As night ran towards daylight, Melory roused slowly touching the edge of
sleep, rising though nightmares of consuming red fire, a flare so bright it was
blinding, yet painless as she was consumed, its strength a whirlpool that
sucked her downward into unconsciousness, into desertion and despair, into fear
and panic as the beast’s muscles bunched to attack; of running and falling; of
dark thudding hooves and threatening assault; and of creeping venomous
snakes. She woke to warm morning
sunshine, a terrified trembling heartbeat that raced in her chest and to
momentary panic.
A sparrow flitted away at her alarm, as she sat up abruptly, clutching
her hand to her breast, trying to still the terror. Closing her eyes she breathed deeply of the
morning air, the tang of dew on the grass, and the dampness of rough wool. A clear day caught at her attention, a crisp
fresh morning breeze and the sound of a crackling fire and a soft tuneless whistling
as her rescuer sat contentedly poking at the dark, black coals.
Melory struggled with the blanket, finding it had four large buttons
that held its folded base in half to form a sort of sack-like sleeping
bag. Easing them loose she struggled to
her feet in a flurry of stabbing protesting muscles. Fuck, she was really sore! Her calves and thighs ached from the spur of
greater activity the man had subjected her to the previous day. Her back throbbed where she had fallen
against the tree, her shoulder stabbing with pain at every little
movement. She shuffled across the gap
like a cripple, reluctant to leave her covers and knew even if she had
discarded the blanket she would have been no more graceful, though it flapped
loose around her feet. She almost fell
rather than sat in an ungracious heap onto the log at the opposite side of the
fire.
He turned towards her with a faint smile of greeting, and she was sure a
salutation that passed for whatever was the equivalent of “good-morning” in
this strange world. “Hi yourself,” she
mumbled and turned to gaze about the clearing.
They were still by the water course but its banks now ran wide and
clear, its shore a tumble of dark brown rocks, its water like clear crystals as
it rushed past their seclusion. Melory
hadn’t remembered getting here, hadn’t remembered disembarking from the raft,
certain that she hadn’t. If that was the
case he must have carried her. The
thought made her flush hot, the idea disconcertingly appealing. She’d been in his arms, unconscious,
vulnerable.
He must have wrapped her in the blanket and set up the camp, although
now that she looked at it, it had an air of permanence about it. There were bags strung high in a tree, a rack
of lashed wood at its base; a well-used fire-pit, and a small shelter woven of
thick branches and twigs crammed with what looked to be bales of leather and
pelts. Was this home to him? God’s truth!
Was his life as primitive as this?
The whistling stopped at her words and he flicked a clean smile in her
direction. His eyes were beautiful, a
deep brilliant blue – so gorgeously blue that if she hadn’t suspected the
technology was lacking she would think he was wearing tinted contact
lenses. She could totally get lost in
those eyes, their welcome, their challenge…
The man collected a package at his feet, stood and came to her side, his
hand outstretched, pushing a warm, blackened parcel into her hands. “What’s this?”
Cautiously unbinding the twine she revealed a number of baked potatoes
with herbs and bits of white fleshy meat.
The aroma of mint and nuts assaulted her nostrils, Melory’s mouth
watered at the tantalising smell, though she was wary of the source of the
meat. She sighed with greed at the
taste, at the luxury of the foods heat.
“I could so get used to this.” A
man who cooked, who couldn’t get used to that?
Devouring it, Melory copied the man as he ate the softened leaves of the
parcel as well as the white, steaming shapes it enclosed. “Funny little things, these,” she murmured
around a mouthful, any hesitance suddenly forgotten. “I’m glad you can’t tell me what they
are. Grubs probably taste great, when
you’re hungry, but I don’t think I could eat them if I knew that’s what they
were. Mind you, I’m not saying that’s
what these are… I’m just talking.” And
she laughed, more than glad for her rescue.
His head came up at the sound of her laughter, surprise and smug pleasure
etching his expression.
Once the food was gone she manoeuvred herself awkwardly to rest against
the rough bark of a tree, careful not to press too heavily against her right
shoulder, and let the first pangs of guilt prickle at her with the sudden
memory of Lorrie’s plight. She was full
and in one piece, but what of Lorrie?
Was she feed? Was she alive? God!
What might her grim captors have done to her? Would they abuse her, rape, or even kill
her? Any possibility of reunion faded
with the thought of the desperate miles separating them. She was completely lost and reliant on her
solemn savage and with the impossible restrictions of the language barrier
between them Melory had no confidence in her ability to exhort him to help her
find her sister.
The man’s voice startled Melory, and she jumped as his hand caressed her
shoulder, his head tilting towards the rushing river. What did he want from her now? Melory let him grab her arm and help her from
the restriction of the blanket before pulling her towards the water’s edge and
the sharp rumbled rocks of its shore.
His words fell on uncomprehending ears, but his actions were completely
obvious as he began to disrobe. “Ah, I
don’t think so, mate.” Melory’s face
flamed. She wasn’t going skinny dipping
with this unknown savage. He already
wasn’t wearing much, and as he dropped his trousers, Melory’s insides turned
hurriedly over, her lower body clenching and her breath caught. He was like a fucking Adonis! His tan was deep from sun exposure, but his
hair was fair almost everywhere, not that there was a true abundance of
it. Not a walking carpet this one,
though, yes he had a man’s hairy legs, and the trail beneath his belly button
that broadened into the darker smattering of kinky curls around the abundance
of his package. The sight of his
genitals and the semi hard-on he was sporting made Melory feel faint. “Jesus!”
If that’s what it was like at this point, she gaped, what the hell would
it be like when it was fully erect? Her
face flushed beet red as she realised she’d been staring overlong and she
flicked an embarrassed look to his face and almost ran when he advanced on her
completely and utterly naked.
Okay, what was this? Had he
rescued her with the intension of making her some kind of sex slave? The thought made her toes curl and when he
reached for her jacket forcing it down over her arms; she closed her eyes and
began to protest. “No, no, no. Get your hands off me… I’m not going there.”
But she was, just not in the way she thought. The man smiled at her resistance and picking
her up bodily, still fully dressed in her jeans and bodysuit, he entered the
chill swirl of the gurgling torrent and threw her in with a tremendous
splash. The cold shocked the breath out
of her and she shrieked as the deluge raced over her body, seeping through the
clasp of her clothes. Melory fought as
he pushed her head under, soaking her completely, “Fuck you bastard!” and then
to her amazement, casually tossed a sliver of thick cream soap at her. She gasped and caught it greedily. Oh, okay, a bath was it?
The man held a piece of his own and pushing her hair from her face,
Melory watched him stand thigh-deep in the chill river soaping the vast breadth
of his naked chest, the dried mud of the previous day turning the suds
muck-brown. He ignored her as he
splashed the foam from his chest and washed under his arms and down his abs,
smoothing the soap over his pubes, obviously comfortable with his body, with
his own nakedness, cleaning around his genitals with deft unaffected
movements. Melory almost lost her soap
as she gasped and turned quickly away, shamefaced for her blatant appraisal.
This was not good! Melory sank
deeper into the water and tried to erase the sight from her mind. The painful tightness of her nipples was just
from the cold, she told herself.
However, now that she was in the water, soap in hand she desperately
wanted to wash just as freely as he did but she was far too afraid to get out
of her clothes. She settled for a quick
scrub of the soap around her neck and décolletage and under her arms but that
was about as far as she was prepared to go.
She heard him leave the water, the spray loud about his feet as he
exited to the shore and studiously kept her eyes averted for the time it took
him to dry with another of the coarse blankets and slip into a fresh pair of
pants; before she considered leaving the rivers sanctuary, her teeth on the
verge of chattering. Arms over the
evidence of erect nipples Melory tiptoed across the rocky shore, shivering.
Perhaps she could use the blanket he’d given her as a form of modesty
while she peeled out of her clothes and left them to dry. Would that be acceptable, Melory
wondered. She indicated her desire to
enter the bushes just a little way past the structure of his shelter and
quickly, self-consciously she tried to pull the jeans down. Fuck, she should have taken them off
dry. She ended up on her arse tugging
the tight ends over her bare feet, grunting with exertion. The bodysuit came off easily enough over her
head and then leaving on the sturdy satin bra and sensible black cotton
knickers; she wrapped the blanket around her chest and made her way back to the
clearing, the fall of her long hair leaving a wedge of water over the fabric
down her spine.
Settling down beside the man with a satisfied smile, Melory spread the
garments to her other side to dry in the sun.
It was probably going to take quite a while, but his relaxed posture as
he sprawled himself across the grass certainly made her sure he was in no
particular hurry. Melory sighed, and
stretched in the sunshine. Perhaps he
could lend her a shirt? If he had any
that was. She’d seen no evidence of it
so far… And she certainly had no way of asking him. The lack of their communication played warily
on her mind. How could she gauge his
intention, whether his culture was perverted, savage, draconian, if she
couldn’t ask him anything? What was his
morality, his code of ethics? Was she
nothing more than a chattel, a means to gain money? Was he from a society that countenanced
slavery? A condition not unheard of
during humanity’s chequered history.
Could that be the situation here?
How was she to know? How foolish
to relax!
Melory shrugged the stiffness from her shoulders and grimaced again from
the sharp pain as it sizzled across her back.
She probably had a very ugly bruise, but she was unable to see it. When her savage surprised her with a small
container of what looked like ointment, and indicated with incomprehensible
language that she expose her back to him, she was at first reluctant; more so
as he slipped loose the hooks holding her bra.
Yet with careful strokes he calmed her jangling nerves as he
administered the salve across the puffy bruising. Melory sighed with pleasure as the pain
sparked at his touch and then died almost immediately as he ran the medication
down the swollen ridges of her spine.
“Oh, my god! That stuff is
fucking amazing,” she blurted grinning at him in genuine relief and stalled at
the intensity of his stare, at the heart-stopping closeness. All Melory could see was his mouth and she
felt an overwhelming desire to kiss him.
And then his features relaxed, his smile agreeable and he leaned back on
the ground and covered his face with his arm.
An arm she suddenly realised had no bandage, no bandage and no longer
any wounds - “What the fuck!” - Just a slight lightening of the skin where the
deep punctures had been. How could that
be?
Melory grabbed his arm, wrenching it back and forth. “How did you do that?” She demanded but there was little
comprehension on his face and her unease deepened as she let him go. What the hell was going on here? Bites that disappeared within seconds, gross
injuries that were gone by the next day.
What the hell kind of place was this?
What the hell kind of person was he?
She sat in the clearing trying to compose her thoughts, trying to ignore
him and let the sun kiss her with its warmth, her face flushed with reaction,
her breath a little ragged. She let her
gaze sweep the rugged terrain; the gouged dusty rocks that fell and rose like
sea sickness; the scrubby rose bushes that scrambled across the clearing and up
into the branches of a sturdy birch, shimmering silver like evening gems; the
tall willows trailing long slender fingers into the sparkle of the water and
the patches of long grass, the sweet sway of cornflowers and vibrant poppies,
and let the environment calm her.
Melory felt a peace steal over her, a satisfaction with the wilderness
if nothing else. “Huh!” she laughed;
that was now that her savage was there to feed her, of course. “Back home the place I live in is full of
trees and gardens,” she said quietly, whether just to break the smothering
contentment or to inject the vacant sound of humanity, she didn’t know. “I even tried planting a few pansies and
lobelia last summer. I wanted my home to
look nice when my Da and Uncle Joe came for birthday drinks. It worked quite well and to tell you the
honest truth I really enjoyed it, but real gardening is too expensive when you
don’t even own your own home. Perhaps a
veggie garden would be more useful… not as pretty, but certainly more
worthwhile, I suppose.”
Idly, she
fluffed at her hair as it dried keeping the long wavy strands over one shoulder
to avoid contact with the sticky salve drying on her back, “We have a few
wilderness areas of our own back home, you know. But then nothing is quite like this. Somehow it’s not as wild, or as free. Perhaps back home, it’s because you don’t
exactly have to go far before civilisation shows its ugly face again. Here it’s like nothing exists except
wilderness. Not that it’s safe, mind
you, there’s plenty of unwary trampers who have come to sad ends because they
don’t quite know what they’re doing; or worse, they met with an accident. I guess no wilderness is truly safe no matter
what its size.”
Orange
butterflies capered across the flowers, bees buzzed. Melory shivered slightly
in the seductive fingers of a gentle breeze and turned to spare her companion a
glance. With his tanned arm obscuring
his face she could not be sure but his chest rose and fell rhythmically as if
in deep sleep.
“Glad you found
the conversation so stimulating. I’m
certainly enthralling company aren’t I?” she said almost on the verge of poking
his ribs, before she stopped herself, wonder at his self-assurance. Didn’t it cross that savage mind that she
could easily grab that huge knife at his side and stab him?
Stifling a
snort, Melory laughed. Perhaps he
understood better than she knew. She had
killed nothing bigger than a rat and that most ineffectively. She’d instinctively hit it with a hammer as
it had streaked from beneath a stove in the flat they were moving in to,
frightened by her loud banging as she had been putting up a picture. She’d caved its chest in but it hadn’t died,
just lay mouth agape hitching for breath over and over. Ross, her bastard ex, had had to finish it
off as she had been quite incapable.
She sat
considering the man, and breathed a deep gulp of air, his scent on the wind
tempting to her nostrils. Yes, he was
perfectly safe from her, the kind of overly handsome man she normally
avoided. About the only thing she could
do was to sneak away… but to where?
Melory thought almost mesmerised by the slow rise and fall of his chest. How firm he was, the tanned gleaming skin
stretched taut over solid pecs, the contour of his abs falling hard, then
hollow beneath his belly button before his pelvis bulked up calling her eye to
the full bulge of his cock. “Shit!” She wondered at the reluctance to still her
hand from reaching out and caressing him.
There seemed no boundaries here as if she was watching a story for
nothing but her own viewing pleasure. No
restrictions of morality, no mutual understanding of reluctance or personal space;
just two people who knew each other in visual terms only. “So fair,” she murmured in her
contemplation. “Amazing… If I’m dead,
are you an angel? If I’m crazy are you
just a figment of my imagination?” And
in either scenario was it okay to contemplate having sex with him. She was sure it was neither; the scenery was
a bit too realistic for that. “And then
if it’s neither and this is real, what then?”
She dried. Time ticked by. Her back ached from slouching and Melory
straightened with a grimace and stretched, lowered her arms wondering if she
would have time to dress before he awoke.
Disconcerted, she found him staring at her with his usual
intensity. Staring back, she wished she
could see beyond the barrier of his face.
His eyes were shutters to the soul, a blazing deterrent. Her situation was impossible. If only they could talk. Finally she cleared her throat, her smile determined,
serious.
“Look this is
completely intolerable. Who are
you? What’s your name?”
A fair brow rose
at her questioning tone, yet somehow his expression softened, the frown a
phantom across his forehead.
“I’m Mel,
Melory, actually. Melory Neilson.” She sighed.
She was rambling ineffectually.
Just say your first name, stupid, she told herself. “Melory.”
She pointed to her chest and repeated it a number of times.
He remained
thoughtful for a moment, pulling himself into a sitting position so close she
could feel the heat of his skin against her arm without them actually
touching. His face looked young yet the heavy
sheen of finely cut whiskers bespoke years of shaving. He had a straight nose with a small flaw that
buckled slightly towards his left eye as if he had suffered some break, perhaps
in his younger days; and a square ropy jaw that minutely twitched from side to
side as if chewing gum.
Melory
instinctively flushed at her spontaneous thoughts but did not pull away from
his consideration, her heart bet rapidly as he leaned closer, until his breath
brushed her face and the tip of that straight nose touched hers. She felt his hand beneath the strands of her
long hair, cupping her head and drawing her mouth onto his, into a kiss that
was gentle, exploratory, hesitant and urgent all at once. It was over almost as quickly as it had
begun, as if he were pleased yet startled at the same time.
“Melory,” he
said his accent soft, pointing to her and awkwardly she nodded, trying to smile
encouragingly while feeling quite bewildered.
He considered her thoughtfully while she wondered if she would get the
benefit of a reply. Suddenly pushing
himself to his feet, like a pinnacle of rock erupting from the earth, he
offered her a hand. “Well it always
worked in the movies,” she sighed letting him pull her up, one hand holding the
makeshift towel together. She had been sure
he had understood what she was doing.
The man’s strong
fingers brushed a caress over Melory’s captured in his hands. “Eponee stalio Dolan, mer Moira et, isus Kane
el,” he finally stated.
“Is that
you?” Melory blinked, seeking
confirmation disconcerted at his closeness, at the heat that radiated from his
skin. He felt as imminent as before the
kiss and she stuttered almost tongue tied.
“Is… Is that your name? Eponee?”
Suddenly he
smiled gently at her as if coming to a realisation; he raised her knuckles to
his lips and caressed them with his mouth.
“Melory.” He said it “Ma-low-ray” Then laid her hand against
his chest holding it there with his own and said, “Kane.”
She could feel
the rapid beat of Kane’s heart through the great cavern of his chest before her
arm slide up over his shoulder drawn to him by fierce desire and she was caught
in a ferocious embrace, her breasts mashed against his solid ribs, the blanket
now held on only by the expedience of his arms tightly around her. The kiss was uninhibited, her mouth open,
overwhelmed by the taste of him, a potent drug to her senses. She felt like she was drowning. There was nothing gentle or tender only
desire matched with uncertainty… where was it going from here? And then their lips parted, both panting,
bruised and reluctantly he pulled away.
She grabbed the slipping cover and was unsure whether to feel relieved,
embarrassed or hurt. The situation was
still as tenuous as it had ever been.
“Kane?”
He smiled to
hear his name, his finger caressing the side of her face, the pout of her plump
lips. Then quickly he bent and retrieved
her clothes and handed them to her.
Melory took them almost reluctantly and watched him turn from her;
leaving her in some nominal privacy as he sought refuge in the ranks of tall
oak that ringed the openness of their clearing while she felt she had in
reality abandoned all dignity.
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