Chapter 9
Rami’s POV
My head is the first thing that wakes me, feeling more like someone is banging an anvil against my noggin. Slowly, I sit up with a loud groan and bury my head in my hands. The reprieve is weak, at best, but better than the agony caused by sitting upright.
“What in the fuck?” I mumble. My fingertips dig into my temples and I could moan orgasmically it feels so good.
What happened yesterday?
I ran across Noah and his buddies. We scuffled, and then I ran. And then…
“Oh, shit!” I exclaim as I remember getting lost in the woods and falling.
My eyes fly open, my hands dropping into my lap with a heavy thud, and I take in the unknown home—if you can call it that—around me. The questions fly through my brain, and I have no answers to any of them.
Where am I?
How did I get here?
Who lives here?
Have I been kidnapped?
Any number of horror movies come to mind, and I have to squash those thoughts down instantly so I don’t spiral into a panic.
A shelf across the open space has a variety of crystals, bones, feathers, and bowls; which provide little clue to my host. To my left is a bowl and cup of water, and a series of rolled and square cloths.
Grabbing the cup, I sniff the contents first and decide it’s worth the risk and chug it entirely.
The cool water feels amazing on my parched throat.
It’s then that I catch a glimpse of my hand, which has a pretty good gash on it from landing on that rock.
The dirt I’d imagined being caked into the wound and all over my hand is mostly gone.
Making me wonder if my host at least somewhat cleaned me up.
I dunk my hands into the bowl of water, giving them a rinse before using one of the rolled cloths to cover it.
Might as well do a cursory check of the other injuries.
If I’m gonna have to make it home from wherever the fuck I am, I’ll need to be somewhat bandaged.
Besides, it looks like my host was at least kind enough to leave me with some basic supplies.
Though a Tylenol, Neosporin, or a Band-Aid would have been nice additions to their pile.
I’m not sure whether to be thankful for their attention or annoyed that they seemed to have half-assed it.
Touching my forehead where Noah punched me, I hiss loudly at the knot there.
But my hand pulls away clean. Looks like my host cleaned my face too, which feels both sweet and oddly intimate.
I run my fingers through my hair, pulling away a few leaves and finding the lump on the back of my head.
It’s another impressive goose egg, but my hair isn’t covered in dried blood, so I assume it’s more superficial.
Grandma Julia is going to be livid when I get home. Not only was I out all night, but I’m gonna come home with some serious injuries. I can only imagine the tongue-lashing I’m going to get.
Remembering my ankle, I try to roll the joint and grumble in pain.
I carefully remove my high-tops to see a large purple bruise forming around my ankle bone.
Shit. Let’s hope that’s not broken. I wrap it with the last bit of rolled cloth to provide some stability until I can get home.
In order to get my shoe back on, I have to loosen the laces quite a bit.
I stay on the floor for several more moments, trying to psych myself up enough to stand.
It’s not going to feel good and I’m dreading that, but I should at least thank my host for not leaving me for dead.
And I should really get home. The sooner that happens, the less time Grandma Julia has to grow angrier.
Standing cautiously, and with a lot of whispered curses and grumbles, I make sure my feet are beneath me before I straighten all the way. Thankfully, I only stumble a bit, but catch my balance with my arms out wide.
The dirt floor is compacted through most of the space, providing no obstacles for tripping.
Moss and large rocks block out some of the sections in the open room, but there doesn’t appear to be any rhyme or reason to it.
The walls, if that’s what they actually are, are made of stone, trees, leaves, branches, you name it.
I’ve never seen such rustic quarters. This place looks like it belongs in Middle Earth.
It’s actually fairly interesting to see how creative they were at piecing this place together.
It reminds me of those social media videos of people going off the grid or building their secret hideouts on their property.
Now I have to see what kind of person lives like this.
I limp along with my bum ankle, taking small steps and keeping my arms out so I don’t face-plant.
Of all the wild adventures I’ve gotten myself into, this one really takes the cake.
Emerging from the fairy grotto, an electric tickle runs beneath my skin, and I grip onto the necklace Yasmine gave me through my shirt.
The sensation is similar to when I passed through the wards at her shop, but there’s nothing on the floor.
It’s not until I take a deep breath to ground myself that I notice them carved into tree trunks that make up the doorway.
Even more curious about my host, I look around at my surroundings. The clearing in the woods is surrounded by large trees. No electric lights to be seen. In fact, the only artificial lighting appears to be torches scattered throughout the space.
We must be deep in the woods.
Standing twenty feet from me is possibly the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous man ever.
His long brown hair is braided and has fallen over his shoulder.
He’s dressed rustically in an animal skin wrap shirt, or perhaps just a really thick fabric.
A large, pointed tool is gripped tightly in his hand as he stabs it into the ground before pulling up a small plant, roots and all.
His hands and forearms are covered in soil, proof he’s been tending to the garden for a while.
I glance into the sky, curious how long I’ve been out, but I have no clue how to tell based on the bright presence of the moon and stars.
Returning my focus to the man’s garden, I can’t garner any details on the plants in this poor lighting.
But I think they all look to be the same plant, so he must be pulling weeds.
They appear to be a bush more than a flower, though they’re covered in flowers of various colors.
When the god-like man bends over, he disappears between the plants.
I take a few more steps to the side to keep him in my sights in time to see the man dig something out of the ground, delicately dust it off, and then hand it to a small rodent on his shoulder. The little creature gratefully takes the offering and nibbles away, which makes the man smile.
I squint hard, double checking what I just saw. One—there is for sure a rodent on his shoulder who seems to be his pet. And two—the way his face lights up when he smiles nearly makes my knees buckle. Seriously, it should be illegal how fucking stunning he is.
“H-hello?” I squeak out and roll my eyes at myself.
Seriously, he’s just a person. Who cares if he’s hot? We don’t need to sound like a pre-pubescent teen.
The man stands, and I wipe my mouth quickly to make sure I haven’t drooled all over myself. And I ogle the shit out of him shamelessly. I, at least, have the basic decency to do it —mostly—subtly.
His broad shoulders taper down to narrow hips and long-ass legs that are hugged sinfully in leather. His bared arms are shapely without being humongous, and they’re lined with tattoos. Symbols that look similar to the ones in Yasmine’s cabin and the doorway of his home.
“Th-thank you for saving me?”
Why the fuck did I phrase it as a question?
The smile returns to the man’s face, and he dips his chin. “How is your head?”
I bob my head back and forth and immediately regret it. “Whoa,” I mumble and stumble a little. Gripping my forehead with one hand to fight off the headache that’s still lingering. With my free hand, I use it to balance myself again.
By the time I open my eyes, he’s standing mere inches from me. At this proximity, I can even catch his scent—manly musk, freshly turned earth, and an underlying spiciness I can’t quite place.
“Please, sit,” he says, gesturing to a small tree trunk. He keeps a mostly respectful distance, holding out his hands to direct me.
I nibble on my bottom lip. Butterflies erupt in my belly as I stare into his bizarre, light brown gaze.
I do love a consent king. The rigid set of his brows and lips tells me he’s really hoping I don’t fight him on his request. So, I do as he suggests, feeling marginally better now that I know that I’m not going to fall over.
“What can I get you?” His voice remains calm but attentive.
“Is Tylenol too much to ask for?” His brow furrows in the middle, blinking in confusion. “It’s medicine, good for headaches,” I explain.
His eyes widen, and he rushes into his house. I hear some banging around before he emerges with a cup. “I grow the mint and ginger myself, aids in lots of ailments.”
I reach out for the cup only for him to jerk away. His eyes darken and his lips pinch into thin lines as an emotion I can’t read crosses his face before he schools it back to being more impassive. He quickly sets the cup on a stump next to me and backs up out of range.
Raising a single brow, I eye his stiff form more closely.
His eyes drop to the cup and then back to me.
And when I reach for the cup, a whisper of a smile curls his lips as his shoulders lower, assuring me that I followed his instructions properly.
Taking a tentative sip, the spice of the ginger tickles my throat, and the aroma of the mint fills my nose, both settling comfortably in my stomach.
I finish the cup in two swallows. It’s so good. It reminds me of the tea Abraham makes.
“Thank you. I’m Rami, I’m so sorry to have accidentally barged in on you like this.” I ramble, making me inwardly cringe.