Page 6 of Red | AllFreeNovel

I forced myself to look up: a trim waist, broader chest and shoulders, a battered sweater of thick, undyed wool. The jawline was sharp, the skin a few shades lighter than my own, the hair straight and held back in a ponytail at the nape.

“I’m Jack,” he said in that same, careful voice. “You’re safe here.”

I shivered.

Jack crawled forward, still holding out the fur blanket. “Please, come near the fire. And you might want to take off your—uh…” He blushed and looked away. “Sorry for taking off the other stuff. But you were wet all over and shaking by the time I got you back here.”

I was still shaking now, but I tried to crawl forward to take the blanket. A fire crackled in a large, old-fashioned hearth just to my left—no wonder that side of me was comparatively warm.

“Can I help you?” Jack asked.

I nodded, because what the fuck else was I going to do? My hands were quivering like leaves.

He folded the blanket around me like a cloak. I expected him to be much bigger than me, but he was only a few inches taller with both of us on our knees. His hands were long-fingered, his forearms almost comically muscular.

“Some tea?” he asked.

My stomach clenched hard. My mouth felt full of paste. I nodded.

He stood, movements smooth and self-assured, and walked away.

I clutched the fur around me tight, shivering in helpless waves that made my teeth rattle and my ribs ache. The fire crackled merrily beside me, so I tried to focus on the sensation of its heat against my face while I took stock of my surroundings. It was a small living room, wooden-beamed and walled like a rustic cabin. Over the door—which I could only assume led outside—hung a massive axe, and beside the door a bulky coat with a furred collar. There was a couch on either side of the hearth, both covered in various blankets and furs. Near one was a little drying rack, on which all my clothes hung neatly. The red pashmina scarf flashed in the firelight, and something about it soothed me. In the corner of the room beyond that was a crooked bookshelf stuffed with what looked like yarn and wicker baskets, and in another corner a retro-style turntable and a large, iron-clasped trunk.

I was still rattling like a glass bottle in a storm when he returned from the next room—the kitchen?—with a large, steaming clay mug in one hand. In the other, he clutched some clothing, pale and soft-looking. He approached slowly, then crouched in front of me and held the mug out.

I reached for it with trembling hands. It sloshed over my fingers, and he covered my frigid hand with his warm one, steadying me.

My mind told me I needed to get something warm into me. But my body froze up at his touch.

“I’ll help,” he said quietly. Then went still.

I nodded and let him. The first sensation on my lips was too hot, but then it faded as I sucked in air around the tea. It was smooth and dark with spices, sweet like masala tea without milk. The warmth of it flooded my mouth, trickled down my throat, then warmed my belly.

I still shook but less violently. He sat back on his heels, and I held the tea on my own.

“Where’d he get you?” Jack asked, twisting the clothing he held in both hands now.

I blinked, my mind taking its time catching up to the present. I was in the forest. And before that…