The next few weeks I do little more than eat, sleep and discover everything I can’t do. I can’t mount a horse. Can’t climb. Can’t run. Can’t walk for any length of time. Can’t hunt—which isn’t new, but still.
Eli is here. Always. Things are easier between us. He smiles more, and eventually lets me eat as much as I want. My appetite is insatiable; I could eat an entire cow. My strength returns, albeit slowly, and over the next weeks, I watch the substance return to my arms, legs, and face.
I finish eating dinner and look over at Eli. He sits, head propped up on a hand, but his eyelids bob like a buoy at sea. His other hand holds a stick with some half-eaten food that slowly dips into the flames as his eyes lock shut and his body relaxes.
Has he kept watch every night since he saved me from Jol? How many nights is that? Guilt twinges with the realization of how little attention I paid him this last month as I recovered. He never said anything either. Probably never would.
I touch his shoulder and he springs up, eyes wide, a knife appearing in his hand. But when he sees me, he blinks, confused.
“Is something wrong?” he asks.
“Yes.”
I sit beside him and reach over to touch both his shoulders, gently pulling him toward me and directing his head into my lap. I take the stick holding the charred remains of dinner from his hand and set it aside.
“You need to sleep. I’ll keep watch for a while; I’ll be right here so you don’t need to worry.”
It’s a bold move, but no one can very well snatch me away with him asleep in my lap. He freezes, and I wait to see if he pulls away. Instead, he lies there, silent and still, as if I cast a spell on him. With his face turned away, I imagine his brain sparking into overdrive, so I take it a step further and hum quietly, sliding my fingers through the soft waves of his hair. Only then do his eyes drift shut. After some time, his body relaxes and his breathing deepens.
The man saved my life three times already. In this world where people take what they want, he takes nothing. Nothing from me, anyways. But there is this fear in him, a fear of something in his past. I feel it like a crevasse, deep and wide, cutting between us. And as much as I want to press him to tell me, to force him across that bridge, I cannot. I must wait until he comes willingly.
Fire fades and embers dim until both light and heat are snatched away by the passing of time leaving only the moon and stars as company.
Sometimes, when I close my eyes I'm back in that place with Jol. Trapped behind plexiglass and stone and dull, fluorescent lights. Back then, I dreamed of freedom. Now, freedom isn't a dream, it's real. Instead of cold, stone walls, I have vast, open skies. And instead of a madman looming over me, I have this infinitely dangerous man, asleep in my lap, completely at my mercy. I brush aside a lock of his bangs.
Eli shifts in his sleep and I glimpse a look of innocence, a softness, in his features that I never noticed before. Without the mask, his face always holds a special kind of severity. A hardness molded through survival and trauma, I suspect. His intelligent eyes always analyze the world as if he might unravel its mysteries at any moment. But not when he looks at me. For me, his severity melts, making way for warmth. It’s enough to forget how dangerous the man sleeping in my lap truly is, and looking at him now you would never guess.
Hours pass and my humming turns to singing. It is the first time I sang since Jol. It feels strange. Like reaching into a pit of refuse to grasp a priceless gem. Uncomfortable and distasteful at first but give it enough time and the shine and beauty of this thing I have loved my whole life starts to come through.
The sky lights the horizon, hinting at sunrise on the way, and birds add their chorus to my own. As I sing, I glance down at Eli and my voice cuts off abruptly.
He lies face upward, watching me with those startling eyes. One blue and the other copper. They shine like stars with a light that’s all their own.
“You’re awake.”
When did he wake up? How can a man be stealthy even when he sleeps? And in my own lap, no less. Utterly ridiculous.
“Thank you,” he says, unabashed and unblinking.
Maybe it’s because of our closeness or from that intense gaze of his, but I feel my cheeks flush.
“I should be the one saying that.”
His gaze wavers and then falls. He looks away, dark brows scrunching as his shoulder’s tense.
“What is it?”
He hesitates. “It was too close. I was almost too…”
He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t have to. He was almost too late. I almost died. I know it. He does too, but he blames himself. The realization hurts my heart.
When I asked Eli how he found me, he said he just kept looking. Scoured every inch of the forest. He found Jols' treehouse but it wasn't until over a month later that he discovered the cavern and the tunnel.
I reach down and touch his cheek, turning him to look at me. “Whatever happens to me, it isn’t your fault. Life is unpredictable, death even more so. Don’t be angry about things beyond your control. You just have to accept them as they are, let go, and learn to move forward.”
I repeat the words Uncle told me a lifetime ago with a smile. Uncle was always there for me—for Ivan too. After we lost our parents, he kept my head above the waters. Now, it's my turn to do the same for Ivan, because this world is nothing but darkness and I won’t leave him to drown.
A mischievous smile tugs at the corner of Eli’s lip. “I didn’t know you were so wise.”
I shrug. “Guess you don’t know me that well, yet.”
Yet.
He grins, catching my meaning.
“I found something down by the creek. Want to see?” he asks.
The question catches me off guard. So out of character. When did he last invite me somewhere? Has he ever? My heart skips at the thought. What could it be?
“I would, but I can’t feel anything below my waist,” I say and his smile vanishes. Confusion takes its place, making me chuckle. “My legs went to sleep a couple of hours ago.”
He jumps up as if my lap burst into flames, concern coloring his face. “You could have woken me up.”
“I know, but I wanted you to sleep. I don’t mind.”
His lips press together, brows burying downward as a short sigh escapes through his nose. I can tell he minds.
I laugh and throw an arm his way. “Help me up?”
As I make it to my feet, my legs turn to rubber and wobble, threatening to give out. I start to collapse, but Eli catches me. Again, I find myself in his arms.
Embarrassment forces my gaze down, and I let out a nervous chuckle. “Sorry, I should have waited before trying to stand.”
“I don’t mind.”
With those three little words, my face flushes lightning hot. This man. Every place our skin touches burns with fire. I feel his closeness. The rise and fall of his chest and his breath across my shoulder blade. I swallow, waiting for the thousands of needle pricks down my legs to dissipate. When the feeling returns I pull away and test my legs with careful steps.
He says nothing and leads the way through the woods. We follow a nearby stream until it reaches a pool and he cuts off into the forest. When we reach a steep cliffside he disappears around a boulder. I follow suit, but turning the corner, I collide into Eli’s back and it feels like ramming a concrete wall. He turns on his heel to face me.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” he says quietly, blocking something just out of sight with his body.
I peer around his chest and catch red streaks across the pine-laden earth. Blood? Lots of blood. Something died here. Piles of fur, flesh, and bone are strewn all about. Not just something. Many somethings.
The giant body of a wolf lies unmoving a little ways away. Flies surround it like vultures, the buzzing of their wings filling the area in a gruesome hive of death. Streaks of blood lead inside a small cave where the sight worsens.
At least five small pups are torn to shreds and the body of another adult, the mother, lies shoved up against the side of the den with its throat ripped out. Blood black as ink stains the soft dirt earth and paints the scattered young bodies. The deaths look to be a few days old.
Eli crouches near the earth and brushes the pine away with his fingers. “A bear. Perhaps a mother with cubs in the area.”
They always said mother bears are overly protective of their cubs. Nothing stands a chance against such an enormous beast, not even a pair of wolves desperately trying to protect their own.
Nature is a cruel thing. Despite its beauty, it holds such pain. Such suffering. But it seems, such is life. Perhaps the two are inseparable.
Uncle was right. He always is. I cross the clearing toward the den and Eli follows.
A soft whine catches my attention from inside the den. There, buried between the cold, stiff paws of the dead mother wolf, a small furry body moves. I never noticed it before, the fur is matted in dried blood, blending in.
A pup survived?
I crouch and offer my hand, clicking my tongue to get its attention. A tiny, wet nose turns my way followed by two shiny, discolored eyes.
“Hey, little guy,” I coo, glancing at Eli as he joins me. “Look at his eyes.”
The pup stares with wide, unblinking orbs, one blue and the other a light copper color. What are the chances? Surely this genetic anomaly is a rare thing and yet here I sit between two of them.
Eli reaches inside his pocket to reveal a handful of soft venison jerky. The pup’s ears perk up as its nose sniffs the air. He places the venison in the palm of my hand and like a magnet, the pup slinks out from hiding, toward me.
The small creature doesn’t even chew, just swallows the venison whole, choking some here and there. Its black fur is covered in blood, but I find no injuries. Eli heaps on more jerky to the pile, keeping the pup distracted as I poke and prod. He brought a lot of venison, enough for a whole litter.
“It’s a boy,” I note aloud. “Maybe a month or two old.”
Uncle found an abandoned wolf cub on the edge of the farm property once. The wildlife rescue said it was six weeks old. This one looks about the same age.
Eli stares, but his eyes aren’t on the pup. I bite my lip. Without a family, this pup is as good as dead and Eli knows it. He’s waiting for my inevitable decision.
“Little Wolf,” I say.
Eli’s brows jump up in a questioning look.
“His name.” I pet the matted fur on the top of the pup’s head. “Little Wolf. It was one of my nicknames for Ivan.”
Eli reaches over to pet Little Wolf, but stops when the move elicits a low growl from the tiny creature.
I resist a laugh and scratch the pup’s chin. “Don’t worry, Little Wolf. I know he seems scary, but he’s really a big softy.”
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
I catch Eli’s eyes with a smile but something there makes me stop. I am used to his gaze on me. Curious. Contemplative. Serious. Joking at times. But this look is different; it sprouts a flutter in my stomach.
“He likes you,” Eli says.
I tear my gaze away, cheeks burning as I try desperately to set my head back on straight. He’s talking about the wolf, Natasha.
“It would seem so. Strange, since he’s wild.”
Eli hums softly. “You’re saving him. Even a wild thing like him can see that.”
I bite the side of my cheek and beg my heart to slow. I give Little Wolf a closer look. “In that case, I expect the favor to be returned. Do you hear that, Little Wolf? I’ve got your back today so you get mine tomorrow.”
“He’s got your back.”
His words are soft, barely above a whisper, but they grab my heart and hold it tight. I don’t dare look up. I know where his gaze will be and for some reason, the thought leaves me frozen even as it sends my heart into spasms like a fish caught on the end of a line.
~~~
I pick up a stick and wave it around and Little Wolf’s ears perk forward as he makes a beeline for me, abandoning the bone Eli gave him this morning during breakfast, now picked clean. He’s grown so much these last few weeks.
“Do you want the stick?”
Little Wolf lets out a soft whine at my teasing, eyes locked onto the prize as he stumbles after it this way and that. I laugh and throw it. Little Wolf bolts in a small reddish-brown streak.
Eli stands and steps to his horse, taking his dual swords in hand. I shift in my seat on the log as discreetly as possible to get a better view of the show about to go down. Ever since the morning we decided to keep Little Wolf, Eli began doing this.
His body moves like a dancer’s. Every shift of weight and lift of the sword—fluid and controlled expertly. The deadly metal exists as extensions of his arms, one following the other in a perfect kind of rhythm. Similar to what I witnessed on the baseball field that first day and down in the raider pit only this time I can watch up close, seeing only the beauty without any blood or death. And it is absolutely beautiful. I watch entranced at the display of skill and artistry both jealous and reverent at once.
“Eli?”
He stops, lowering his swords to face me.
“Will you teach me?”
He thinks for a moment and puts the swords away. Then picks up two straight sticks from the firewood pile, weighing them in his hand before tossing one my way. I catch it with a grin.
“Every movement must be intentional. Deliberate. Read your opponent well and you can see their intention before it is executed.”
I copy his form, balancing my weight so it is spread evenly, and turn my body to face him. Little Wolf runs circles through my legs, the prized stick in his mouth and I resist a smile.
Eli glances at Little Wolf. “Wolf, go sit.” He points at a spot off to the side.
Little Wolf stops in his tracks as the tiny creature’s mind picks up speed and he turns to Eli. The two have a staredown until Little Wolf’s ears twitch back and then flatten as he reluctantly makes his way to where Eli points and plops down, his tiny tail beating the earth. Ever since the destruction of one of Eli’s boots, the man has taken to training our furry friend. I never knew you could train a pup as young as Little Wolf, but I suppose if anyone can do it, it’s Eli. He has a talent for almost everything.
Eli continues, “There are several sword fighting techniques, but most men you will come across fight the same.”
“But not you.”
I’ve seen enough to know his style is unique. He moves like a demon. Like an apparition in the moments before it steals your soul. It is something new. Something ethereal.
“I learned from a master and developed it for different styles afterward.” He levels his stick at me and a chill runs down my spine. Something about the way he holds himself takes me back to that day out on the baseball field.
“And you’ll teach me to fight like you?” I ask.
“If that is what you want, yes.”
I fail to resist the smile bubbling up from sudden, giddy excitement. I have no delusions in thinking I can get anywhere near Eli’s level of skill, but if I can glean even a fraction of his ability, I might be able to hold my own. And after Jol, I want to know how to fight.
We never did find Jol. Eli says the bunker was empty when he found me. It bothered him for weeks to think Jol was loose, and I would be lying if I said it didn’t keep me up at night for a while there too. But after a month with no signs of the madman, I figured he must have moved on. Or he was too scared of Eli to try anything.
“First, you must recognize a mistake,” Eli says.
I nod my head, determination setting as concrete in my mind. He shows me how to defend against duel and single swords, a knife, and two-handed and one-handed weapons. He explains the advantages of some weapons over others and why. By the end of the lesson, I am a soaked sponge, dripping wet in sweat and unable to absorb another drop of instruction. But I can tell we only skimmed the surface of the bottomless pit of knowledge that is Eli’s mind.
I collapse on the earth, thoroughly exhausted both mentally and physically, but Eli hasn’t broken a sweat. He continues the movements as if we hadn’t spent the last three hours doing exactly that. Little Wolf takes the opportunity to invade my space, climbing onto my chest and I chuckle, shifting so he sits on my lap instead.
“You said most men use guns. So what made you pick swords to fight with?” I may be tired, but I’m never too tired to pry into the enigma standing before me.
“When I learned to fight, I did not have access to guns.”
I go still at his words, remembering how he got caught by raiders the first day he woke up. Just thirteen years old.
“How long were you trapped with those raiders who found you?” I ask softly.
He stops, lowering his training stick. “Two years.”
A glimmer of hope. “Did you escape them then?”
“A rival gang came through one night and massacred everyone. They saw me in the pit and decided it would be a shame to kill the entertainment, so they let me live.”
No bitterness exists in his tone. No shame either. Disconnected is the best way I can put it. Factual. Like a historian reciting from a textbook. But I feel it, even if he doesn’t.
“Guns have their disadvantages, but they are easy to use and good from certain distances.”
I’m grateful for the change of subject. I squirm to imagine the horrors this man has lived through. Still, some macabre part of me wants to know more but I can kick curiosity aside for Eli’s sake.
“What are their disadvantages?” I ask.
“Proximity. If you can get in close enough, a knife or sword is better. Ammunition is hard to find. And they can jam.”
The last one I am all too familiar with. It feels like an eternity from that day when I cut that rope bridge.
“If you manage to find someone who can fight with a sword, don’t let them get within reach. Because the moment they do, the fight is over.”
“Unless you’re Eli, because then they’re the dead one.” I toss him a half smile. “Doesn’t matter what they’ve got.”
His eyes light with amusement. “I’ve had plenty of time to practice.”
It’s more than that. Even if other men had one hundred years to practice, most would never even approach his level of skill. The man is a prodigy, even if it goes unappreciated in this world.
I place a fist against the open palm of my hand and give a small bow from my seat on the ground. “If you say so, Sensei.”
Ha! His eyes widen a hair and his face tints red. My heart leaps at the sight and satisfaction swells in my chest. He clears his throat, turning his attention back to the movements from earlier, but I cannot resist a grin. I got a taste of a blushing Eli and I’ll be on the lookout for more.
~~~
Days turn into weeks and weeks into months as we make our way across the states, getting closer to New Haven. Closer to Ivan—I hope, anyways.
The flat landscape morphs into rolling hills cut by long, winding rivers. Summer slinks a little further away, the mornings grow crisper and evenings, darker. Blue skies contrast against a sea of vibrant red, orange, and yellows as the trees prepare for winter.
We train every morning and I practice daily with my bow until every knot in every tree has at least one arrow hole in it. I start to get the hang of sword fighting, or at least the basics which Eli says is more than most men know.
“I’ve been thinking.” he says, swinging the stick down along one side of his body before crossing over the other in a fluid, skillful fashion. His muscles bulge beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Maybe this is why my progress has slowed so much.
I ready my stance. “You, thinking? How dangerous…for everyone else.”
He shoots me a grin and the stick comes to a halt at his side. Ever since that blush months ago, I have enjoyed tossing random, bold flatterings his way just to watch the surprised or amused expressions that cross that normally preoccupied face.
“Until now, I’ve taught you how I fight. But your build is much smaller. I want you to try some new variations and tell me what you think.”
By now I am more than familiar with ‘the basics’, as Eli calls them, although I suspect much of what he considers basic goes far beyond a beginner’s level of knowledge. I know standard moves most men will try when using a sword or a knife or both. They’ve become second nature and give me even more appreciation for Eli’s unique technique.
His movements are minimal, but when he does move he is a surgeon—every centimeter precise and purposeful—and potentially deadly. I imagine I am a sloppy, poor imitation but still, I try. Eli insists I am getting better, but I wonder if he simply wants to encourage me. I’ve enjoyed watching the changes in my body. Muscles I never knew I had, the definition in my arms, back, legs, and yes, even abs. They are faint, hardly sculpted marble like Eli’s. Mine resemble a four-pack more than a six, but I feel proud of the achievement nonetheless.
He explains how my biggest disadvantage can also be my greatest strength. My arms are not as long as most men’s which means my reach is lacking, a huge disadvantage when the ends of your opponents’ arms are trying to impale you. But my lower center of gravity allows for greater speed and agility. I simply need to control the space between myself and my opponent better, striking at the right time like Eli did down in that Raider pit. In one moment he closed the distance, and in the next, the fight was over.
My smaller stature also allows for easier dodges and less energy expenditure when ducking and rolling. These new moves he shows me feel like fishing. Baiting the opponent and then yanking the line tight and slashing before they have a chance to recover.
Once I get the hang of it, Eli goes on the offensive. The sudden shift used to leave me floundering, but now it brings a grin to my lips. My attacks may be atrocious, but I can dodge with the best of them. I like to pretend I resemble the beautiful, water-around-stone dance Eli displayed when he took down Mohawk all those months ago in the raider pit. And maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear I can see a spark of pride in Eli’s eyes in those moments I successfully implement his flawless evasion technique.
A step left and then right, and back, drawing him in. A roll forward and come up, my weapon pressed against his hip. Got him.
“Where did you learn these moves?” I ask with a breathless smile, straightening as we separate for a break.
“It’s just something I think about at night sometimes.”
I marvel at the man before me for several long moments.
When he notices my stare, he stops, “What?”
“You!” I wave my stick at him. “Over there, just inventing new fighting moves like it’s nothing.”
He shrugs. “I can’t sleep. And there’s not much else to do at night besides think.”
I suppose it comes with the territory. In this world, the only ones free from nightmares are those who never wake. I used to sleep like the dead, but the chief cured me of that. I can only imagine what kind of monsters haunt a man who grew up surrounded by them.
“What keeps you up?” I ask.
He sets the stick aside, taking a seat on a fallen log by the fire. I join him and our shoulders brush momentarily. The accidental touch sends every thought in my mind flashing from existence. I look over to see if he noticed and his eyes meet mine.
“Bad dreams.” He breaks eye contact and I let out a slow, silent exhale. “Of the past, usually. But sometimes”—he heaves a wearied sigh, rubbing his face—“It’s you. You’re gone. Missing, again.”
I knew what happened to me always bothered him. I remember the alarm in his eyes when he found me. The fear. But for him to have nightmares about it? I frown at the earth.
“His name was Jol. And he never hurt me. Well, except for starvation but he never touched me.”
Eli watches me. Locked in.
“I could have left at the beginning, before he took me to the bunker. He would have let me go, I think. But I was angry at you.” I rub my hands. “And because of that, I walked right into his trap.”
“I’m sorry—”
“No, don’t apologize.” I stop him. “It’s not your fault. The reason I ended up back there was not because of you.” I catch his eyes with my own. “But the reason I’m here right now is because of you.”
I slip my hand over his and squeeze it. “Thank you for never giving up.”
His expression softens and he takes my hand into both of his. They envelop mine, the calloused pads rough against my skin but his touch is gentle. His fingers graze the soft inside of my wrist, feathery light as it caresses up and down, tracing circles. Prickles race along my arm and raise every hair across my body.
I look up. He watches me with that look I see more and more often. A sudden heat fills my face and then my chest, settling deep in my center and spreading outward. My breath loses any sense of depth and my mind fumbles lost somewhere far away. But my eyes are glued to Eli’s.
I stand on the edge of a cliff I don’t remember approaching. As I stare into this unfamiliar place, a sudden fear of the unknown grips my mind and I rip my gaze away.
His touch disappears from my hand.
“I should check the horses.”
He leaves and I find myself leaning into the empty space. The heat radiating from his body is gone and the cold night invades instead. Eli busies himself with the horses and a mix of emotion swirls inside me. I don't know what to think. Or what to feel. He's done so much for me and never once asked for anything in return. But there's always been this distance between us, one I've grown comfortable with. Only now, it's been closing. He's been closing it. He’s been stepping closer and with every step he takes, I realize I’m unprepared for what it could mean.
Little Wolf sits at my feet, giving me his own version of Eli’s look of longing. I pick up the overgrown pup and place him in my lap.
“You’re getting too big for this, Little Wolf,” I huff.
His tail wags as he buries his snout into my armpit. The creature is such a cuddle bug, but only with me. Little Wolf enjoys Eli’s company but from a distance, he never pulls these moves with him. Although I don’t think I’ve ever seen Little Wolf miss a morning hunting trip; he has a sixth sense of it.
My mind winds backward to just minutes ago. To Eli's touch. That touch was intentional. A question. A request? So subtle, yet so obvious. I can still feel it on my skin. And I cannot pretend it never happened. Part of me doesn’t want to. Part of me wants to go over there and pull him close, to touch him and be touched by him. But another part holds me back. Anchors me to the ground where I sit. Reminds me I have responsibilities. I set out to find my little brother.
I don’t know why Eli chooses to keep part of his past a secret from me. I know that part hurts him. It scares him. But it’s the very part that could be tied to my brother. And if I do this. If I start something with Eli, I might lose myself to it. No, I definitely will. I will fall hard and fast and—I suspect—far, far from my brother.