Ludo stands up as tall as he can, his shorter front legs clawing at the air. His wordless warning rumbles through my mind, telling me it’s not worth the agony.
With the back of my pointer finger, I rub down his soft chest to assure him I’m not that reckless.
I return to my task of cleaning the stranger, the desire to delicately brush my fingertips along his cheek not fully abated but tempered enough to not follow through with it. Managing to get him clean enough, I sit back on my heels to assess the man I’ve welcomed into my home. “He’s dressed so strangely,” I comment to Ludo.
Ludo’s back foot taps loudly, then he spins in a circle, his long tail following him around. I chuckle at the antics I know to mean his agreement with me. The foreign sound is enough to make me pause, decimating the moment. The lingering joy of it remains in the air around me, and I send a silent wish to the aether to allow it more often. I’ve forgotten how good it can feel.
“His trousers appear to be a thickly woven material, yet his blouse is thin. Almost like an undergarment,” I say, returning to my perusal of the man before me.
Ludo stomps his large hind feet to draw my attention down to the stranger’s feet. Standing up on his hind legs, his tiny forelegs scratch at the bizarre material covering his feet.
“They aren’t boots or slippers. I suppose it’s been a while since we’ve had a visitor and styles have changed greatly.”
My gaze returns to the handsome features of the man’s face. His jaw is slightly rounded, giving him a boyish appearance. And his long blonde hair brings out the golden tan of his skin.
“Who are you?” I whisper, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from his face. “Come, Ludo. There’s much work to be done,” I instruct, needing to separate myself as far as possible from the temptation in my sanctuary.
I leave a pile of supplies within reach of the man, along with a bowl of water for further cleaning and a cup of water for hydration. I want to make sure he can tend his wounds properly when he awakens.
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 heavythud, 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 fewleaves 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.
