by Patti O'Shea
Ravyn couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She didn’t even try. She’d had the wind knocked out of her and two hundred plus pounds of male continued to squeeze the oxygen from her lungs. She closed her eyes and focused on recovery. When she could take in air again, she realized Damon wasn’t moving. Now she panicked. Every other time, he’d been ready to go before she was. Carefully, she rolled him onto his back, one hand bracing his head.
As she looked down at him, Ravyn realized it didn’t matter any longer if they were being tracked, it didn’t matter if she hadn’t found the perfect sanctuary. She’d have to settle for the best position she could find nearby. Damon couldn’t continue. If he wasn’t unconscious, he was close to it. She buried her head in her hands. What if he had a brain aneurysm or a skull fracture? She had no way of knowing and none of the skills necessary to treat either condition.
Getting a grip on herself, she leaned over Damon. Blood still dripped from the gash and Ravyn had to remind herself that head wounds bled a lot. Still, it couldn’t be good for him to have lost as much blood as he had. Some of his hair had fallen into the laceration and Ravyn gently brushed it aside. “Stay with me, Damon,” she murmured. “Don’t leave me by myself.”
She didn’t like the color of his skin beneath the tan, didn’t like the look of the injury, and she hated that he was unresponsive. Ravyn pushed her own hair out of her eyes, uncaring of the mud she deposited there. It didn’t matter what it took, she wasn’t losing him.
*** *** ***
Damon bit back a groan. It felt like someone had buried an ax in his head. He remained still, kept his breathing deep, and tried to ascertain the situation. Something was tied tightly around his head, and he wondered if that was what caused the pain. He didn’t hear or sense anything that alarmed him and slowly he opened his eyes. The dim light could have been either dusk or dawn, but even the weak glow added to his discomfort. He forced himself not to close his eyes, concentrating instead on beating back the pain. He needed to think, had to get his bearings.
Gingerly, his hand brushed the throbbing ache over his left temple. He felt cloth tied around his head and pushed it away before realizing it was his fatigue shirt. Carefully, he touched the wound. His fingers came away sticky with blood. Oh, yeah. His memory was spotty, but he remembered telling Ravyn they couldn’t stay where they were. He remembered leaning on her, letting her help him, but he didn’t recall how he’d gotten here.
Ravyn! Damon sat up. The axe became a sword, stabbing through both temples, and he clenched his hands. His head swam, but he fought it off. He had to locate Ravyn. As his vision cleared, he could see he was under some kind of rock overhang. It wasn’t deep, but it was big enough to offer cover to his entire body. Damon didn’t relax until he spotted Ravyn sleeping at the entrance. The knowledge that she had put herself between him and danger in order to protect him stopped his breath.
He could only see the back of her head and he eased forward, jaw clenched, to get a look at her face. Damon needed to know for sure she was okay. Exhaustion etched her features, despite the mud obscuring his view. Her sleeping countenance touched him, but what squeezed his heart was the sight of the pistol clutched in her hand. Though sound asleep, she hadn’t relinquished her hold.
Even as muddleheaded as he felt, Damon knew better than to startle Ravyn by touching her. He didn’t want to disturb her, but he had to. He needed her to fill him in on what had happened. “Ravyn,” he said, wincing at the noise. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to rouse her and he had to speak louder.
He’d never seen her wake up so quickly before, instantly on alert. And she reacted exactly the way he thought she would, sitting up and taking aim. Luckily, she pointed the pistol out into the forest and not at him. He waited until she finished scanning the area outside the overhang before saying her name again.
“Damon! Are you okay?”
When she turned to him, her face filled with concern, it was all Damon could do to answer. No one, not in his entire life, had ever looked so distressed on his behalf. “Okay is a relative term,” he kept his voice low.
Immediately, she moved to him, zeroing right in on the gash. He could see her anxiety increase as she studied it. She lay the weapon off to the side so her hands were free, and lightly her fingers brushed beneath the cut “What is it?” he asked.
He could see her debate whether or not to worry him. “That wound hasn’t stopped bleeding yet. I put pressure on it for more than an hour last night and finally I tied the shirt around your head hoping that would take care of it, but every time I think I have the bleeding stopped for good, it starts seeping again. I don’t know what else to do.”
Damon closed his eyes briefly. It took all his limited concentration to keep his mind relatively clear. At least he knew now it was early morning. “It’s going to have to be stitched,” he finally said. He watched her face go pale beneath the mud. “Did you clean it out yet?” He wasn’t unsympathetic to her dismay, but there weren’t a lot of options.
“Yes. We don’t have any antibacterial spray or gel so I flushed the wound repeatedly with water. I hope that removed everything.” Ravyn twisted her fingers around each other. She lifted her chin and added almost defiantly, “Warm water. I built a fire and boiled the water to get rid of any bacteria, and when it was cool enough, I used it to clean the cut.”
If the pain hadn’t been pounding at him, he would have smiled. He hadn’t built a fire while they’d been on the run and he could see she worried over his reaction. Damon decided not to comment on it. “Get my vest,” the weakness of his voice was all that kept it from being an order.
Ravyn frowned, but she retrieved the vest from the corner of the overhang and handed it to him. He couldn’t remember exactly which pocket he’d put it in and it took him four tries to locate what he needed. Putting the vest aside, he held out the sealed package. Ravyn took it before she realized he had passed her a suture kit. “Damon, I can’t do this.”
The tormented expression on her face made him pause. “You have to, sweet pea. There’s no one else. Closing it up will stop the bleeding and the thread is laced with antibiotics.” He tried to keep his gaze steady, but his head hurt so damn much it was difficult. Damon wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and go back to sleep, although he knew he shouldn’t.
She looked at him pleadingly, clearly torn between wanting to help him and not wanting to stitch him up.
“I can’t do it myself.”
When Ravyn finally nodded, he released the breath he’d been holding. Her hands shook visibly as she opened the package. He noticed they were the only part of her that was clean. How could he not admire this woman? He knew how much she hated being dirty, yet she’d used just enough water to get the muck off her hands. The only reason he figured she did that much was to make sure no more dirt went in his wound as she flushed it.
Her trembling increased as she held the needle and Damon swallowed hard. There was nothing to numb the wound and her unsteadiness was going to increase his discomfort. He gave her some instructions on how to proceed and then settled himself.
As he watched, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, her hands were steady. She never ceased to amaze him. Still, he knew her control was tenuous and Damon braced himself. If he so much as winced, Ravyn might lose her nerve. She appeared to be on the verge of tears as it was. To keep her mind off what she was doing, he started talking.
“My family lives in Connecticut,” he told her, his voice unwavering even as the needle pierced his skin. “I guess you could call that my home, but I don’t. I was shipped off to boarding school when I was six and was rarely there after that.”
Ravyn didn’t shift her focus from the stitching, but he knew he’d caught her interest. “Where was your boarding school?”
“The first one was in Massachusetts.”
“First? How many did you attend?”
“Eight, I think.” He barely suppressed the need to flinch as Ra
vyn tugged a little too hard.
“What? I can’t believe you raised so much hell that you kept getting expelled.”
“I didn’t.” Damon tightened his fists as she inadvertently jabbed him. She was so intent on her task, that he didn’t think she noticed. When he was sure he could continue without revealing how much it hurt, he said, “My parents would hear about some great prep school and the next fall I’d be in a new school. I lived all over the eastern half of the United States.”
She appeared shocked. And disapproving. “That’s terrible. Children need stability.”
Damon gave her a noncommittal grunt.
Ravyn stopped sewing him up and said, “You couldn’t have liked all that moving around.”
“No,” he admitted slowly, “I didn’t like it. It was tough, making friends and losing them year after year.”
“And, after a time, it became easier not to let people close.” Ravyn looked fierce and he knew it was on his behalf.
Damon started to shrug, but his body protested the movement. For the first time, he realized how stiff he was. “Maybe,” he allowed, pushing aside the added twinge.
Ravyn huffed out a sigh, but kept her attention on the job at hand. He could feel sweat start to run down his face. She was over the heart of the wound now and the pain was sharper, harder for him to block out.
As if sensing this, Ravyn picked up the conversation. “At least you had your brother with you. Even though you say you weren’t close, it must have been a comfort to know he was there if you needed him.”
“He wasn’t with me,” Damon said, fighting to keep the pain from his voice.
“What?”
Damon hissed. He couldn’t help it. The yank she gave the thread narrowed his vision to a tunnel. Resolutely, he fought the darkness bearing down on him. If he passed out it would scare her. He swayed and felt her slip an arm around him. When the roaring in his ears subsided enough so he could hear again, he realized Ravyn was calling him “honey.” Only the dizziness kept him from grinning broadly. When his head cleared a bit more, he realized she was crying. That cured any thought he had of smiling. His own hand wasn’t quite steady as he raised his fingers to wipe the tracks from her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know.” Damon shifted and rubbed his nose against hers. He kept the contact until he saw her calm down. “Can you finish patching me up?” he asked quietly. He didn’t know what he would do if she said no.
“Yes.” She gave him a squeeze before moving back to her original position. Her touch was exquisitely gentle, as if she could now sense the pain he tried so hard to mask. The tentativeness, however, increased his discomfort. He needed her to stop being so careful and do it. Instead of telling her this, he decided to take her mind off of what she was doing again.
“My brother went to St. Bart’s. It’s tradition the oldest Brody male attend that particular school.”
“Why didn’t you go there too?”
“I did the first two years. Then my parents heard about a school in Virginia. They weren’t going to anger my grandfather by moving my brother, but there was no reason not to send me there.” He shut his eyes, suddenly unable to keep them open any longer. At least Ravyn moved faster now.
Damon could hear Ravyn talking, but couldn’t make out what she said. Her voice buzzed in his mind and he tried to focus, tried to pick out the words, but the effort overwhelmed him. He didn’t resurface until he heard her calling his name.
“What?” he asked, not opening his eyes.
“I’m done. Should I find something to cover the stitches?”
He frowned as he tried to come up with the answer. It was in his head somewhere. His lips curved as the information came to him. “Bandage. Vest.” He tried to connect the words, but the pounding in his head obliterated the idea before he could manage it. Damon groaned at the slight pressure near the wound. Then it ended. Hands rested on his shoulders, helped him back to the ground. It couldn’t have felt better if he’d had a bed.
“Sleep, honey, I’ll be here when you wake up.”
With those soft words still ringing in his ears, Damon fell back into a place where there was no pain.
*** *** ***
When Damon woke again, his head still hurt, but nowhere near as badly as before. From what he could see of the sky, he pegged it as late afternoon. He started to push himself into a sitting position and Ravyn was instantly there, her arm offering support.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
“Better.” His dry throat hurt. “I need some water.”
She had the canteen uncapped and would have held it to his lips if he hadn’t taken it from her. When he’d quenched his thirst, he returned it. He still felt weary even after sleeping all day, and Damon shifted until he could lean against the face of the rock. They needed to keep moving, but he knew it wouldn’t be tonight. He didn’t know where they were, didn’t know what kind of protection Ravyn had found for them, but he had to trust her.
“You scared the hell out of me,” she admitted, settling next to him. “You just went out. One minute we were having a normal conversation, the next you were barely coherent. I didn’t know if that meant trouble or not.” Ravyn took a deep, shuddery breath. “I didn’t even know if I should try to wake you every hour or let you sleep. I decided to let you rest.”
“I’m fine, Ravyn. Did the stitches work?” He opted not to tell her that standard first aid manuals recommended waking a concussion victim every hour and asking some basic questions. He was okay and it would just upset her.
“Yeah, you stopped bleeding. All I have to say is you better not get hurt again.”
Damon smiled at her fierceness. “I’ll do my best.”
She smiled back, the cloud over her beautiful gold eyes lifting. “Are you hungry?”
He had to think about that one. “Yes.” Maybe if he ate something, this weakness in his body would dissipate. He might not be ready to run tomorrow, but they damn sure were moving out at first light. They couldn’t stay here any longer.
It didn’t take more than a few bites to realize he was starving. Ravyn kept supplying him with food, but didn’t have any herself. He paused. “You ate already?” At her nod, he relaxed, sure she was taken care of, and resumed eating. When he’d finally had his fill, Damon closed his eyes and shifted into a more comfortable position.
“Any sign of the killer?” he asked. His voice was low in deference to the increased pounding in his head. He figured the answer was no, but he had to ask.
“No,” Ravyn said. He sensed her shift so that she faced him. “Are you sure he trailed us?”
“He was there.” He opened his eyes and turned his head so he could see her. “I felt him coming up on our backs.”
Hesitation played across her face and then she must have decided he was strong enough to have a discussion. “I could hardly see you at one point and I had hold of your hand. Plus our tracks would have been obliterated almost instantly by that downpour. How could he follow us in that weather?”
Damon reached for her, linked their fingers. Her touch soothed something inside him. “I don’t know, but he managed.”
“Do you think he’s still there, biding his time?”
It wasn’t easy, but Damon focused on the world around them. He didn’t sense the malevolence that he’d felt dogging their steps and the back of his neck didn’t tingle. “I don’t think so,” he said, “but I don’t know how we lost him. Things are kind of a blur after the tree came down.”
Ravyn smiled at him. “You mean you don’t remember knocking me to the ground and rolling around?”
“Well, hell, I always miss the good stuff. Was it more fun than the last time we took a tumble?” Her blush peeked through the mud and Damon grinned. He wondered why she started the teasing when she embarrassed more easily than he did.
“Hmm, no. It was more exciting last time when you were fully consc
ious. Although, now that I think about it, I missed a great opportunity to take advantage of you.”
Damon laughed, then winced as his body protested the noise and the additional movement. Her face had reddened so deeply that she looked sunburned, but he liked the fact that she didn’t back down easily. There had been damn few women who could keep him on his toes and he bored easily with timid females. One thing he could admit readily, Ravyn was never boring. Even if she could talk a man’s ear off.
“Sweet pea, any time you want to take advantage of me, you just climb aboard.”
“Liar,” she laughed at him. “You’re too worried about distractions to mean that.”
“You’re right,” he agreed, lifting her hand. He kissed her palm before teasing it with his tongue. Her pupils had dilated by the time he lowered it again, he noted with satisfaction. “Our time is coming, Ravyn, as soon as we’re safe.”
“The question is,” she said seriously, “is what we’re feeling for each other more than an attraction fostered by the danger and the intimacy of this situation?”
“I can’t speak for you, but I’ve been in circumstances I consider more dangerous than this one.” Damon reached with his free hand and tilted her chin up so she could see his eyes, see he meant what he said. “I’ve never reacted like this. It’s you. It’s us together. And it’s not just physical.”
“No, I know it’s not.” She put her hand over his where it rested on her face. For a moment, she studied him, then smiled. “Do you realize how filthy we are again? What would it take to talk you into stopping for a bath first thing tomorrow?”
Ravyn pulled back from him and moved to the vests. He doubted she was looking for anything in particular; she just wanted to end the conversation. Damon sighed silently and let her. He had read the confusion, the questions in her eyes and knew she wasn’t ready to discuss their relationship yet.
“I think you’re to blame. I’ve never been this dirty on a mission before,” he teased to lighten the mood.
“Me? I’ll have you know even as a child, climbing trees and sliding into third base, I remained nearly immaculate. And I’ve been on Jarved Nine for eight months without getting covered with mud. It must be your fault.”