by Lexi Post
“Yes. The battery is probably all used up. I can only recharge it if there’s electricity.”
“I don’t have electricity.” He brought the cup to her lips, stifling any response.
She swallowed the soothing tea, but it didn’t keep her from noticing the tone of his voice. It sounded like he didn’t like electricity for some reason. It may be why he lived like he did.
Instead of wondering, she took the opportunity to ask. “Why do you live out here away from civilization?”
He lifted the cup to her lips again. “I don’t like civilization.”
She drank, having no choice, but he had to know what her next question would be. Why? When he lowered the cup, she opened her mouth to ask, but he interjected.
“When I found you, your clothes were scattered everywhere. I brought you here immediately, but had to wait two days to gather your belongings because I didn’t want to leave you alone. I don’t know if anything is missing. An animal could have easily taken something, but the ‘phone’ is here.”
He was good at changing the subject when he didn’t want to talk about something. Okay, she’d drop it for now, but she’d come back to it another way. Besides, his thoughtfulness once again undermined her need to know.
It was one of her flaws, her need to learn everything. “Thank you for gathering my stuff. I appreciate that, but why were my clothes everywhere?” She had to admit, for the first time she doubted him. “I can’t imagine I had taken them off considering how cold it was.”
He brought the cup up again, and she drank the final amount.
“It’s not uncommon for someone who is suffering from severe hypothermia to begin to lose rational thought and to think they are too hot. I’m not sure of the medical process, but I’ve been told this is usually the last act of a person who is about to freeze to death.”
His matter of fact tone scared her. “So you’re saying if you decided to wait until dinner time to go fishing that I would have died?” She turned her head to look at him and found it didn’t hurt so much as his shirt was reflecting less light.
He didn’t look at her, his gaze on the cup, his head down. “Actually, if I had walked outside a few minutes earlier or later, the sun wouldn’t have been in the right position to reflect off your instrument.”
She turned away as a shiver raced up her spine. The chances that she would wander close enough and drop her phone in just the right position for him to walk outside at just the right time had to be astronomical! Her debt to him was even deeper than she’d realized. “I don’t know what to say.”
He rose from the chair, and she turned to watch him walk away. Looking at him was easier, but she still couldn’t see details. She wanted to see him and know him. He was her hero.
He spoke over his shoulder. “It was fate. You’re meant to perform a special task.”
It would be easy to agree with him, but she was no one extraordinary. It wasn’t as if she would save the world or something. She was more inclined to believe she’d been extremely lucky and she owed her life…and whatever she made of it, to him.
Suddenly, her confidence in the way she lived her life eroded beneath her. It was time to reevaluate.
He washed the cup then used it to pour himself the rest of the tea. He hadn’t planned on drinking the same mixture, but as images of Angel lying on the ledge flashed through his mind, he preferred a little help to find sleep.
It had been fate. He hadn’t planned to fish that day. He’d planned to freeze the last of his vegetables, but the sky had been clear of all clouds and as blue as glacier ice when the sun lit it, so he’d changed his mind and headed out the door.
That he might have found her that evening because wolves had smelled dinner, pierced his soul. He chugged down the too hot liquid then rewashed the cup. He was confidant now that she was his redemption.
He strode over to the bed and found her already asleep. Gently, he lifted her and pulled the cushion out that allowed her to sit up. Unable to resist, he picked up a few strands of hair that lay on her forehead and moved them aside, their texture like nothing he’d ever touched before. She was beyond beautiful, and he was anxious to discover more of the beauty inside as well.
Her gratefulness proved she had a good heart. He wanted to learn about her life, what she’d done, others she’d influenced toward the good. Akiakook had predicted that one day an angel would find him and test him and here she was. His test was obvious. Save her and bring her back to health. This he could do.
He forced himself to return to the couch and set the cushion in place. Despite the tea, he was awake, the light outside having faded to dark twilight. He preferred last month when the days and nights had a more equal share, but the days grew shorter now.
Unable to resist, he slipped outside. Sitting on the edge of the porch with his feet on the steps below, he listened to the sounds of the night.
The moon had yet to rise and true darkness yet to descend, but already the Aurora Borealis danced cross the northern sky. The green and red shimmered, first one brighter than the other, as if each wanted to lead. As the green turned bright, his heart lurched. Angel’s eyes were that color, he’d noticed when she first opened them.
He feared tomorrow when she discovered the one scar he couldn’t cover. Would she avoid looking at him? Would she start to fear him? He rubbed his right wrist then froze. He’d forgotten the wrist bands!
Immediately, he took a deep breath as Akiakook had taught him over two hundred years earlier. Reaching for his center, he found calm waiting for him. With his emotions under control, his intellect became more efficient.
If Angel had seen his wrist scars, she would have said something. Amusement lightened his spirits. She would say something about everything eventually. Her curiosity was strong. Her interest in every little thing, including him, was entertaining, when not uncomfortable.
The thought of spending every day with her lifted his spirit in ways it hadn’t been lifted since the day Victor Frankenstein agreed to create for him a mate. It made him want to find other ways to please her. She had no idea how much lightness she’d brought to his life already.
A noise inside the cabin had him jumping to his feet. He opened the door to the sound of her voice.
“—there? I need help.”
He closed the door and strode across the dark room, urged on by the fear in her voice. “I’m here. What do you need?”
“Oh, good. It was so dark when I woke up, and I need to use the chair you made for me. I’m not used to being so dependent on someone. It’s a little scary.”
As he lit the lantern, he guessed she minimized her real feelings because what he’d heard in her tone was a lot more than a “little” fear.
“You know, I’m going to have to call you something. Surely, in your entire life someone has called you by some name.”
Now it was uncomfortable again. “Yes, in every place I’ve lived I’ve been given a name.” Monster. Abomination. Murderer. Freak. “But none of those are who I am now, nor something I would want to be called.”
“We’re going to have to come up with something.”
He didn’t look at her, not in a hurry to acquire yet another name. Instead of thinking about what she might call him, he brought her chair to the side of the bed and removed the quilt from her.
Lifting her from his fur coat, which was still beneath her, he set her gently on the chair. Then he moved the paper she needed from the end table to the bed near her.
Though his help was a necessity, he could see she was still embarrassed by the situation. “I need to go into my storage room. You won’t have to yell for me to hear you. Just say you’re ready.”
“Okay.”
When she didn’t say anything else, an unusual occurrence, he quickly left through his pantry door, anxious to put on the leather bands that covered his wrists. Once inside, he had no light and moved about carefully to find his other lantern.
Though he knew exactly where everything wa
s placed, it still took him three attempts to put his hand on it and in the process, he kicked over a shovel. Striking a match from the box he left next to the lantern, he understood better how Angel must have felt, not being able to see.
Over the years, his body had grown more impervious to injury. At first if cut, he would bleed, but eventually that stopped occurring and wounds healed up faster and faster, no blood in sight. It was the same with his sensitivity to hot and cold. The longer he existed, the less difference he could tell in the temperature. He would give up his immortality immediately if he could feel like she felt because that was part of what made her human.
With the muted light of the lantern, he opened a trunk he’d acquired in a swap and pulled out a small box he kept important items in. Lifting the lid, he removed the two leather bands that snapped around his wrists for a snug fit. He’d had them made only ten years ago to replace the last pair.
He shook his head. It had taken him years after Victor’s death to realize that by hiding his scars, he could avoid immediate revulsion, but it had taken him decades to understand humans’ reactions to his gaze. He had learned so many things the hard way with no guidance until he’d met Akiakook.
Closing the small box, he put it away and turned off the lantern, anxious to be ready to help Angel when she called. He walked to the door and waited. His hearing, like his other senses and abilities, far surpassed that of man. While an advantage in his choice of lifestyle, it was simply one more way in which Dr. Frankenstein had made him different and forced him to be alone.
“Ready.” The voice on the other side of the door was pained, and he threw it open to rush to her side.
Tears streamed down her cheeks and his heart squeezed. In an instant, he took in the tableau. Her right hand’s bandages were twisted, the paper she’d used was on the floor and one leg was out to the side. He wanted to hug her to him and take her pain away, but to touch her like that would hurt her more.
She looked up at him apologetically. “I’m sorry I took so long. It was h-hard.” The last word was choked out.
“I wasn’t in a rush. Let me place you back in bed and then I’ll change your bandage.”
“Will it hurt?” As she looked up at him through long light lashes, her green eyes bright with her pain, he quickly moved his gaze, swallowing the lump in his throat. “It will. We can wait until tomorrow after you’ve rested.”
“I like that idea better.”
He walked to the foot of the bed and pulled his fur coat off it. With the fire so high, she should be warm enough now without it. He returned to stand before her. Very carefully, he moved his arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees. Rising, he stepped around the chair and laid her on the sheet.
Her face was filled with tension, her eyes closed and her lips pursed tight. Despite how careful he was, she still hurt.
“I’m sorry.” If he could have moved her without pain, he would have, but he was not so naïve as to believe that possible.
Her eyelashes fluttered open. “It’s not your fault. I did this to myself. I was so stupid.”
He wanted to take her chin and make her look at him, but he didn’t dare have her gaze into his eyes, so he settled for a stern tone instead. “You weren’t stupid. You were ignorant. There is a significant difference.” He covered her with the quilt, leaving her hands beneath it.
She closed her eyes again. “I guess.”
She obviously didn’t believe him, but her need for sleep was more important than a debate, so he didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled the bucket out from under the chair and headed outside.
CHAPTER FIVE
At the sound of a chickadee, Angela opened her eyes, only to shut them tight again. The brightness still hurt. Shoot. That had to be a chickadee, but she hadn’t read anything about those birds being so far north. She had to be imagining things. How could she even hear a bird inside the snug cabin?
She kept her eyes closed and let her other senses take over. The chickadee-dee-dee chirp came again. It was followed by what sounded like a woodpecker and footsteps. Slowly, she opened her eyes just a smidge and focused on the quilt. The French florets on one piece of material were clear as was the paisley design on another. Both her hands rested on top of it now.
She could see! She smiled wide only to stop suddenly as her chapped lips split. She had to be in the worst shape of her entire life. Licking the corner of her mouth, she opened her eyes a little wider but the sunshine was too bright.
Squinting, she could see the door to the cabin was wide open. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled fresh air and closed her eyes as it filled her lungs. It was cool, but not cold, probably because it was warmed by the wood stove as it rushed in.
She opened her eyes just slightly and could see evergreen trees past the open space in front of the cabin, but only the tops of the trees were visible to the left, as if those were a bit below. She must be on a mountain. No surprise there since she’d become lost in the Brooks Range.
Bending her elbows slowly, so she didn’t wake up her hands, she pressed them into the bed to help her lift her head up. Briefly, white snow with footprints and rocks came into view before her head dropped back. It appeared she was incredibly weak to boot. So much for all those morning work outs in hotel exercise rooms.
She rested for a few minutes before looking for her mountain man. He wasn’t in the cabin, so the footsteps she heard outside had to be his. Instinct told her if she called, he’d come, but for once, she was fine with waiting. She wanted to see what he looked like up close and personal without him looking away. She’d yet to clearly see his features.
When she’d thought he was an old man, it wasn’t such a burning need, but after last night, her impression of him was that he was young, maybe her age or a little older and she planned to peruse every detail of his face including his elusive eyes, no matter how shy he was.
She relaxed to the sound of the birds, not surprised they were happy with the mild day. They were probably preparing for a cold, dark winter. Would she be healed by then? How many days had it been now, three?
Her patience was rewarded by the sound of footsteps on stairs, followed by two steps across what must be a porch and then he filled the doorway. She kept her eyes barely open so she could observe her caretaker.
The man was built. Even if the doorway was small, he filled the entire thing, his shoulders as wide as the jambs. He looked very tall, as in over seven feet, but that couldn’t be. It probably appeared that way because she was lying on the bed. The leather bands at his wrists and around his neck made him look like a gladiator. She still couldn’t see his face with the light behind him.
As he stepped inside, he closed the door then turned around.
Holy sugar with a cherry on top! Her heart skipped a couple of beats as she stared, completely forgetting to keep her eyelids lowered.
He was gorgeous. He did have high cheek bones, and his nose was straight, perfect. Above that were deep set eyes and his high forehead was covered by his hair. It wasn’t the individual aspects so much as the whole shape and configuration that had her belly doing a happy dance.
As he strode forward toward the stove, it looked as if a pine needle or something had fallen on his cheek below his right eye. If she told him about it, maybe he’d look at her and she’d finally get to see what color his eyes were. “I think you have something on your cheek.”
He turned toward her at the sound of her voice, but he didn’t look directly at her. Instead, he seemed to be staring at the floor. “Yes, I do.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she started to roll her eyes, but stopped at the discomfort of the movement. “What is it?”
He turned back to the stove and opened it before throwing two more logs in. “It’s a scar.”
Oh, great. Didn’t she just put her foot in her mouth? Was that why he looked away all the time? “I have a couple of scars myself. One from not getting stitches when I needed them and one from stitches. I don’t think anyo
ne makes it through life without a few scars. I’ve always said it proves that I’ve really lived.” She smiled slightly, hoping to put him at ease.
He didn’t respond, instead moving to the counter to pick something up and lay it in a pan.
“Where did you learn to cook?”
He didn’t pause in his movements as he returned to the counter. “Everywhere.”
She should have seen that coming. Maybe he felt self-conscious about her interest in him, which had quadrupled since she could finally see what he looked like and she’d discovered his outside was as beautiful as the inside. “My dad actually taught me to cook. He wasn’t a chef or anything, but he managed to put a decent meal on the table. I didn’t know about fancy cooking until I started to travel. That really opened my eyes…and my palate.”
He continued to mix something in the pan.
“Who did you learn from…the most?”
He added some spice to the hot mixture and the smells woke up her stomach.
“A friend.”
She obviously would have to be more creative in her questions. “Was your friend a chef? It wouldn’t surprise me because everything you’ve given me has tasted wonderful.”
He shook his head. “He was an old Inuit wise man.”
She hadn’t expected that answer, but it made sense based on some of the places he’d lived. “It sounds like your friend was wise about many things.”
He paused as he lifted the pan off the stove. “He was. I’ve met no one better than he.” He turned to the counter and moved the food from the pan to a plate and a bowl.
It was so glorious to see again, that she didn’t mind that he didn’t elaborate further.
He filled the pan with water and began washing it. That made so much sense. If the water was cold and the pan hot, it probably made it the perfect temperature for washing.
Still, she watched the steam rising from the food, wishing she could simply get up and grab a plate, but she could barely lift her head for more than ten seconds and her hands were worthless.
As she started to despair, he walked over and her spirits rose again. She couldn’t wait for him to sit down so she could look more closely at his face.