Page 24

A Souvenir

Rumi

Like hell was he going to touch her leg.

Rumi stared at the large, calloused hand he offered her and her lips tightened before she gave him a look she hoped spoke for itself.

His pale green eyes flashed in annoyance as his hand remained in place.

“No.”

She said, flatly.

He took a deep breath, frustration tinging his tone.

“You need medical attention.

Look at you, practically passing out.

I’m the best you got, Twiggy.”

He took a menacing step toward her and she rolled forward onto her feet, wincing, ready to run.

Rumi shook her head and instantly regretted it as the world spun.

She stepped backward until her shoulders met the rough stone.

Already her leg was healing, though it still ached fiercely.

“Perhaps you need your ears checked.

I said no.”

His hands flexed and the muscle in his jaw feathered.

He took another step toward her, the green-eyed devil’s shadow stretching long, his body towering over her.

“I’ve about had enough of your stubbornness, Twiggy.

Or perhaps I should call you ‘Kitty’ like Fyn? Would that earn your cooperation? I will check that leg whether you want me to or not.

The desert is deadly enough without you getting an infection.”

Before he spoke again, he placed his hands on either side of her head and leaned over so he looked in her eyes.

Gods, he was so tall.

“I’ll ask you one more time, but only because I’m polite.

Rest assured, you have no choice here.”

For two long heartbeats, a small rush of fear filled her veins and sent her heart pattering in her chest.

Breath stalled in her lungs and her tongue refused to work while he stared down at her, his own chest heaving.

An awareness settled into her bones.

Panic.

She felt the blood drain from her face, her anger replaced with a cold sweat.

Her feet were lead and her vision tunneled.

Do not hurt me, do not hurt me, do not hurt me.

All other thoughts were drowned by that singular plea.

Defiantly, however, her mouth opened to tell him exactly what she thought of him, but the edges of her vision crept closer, closing in until his leafy green eyes were all she could see.

Only a gasp escaped her lips.

He had hit her once before.

Could he be as cruel as Sullivan? Her knees buckled at the thought before everything went black.

Sunlight dappled the meadows and grass danced with the wind as it toyed with the long frayed ends.

Light refracted off crystalline butterfly wings that shimmered as they fluttered about.

Even the ground seemed to hum.

She was seeping into the earth, the flowers bending to kiss her face with velvet petals.

The ground groaned, a rumbling sound that shivered into her bones again.

The sky swirled in a dizzying array above her, pastel blue and blinding white, reaching toward the ground with spiderweb tendrils. Another petal brushed her cheek. Her arm. The rumble continued, loud against her ear, until she understood the words.

“Hey, hey,”

the deep voice said, and his snapping fingers rang in her ears.

“Wake up, Twiggy.

Or Kitty.

Whatever your damn name is. Hey.”

His hand was rubbing her arm awkwardly.

“Wake up.”

“I am awake,”

she said…or at least she meant to say it, but all that came out of her lips was an embarrassingly weak groan.

“That’s it, come on.

Want some more cactus juice?”

He helped ease her to a sitting position, both hands keeping her shoulders upright.

She could not be sure, but she thought there may have been a flash of genuine concern on his face.

“Do not touch me,”

she rasped, and pulled away from his hands.

Whatever friendly expression she had imagined was gone.

She eased her hand underneath the bedroll and gripped Sweet Pea’s handle.

If he touched her again without permission, he would be sorry.

He held his hands up and pushed back to sit on his heels.

“I took a moment while you were out to check your leg.

Good news is, while I don’t know how you do it, you’re healing mighty fast.

Bad news is the bullet is now basically sealed within your skin and I’m gonna need to cut it out.”

“Excuse you?”

Rumi blinked.

“You are not going to cut into my leg.”

His hand clamped over her ankle in a vice and she nearly screamed—and likely would have died of embarrassment.

Instead, she drew Sweet Pea from underneath her bedroll and drove the small blade toward his arm.

She knew she needed him alive, but a lesson in respect seemed to be necessary.

Again his swiftness surprised her as he caught her wrist, the fabric of her sleeve rough against her skin.

He held her fast by the leg and now by the arm.

“I got you figured, Twiggy. Maybe next time don’t be so obvious when you reach for your knife.”

She did not reply, and they remained locked in that position for a long moment, her teeth gritted as she maintained the pressure on the blade, his face a mask of determination as the knife remained exactly where it was.

His closeness, the smell of his sweat, it was distracting her, weakening her.

That much had to be true.

“Listen.

We don’t know what sort of trash rounds Sullivan and his goons use.

You can’t just walk around with a lump like this in your leg.”

Every muscle in her body had clenched under his hold.

“What makes you the expert on the subject?”

Rumi demanded, tugging at his grip in a more feral fashion than she intended.

She would not be restrained by another man.

His lips tightened and his brow lowered over his eyes, shadowing them.

Something akin to grief was there and gone in a flash.

“My brother.”

She could not ignore the emotion in his voice, though whether it was anger or sadness, she could not tell.

He cleared his throat, and it was gone.

“He cared for animals for his job, and I picked up a few things.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and tipped his head, his voice hard once more.

“Now, prisoner or not, criminal or not, I don’t think you deserve to lose a leg.

Wouldn’t you agree?”

Rumi chewed on her cheek as she slowly eased up on the pressure she was exerting on her knife.

Likewise, the colonel slowly released her—including her leg—and sat back on his heels again, his eyes flicking to her knife once, then to her face.

She watched him for a moment, but it seemed he understood her message.

Good.

She looked down at her leg, noting the bump jutting from the smooth curve of her skin.

He was right, of course. It would have to be removed.

“I will do it,”

she suggested.

“Ha, very funny.”

He paused for a moment, examining her expression.

“You’re serious.

You’re just going to dig it out yourself?”

“As difficult as it is to admit, you are right.

It must be removed.

Why would I not?”

The colonel rolled his eyes.

“Well, pain, for starters.”

She glared at him instead of replying and gripped Sweet Pea tightly.

He tensed when she adjusted her grip, watching her move with an intensity that made her heart race once again.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

He asked warily.

“I have hunted and skinned many beasts in my time.

I know of the muscles and where to avoid large bleeds.”

“Listen, Tree Girl, you’ve lost a lot of blood, and not a day ago you were toppling over from dehydration.

Let me help you so you don’t cause any lasting damage.

I swear on my mama I won’t touch nothing that doesn’t need touchin’.”

Rumi regarded him coolly, listening for the lie.

The trick.

Finding only his solemn resolve, she shuddered internally.

Could she trust him? “Very well.

But let me try first.”

She curled her legs, poised over her injured calf.

Blood still caked the pants and creamy bits of skin visible beneath the large hole in the fabric.

She felt for the bump stuck beneath her skin.

Satisfied, she nodded.

Her hands shook as she brought the knife to her skin, the point dimpling the flesh.

She took two breaths and slowly pushed the blade in deeper, wincing as her body wailed warning bells in her mind. Her eyes closed and her breath became shallow puffs. She tried, but she could not make herself do it.

A warm, rough hand closed around hers on the knife, and the other moved from her ankle and grabbed her leg in a firm grip, his thumb finding the hollow just below her knee.

“A deep breath now,”

he whispered.

She did as he said and on her exhale, he shot the blade further and a scream tore from her throat.

His hand tightened around hers on the handle of the knife, and he pulled it out, holding it between them, not permitting her to wield it or lash out in pain.

He held her gaze for a moment before his eyes dropped to the reopened wound.

“Now, the hard part,”

he said, keeping both her hands secured inside one of his, and setting the blade beside him just out of her reach with the other.

His hand moved down from her knee and found the little bullet wedged in her calf and began pinching it up her leg toward the opening the blade had created.

She closed her eyes against the waves of fire that sped through her body and churned her stomach and pressed her forehead to their hands held between them.

Each new pinch brought a fresh wave of torment that had her hissing through her teeth.

The calluses on his knuckles were rough against her forehead, a grounding sensation amid the pain.

“There, see?”

he said, releasing her leg and holding a small, bloody ball between his thumb and forefinger.

“A souvenir for you, eh?”

He turned her palm upward and dropped the metal ball into her hand before easing back from her.

As both their eyes turned to the blade he pointed a stern finger at her and ordered, “Don’t try to stab me again.”

“I will promise no such thing.”

He rolled his eyes, then leaned over his pack.

“Now, to stitch it,” he said.

Rumi huffed, snagged the blade, and scooted away as hot flames of pain licked at her leg, her “souvenir”

tight in her fist.

Blood trickled down her calf, slowing before the drops could fall to the ground.

She kicked him with her good leg on her way to her little cave bed, a small thrill of satisfaction tilting her lips when he groaned.

Good.

He deserved it.

“I will heal just fine without more of your meddling.”

He huffed as he stood up and dusted off his pants.

“Suit yourself.

I’ll be sleepin’ by the front.

Drink your cactus juice and get some rest.

Sun’ll be up in just a bit and you’ll need sleep after the night you just had.

Now, little viper, I’m a light sleeper, so don’t try nothin’.

I don’t wake pretty.”

With that, he settled down against the mouth of the cave and set his hat over his eyes.

Rumi observed him warily for a long while, but he gave no indication of moving or doing anything other than he said he would—sleeping.

He wore straps over his shoulders, similar to the ones Melba had loaned her, but they were not holding up his pants.

He had a belt for that.

No, these seemed to cinch around his middle and served as a holster for the piercer he wielded and for his knives.

After experiencing the pain of a wound from a piercer, Rumi was in absolutely no rush to earn a second one.

It was unexpectedly cold once the sun set here, and her body was exhausted, shivering from the chill.

She settled onto the little roll of blankets and bedding she had pilfered from the house and tucked Sweet Pea under the thin pillow she had made herself before resting her head.

Were the colonel to forget her lesson in manners, she would re-educate him.

Her gaze found the starry sky through the cave entrance and for the second time that evening, her lungs stopped working briefly.

Never in her life had she seen such a cloudless, clear sky with the stars so easily visible.

They sparkled and glittered as if they shone for Behiba herself, hoping the great goddess would pick them and carry their light into the sea.