Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 133975 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133975 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
“That’s fucked up, Wildfire. And the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Four
The warmth from the fire, coupled with Lyric’s body, lulled Keys into a long sleep. He needed it, but he had too much to do. It was morning when he woke, and the storm had passed. Rain was intermittent and light. She had shifted position once in the night, sliding to the side of him, keeping weight off her injured arm and leg. He had woken for a moment, just long enough to be aware. He clamped his arm around her waist and pulled her into his heat before he fell back asleep.
Keys didn’t question the fact that he didn’t sleep with anyone. That wasn’t something he ever wanted. He had vowed never to trust anyone to be in the same room with him when he went to sleep unless it was one of his Torpedo Ink brethren. Even then, it had only happened a couple of times, and he hadn’t slept much.
He wanted Lyric as close as he could get her. He also wanted her to stay right there against him, and he made certain she couldn’t move without his knowledge by wrapping her up in his arms. Then he slept the sleep of the dead, another thing that just didn’t happen. He didn’t look too closely at the why or how he could be so different with Lyric than with anyone else. For right now, while he was keeping her safe, he wasn’t going to question anything.
After taking her outside to find a spot where she could relieve herself, he spent time on the head wound, cleaning it with hot water and applying antibiotics. He didn’t want to wash her hair, although it needed it. He put it in two braids to try to keep it off the wound in her head. Using butterfly stitches, he closed the gap as best he could. He wasn’t going to try to glue it. He didn’t have anything sterile enough.
Her face was a mess, but he didn’t comment on that. He didn’t have ice, but he had her hold a cold, wet rag against her eyes and cheek while he took a look at her arm. That was going to heal nicely. He knew it was sore, but unless the injury got infected, it was going to be fine. The leg worried him a little. The wound was deeper than he liked and still weeping.
“Don’t like this,” he informed her.
“I walked on it, remember? It didn’t like it, and it’s just making that known,” she said.
“Painful?” It was red and swollen around the edges.
“Nothing I can’t handle, Keys,” she assured him, but her gaze avoided his.
“I don’t like it when you lie to me, Wildfire.” Very carefully he slipped on the one flannel shirt that was dry enough to keep her warm, mindful of the wound on her arm.
“It wasn’t a lie. I didn’t say it wasn’t painful, only that I can handle it. Would you prefer me getting hysterical like I did in the coffin?”
“Babe. Really? That was different, and you had every reason to have a panic attack.”
“You didn’t. Not only were you completely calm, but you already had figured out a plan to get us out of the mess we were in. I wasn’t exactly a big help with my panic attack.”
“Seriously, Lyric? You snapped out of it fast. No one wants to wake up in a coffin with their arms pinned under them and a heavy body lying on top of them.”
He had the clothes, shoes and a new stack of firewood drying out. He handed her the water flask. “Drink. You need to stay hydrated.”
“Who’s Czar? You mentioned him several times so casually, I could tell he’s a big part of your life.”
He lifted her foot, drawing it onto his lap so he could massage her aching feet. He knew they hurt because she winced when she had first put them on the floor of their meager space.
“I have a question I’d like to ask you before I answer. That all right?”
“Of course. And you don’t have to share anything with me you don’t want to.”
He knew she’d never push him for any information. That would be important once he took her home with him to Caspar. He didn’t share that. “I told you my given name one night at the diner. Everyone thought my surname was Keys, including you. I wanted you to know the real me, and I gave you that and told you Keys meant something to me. You’ve always called me by that name, and as far as I know, you’ve never shared with anyone that my name is Lazar Alexeev. You never ever, even when we were alone, called me by my given name. Why?”
“When you told me who you were, there was reluctance in your voice. You didn’t like the name. You also didn’t want it known to the general public. I figured there must be a reason for that, so it was no one’s business.”