in ultra-high definition, the silver stubble dotting his jaw, that navy freckle under his eye, his eyelashes casting shadows along his cheekbones when he said, “But not for years.”
I wasn’t sure, because subtext wasn’t my strong suit. But I didn’t think we were talking about fire anymore.
But then he took a breath, which was more like a sigh, and said, “Besides, we need to eat. And the MREs taste a lot better when they’re hot…” He trailed off, noticing my feet. “Stars above, Elanie. Your toes. Are you in pain?”
My toes were swollen, even bluer than his. But they didn’t hurt—probably because I’d raised my pain thresholds so high an oorthorse would have to stomp on them before I’d feel much of anything. “They’re fine.”
“They are not fine.” He pointed to a small ledge in the rock wall. “Sit. Let me take a look.”
I did as he asked, watching him as he knelt in front of me. He was very fluid for a non-bionic. Graceful, like the ocean.
“I should have given you my shoes,” he muttered while he pulled my feet into his lap.
“You’d have frostbite if you had.”
His hands brushed over the tops of my feet, gently moving each of my toes back and forth, checking the skin between them.
“No frostbite for you,” he said. “But you do have some severe swelling, several abrasions, and a few blisters. And I think you might lose a toenail.” Holding my right big toe carefully, showing me the bruise at the base of my nail, he said, “This one here.”
“They grow back,” I said. “I heal quickly.”
Surrounding my feet with his hands, which I did feel quite thoroughly, a warm and firm press, he shook his head. “Your stoic bionic tendencies to minimize your own discomfort aside, I think you should stay off your feet today.”
I huffed. “I don’t minimize my own discomfort. It barely hurts at all.”
His head tilted. “That wouldn’t be because you’ve modified your pain thresholds, would it?”
“No,” I lied, pulling my feet out of his steady grip.
“Just for one day.” He held up a single blue finger. “Please. Do it for me.”
“This is ridiculous.” I removed the mods on my pain thresholds, and while I stifled a groan at the immediate throbbing in my toes, I said, “I’m perfectly fine.”
Sliding his hands up from my ankles to cup my calves, he said, “I know you are, Elanie. I’m just trying to keep you that way.”
Our eyes locked, and maybe his were made of cobalt, their magnetic fields aligning, making it impossible for me to look away.
But then he blinked, stood, brushed his hands off on his pants, and walked toward the entrance.
“Fine,” I agreed reluctantly. “Just don’t die out there. You’re very fragile.”
He chuckled, then winced when he gazed out into the snowy emptiness surrounding us. “You never answered my question about that, by the way.”
“What question?”
Looking at me over his shoulder, he asked, “If I died, would you miss me?”
I opened my mouth. Which must have been some sort of instinctual response, a shock reflex. Because I had no idea what to say.
“Don’t answer that.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Not yet. Rest up. I won’t be gone long.”
Ignoring the unidentifiable fluttering sensation beneath my sternum, I said, “You can’t be gone long, Portisan.”
“Elanie.” His eyes flew wide while his hand landed dramatically on his chest. “Did you just make a joke?”
“No.”
“Quick retort, sarcastic tone, friendly jab at my cold-blooded people. I’m no expert, but I think you did.”
“You’re wrong,” I insisted. “Bionics don’t joke.”
“And Portisans don’t tolerate severe weather.” He snatched our webbing satchel from the ground and slung it over his shoulder. “Yet here we are. A funny bionic and a hearty Portisan.”
“We’ll see how hearty you are when I’m having to heat you back up again.”
His lips curled at the corners. “Hate to break it to you, but that’s not much of a deterrent.”
I used all my available resources to fight the urge to smile back at him.