by Patti O'Shea
“What?” Ravyn asked and he was heartened by her interest. She couldn’t be too bad if her curiosity was engaged. He hoped.
“Just imagining the sight we must make. Both of us covered in dirt. You with your sleeve torn open, a camouflage bandage around your arm. Me with stitches in my head.”
She chuckled softly. “We must look pitiful.”
“The walking wounded,” Damon agreed.
The smooth path didn’t have so much as a crack or stray pebble to trip Ravyn up. The condition of their surroundings still stunned him. The environment was dust free. The areas of green, and they were plentiful, were perfectly manicured as if a team of gardeners had just finished work for the day. There was no sign that any kind of animal had made a home within the walls. It intrigued him. It was unnatural for an abandoned town to show no evidence of neglect. Despite everything abnormal about the place, Damon felt oddly at ease.
“You sense it too, don’t you?” Ravyn asked.
“Sense what?” He felt her shift so she could look at him, but he kept his attention on the scene around them.
“The energy of the Old City. It’s welcoming us.”
Damon remained silent. While he might trust and follow his instincts, he wasn’t fanciful enough to imbue something inanimate with human characteristics. And if he perhaps sensed acceptance at his presence, well, that was nothing more than imagination.
“For weeks after my first visit to the Old City, I dreamed of it every night.” Ravyn smothered a yawn. “I don’t remember much, except that I dreamed I lived here, that the people were gentle and kind. They had no knowledge of violence, no concept of war. It seemed like an Eden. Except there was some unseen threat and no one knew how to deal with it.”
Damon couldn’t imagine even dreaming about people unable to deal with a threat. One met menace with force or with stealth, whatever worked best to neutralize it.
“Which do you think is worse?” Ravyn asked, her tone thoughtful. “To be so used to peace that violence brings confusion, or to be so used to violence and war that it requires little thought on how to respond?”
“You picked a hell of a time to turn philosophical,” Damon commented. They were both beyond exhaustion. Ravyn admitted to running a low-grade fever and was weak enough that she needed his support. Not quite the setting for abstract discussion.
Ravyn’s shoulder moved in a shrug. “Sorry,” she apologized, “my thoughts are wandering.”
Intrigued despite his words, he gave the question some consideration as they moved through the city. “As a soldier, I can’t accept being unprepared to defend my home, but there is a temptation to living in such complete tranquility.”
The silence spun out around them, made even more obvious by the lack of wind. Perhaps being too perfect wasn’t so great. He missed the sound of birds calling, the feel of the breeze against his skin. The rhythm of nature was soothing to him. This absence of it felt artificial. And yet, the city was not enclosed. There was no bubble or dome covering them.
“Damon, do you think we’ll ever have that on Earth? Not an ignorance of upheaval, but an end to the incessant battles? An end to hate and murder and brutality?”
“No. Not in our lifetime.”
“Too bad,” Ravyn said in tacit agreement.
Damon continued to steer Ravyn along. He should settle them in a nearby building. Deep twilight had come upon them and he needed to tend her wound. They were far enough from the wall now, but something he couldn’t name compelled him to keep moving. It wasn’t right yet. Then they entered a square and he stopped, pulling Ravyn to a halt with him.
Off on the right, an enormous step pyramid towered high above the other buildings. From the maps he’d seen, he knew it was near the center of the city, but offset from the midpoint. It didn’t hold his interest long and Damon looked back at the plaza.
A large fountain sat in the center, empty of everything save a life-size stone lion. The carving was so detailed that every rippled muscle stood out. Its presence didn’t surprise him. He’d seen images of it, so he was aware it existed, but he swallowed hard. He knew exactly which way to go to reach the house he’d seen and he shouldn’t. The CAT team hadn’t mapped any farther than this into the Old City. Part of him hesitated at discovering whether his vision, for lack of a better term, had any validity. He wasn’t sure what outcome he dreaded more, that it was true or that it wasn’t.
Ravyn leaned more heavily into him and he started moving once again. The route felt familiar, as if he’d traveled it thousands of times. The hair on the back of his neck rose as he realized everything he saw matched his daydream exactly. They rounded a corner and there it stood. Damon stopped short in shock. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. His heart pounded, but in excitement, not fear. The building had been constructed with nearly pure white stone, and it looked more like some ancient Greek temple than a house.
“Wow,” Ravyn breathed.
Damon agreed. He shook himself out of his paralysis and headed for the door. Even in the encroaching darkness, the structure was impressive and the closer they got to it, the more incredible it appeared. It also had a lot of stairs they needed to ascend to reach the entrance. As they stopped at the base, he considered them, then studied Ravyn.
“I’m carrying you up the stairs,” he decided. Before she could protest, he added, “It’s not open to debate.” He adjusted the equipment they wore and then hefted her over his shoulder.
“Ow! No wonder my stomach hurts.” Ravyn shifted around, undoubtedly trying to find a more comfortable position.
“Yeah? Well, my whole body hurts. Hold still so we can get inside without breaking our necks.”
She stopped moving, and taking a steadying breath, Damon started up. He didn’t hurry. It hadn’t been an idle concern about breaking bones if they fell down the narrow stone steps. He lowered Ravyn to her feet when they reached the landing. She rubbed her stomach and grinned sleepily at him. “I guess that wasn’t so bad. I had a nice view of your rear end.”
“Don’t start more trouble than you can handle,” he warned and brushed his lips across hers. Damon pushed the door open and guided Ravyn inside. It was dark, and he hesitated.
“Lights,” she slurred, flicking her hand.
Damon gaped at her in the suddenly bright foyer. She sagged against him and he shook off his amazement. He closed the door. Hanging a right, they proceeded through an archway. Ravyn made the same flicking gesture every time they entered a darkened area. It wasn’t until they stood inside the softly lit bedroom that he questioned how he’d known where to go. Ravyn pulled away, and still lost in thought, he released her.
She hadn’t turned anything on here. The gentle glow came from four obelisks, set into niches in each corner of the room. One was pale blue, another some shade of pink, the third a dark green and the last a golden color that nearly matched Ravyn’s eyes. His gaze followed the luminous beams until his attention was caught by an enormous bed. It seemed as if the light from the stones intersected over the center, forming a multicolored pyramid. He was shaken out of his fascination when he spotted Ravyn. She’d collapsed face down across the foot of the bed.
“Hell,” he muttered, disgusted with himself. When it came to taking care of someone, he didn’t do a great job. He rid himself of his pack, canteen, vest and boots, then made his way to Ravyn. Being careful of her injury, he rolled her onto her back. He took her boots off and unsealed her vest, but getting her out of it without causing her some pain would be difficult. Damon sat her up and tried to ease the vest off. It quickly became obvious that he needed her cooperation.
“Come on, Ravyn, wake up.”
“Tired,” she replied, not even batting an eyelash.
“I know you’re tired, but don’t you want to take a bath?” He thought the bribe inspired, but he received nothing save a small sound of agreement. It took some coaxing, but he managed to get her to sit up on her own. Her forehead rested against his shoulder and he used both hands to m
aneuver the vest off. As soon as she was free, she tried to lie back down.
“No,” Damon said, “not yet.”
“Wanna sleep.”
“Just a little longer, sweet pea.”
She grumbled, but complied when he urged her back on her feet. He swept her into his arms, making sure he had her good arm against his chest. The bathing chamber was mostly dark, just the slightest amount of illumination shining from some unknown source. He fumbled around looking for a light plate, the task not made easy with Ravyn still in his arms.
“Damn it. Where the hell are the lights?” All his frustration surged to the surface. They were both tired. He wanted to get her fixed up and go to sleep, but he couldn’t take care of her in the dark.
Silhouetted by the dim glow, Ravyn lifted her hand, and again, the lights came on. It disconcerted him now as much as the first time. Damon didn’t bother asking her how she did it. He moved his arm from under Ravyn’s thighs and let her slide down his body until her feet touched the ground. Only she didn’t stop. Her knees sagged and she nearly ended up on the floor before he tightened his hold. There was no way, he realized grimly, that he could let her fend for herself in a shower or tub. She’d probably drown.
The enormous bathing chamber appeared to be made of smooth crystal tiles. They were mostly gray, but splashes of color here and there caught his eye. Finally he spotted a door that looked like it might lead to a shower. It had no handle and he had difficulty feeling around one-handed for some sort of latch, but at last he opened the portal. It was a shower. Complete with what looked like some kind of soap in a clear, crystal decanter. Too bad he couldn’t figure out how the hell to turn on the water. Nothing even remotely resembled a faucet. “Shit.” He looked down at the woman resting against his body. She had turned on the lights. “Can you get the water running?” he asked.
She nodded and in seconds water streamed out of a white stone conduit into the tiled enclosure. Damon stuck his free hand into the flow. The temperature was perfect. He shook the drops off his hand, but didn’t want to wipe it off on his filthy clothes. He was tired enough not to care about their weird surroundings, and Ravyn’s eerie knowledge.
“Towels,” Ravyn said, her voice slurring the word. “In there.” She gestured weakly.
“Where?” he asked. He saw nothing but a blank wall.
Turning a bit in his arms, she reached out and pressed one of the crystal tiles. There was a steady increase in the glow where her hand rested. It dissipated and the wall slid slowly open, revealing a linen closet.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Ravyn was spooking him. He pulled out a few towels and placed them on the counter. He spotted a chair in the corner and eased her onto it. For a moment, he worried she’d slide to the floor, but she slumped back and stayed put. He dug among the towels some more and found a smaller one to spread out as a bath mat, but he couldn’t locate a single washcloth.
Damon looked at Ravyn and sighed. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it out of the way. He pulled off his socks, pants and shorts before turning to her. The buttons on her shirt didn’t want to slip through the stiff fabric, but he forced them. When it hung open, he considered the problem of how to get it off her.
Untying the bandage, Damon removed the squares of blood-soaked fabric. As he’d feared, the last pad stuck to her injury. Since pulling it off would undoubtedly reopen the wound, he soaked a small towel and used water to loosen the bandage. When he finally got it off, he studied her arm. It looked too red to him and the skin around it felt a little too hot.
Damon finished undressing her, and while he tried to be a gentleman, he couldn’t keep from staring once he had her naked. Swallowing a groan, he forced himself to move. He lifted her from the chair. Her bare skin slid against his bare skin and his body reacted. Gritting his teeth, he ignored it the best he could. He stepped into the shower, closing the door behind them.
The water felt good. He stood there, holding her, and let the cascade wash over them. Rivers of dirty water flowed down their bodies, and he made sure Ravyn’s head tilted in a way that kept her eyes out of the stream. He turned her so her back rested against his front and reached for what appeared to be liquid soap. Damon put a little dab into his hand and rubbed it between his fingers. He brought his hand to his nose. It felt and smelled like the sap from the soap plant they’d used.
Satisfied with his tests, he used it generously on Ravyn’s hair. It took three applications before the water stopped rinsing out dirt. Lathering soap between his hands, Damon carefully cleaned her face. That seemed to revive her and her legs supported her, although she still had to lean against him. It made things a little easier not to have to hold her up.
He took a deep breath and braced himself. Now came the part that would really torture him. Gingerly, Damon brought his hands around and started washing Ravyn’s body. At first, he stayed in areas that could be called innocent. It didn’t matter. He’d been hard since he’d stripped her, but now, with his soapy hands sliding over her body, his erection became painful.
Cleansing the wound took extra time, but too soon he had to move onto the places he’d skipped. With great reluctance, he cupped her breasts. She fit his hands perfectly, and he sucked in a sharp breath as desire lanced through his body. He could feel Ravyn’s nipples peak, could hear her soft hum of pleasure and then she about killed him. She wiggled her gorgeous little ass against his hard-on. Damon groaned and pressed himself tightly against her before he realized what he’d done.
Cursing, he put his hands on her shoulders and shifted her away from him. He worked faster now, wanting to finish as soon as he could. She’s hurt, he reminded himself, but he still nearly lost it when he slipped his hand between her legs. She was hot and wet. He wanted to stroke her until she came apart for him.
Damon jerked his hand away as if he’d touched fire. He couldn’t take anymore. She was clean enough, he decided and hustled her out of the shower. He wrapped her body in a towel and used another one to dry her hair. The thin, short cloth did nothing to deter his desire. He could still feel the slick warmth of her skin against him.
“Ouch,” Ravyn complained without heat. “You’re pulling my hair. I can do it myself.”
“Okay.” No way was he going to argue with her. Damon only stayed long enough to put her in the chair and make sure she didn’t topple out of it, before he returned to the shower. If there had been faucets, he would have cranked the cold water up, but he had no clue how to adjust the temperature. He washed his own hair and body and then stood under the streaming water, his head resting against the cool tile. He wasn’t moving until he had his control back.
Nearly twenty minutes passed before he thought he could handle the sight of Ravyn. Opening the door, he stepped back out and froze. Any ground he’d gained was lost as he drank her in. She’d combed her damp hair away from her face. Somewhere she had found a slinky little nightgown and the material clung to her curves before ending way too soon. His gaze traced the line of her long legs, appreciating each inch of bare skin.
Damon moved his eyes back up her body and noticed there were spots on the fabric where she’d missed drying herself completely. Only the thinnest threads of self-discipline kept him from pulling her to the floor and moving his body over hers. In an effort to beat back the overwhelming arousal, he shifted his attention to what she was doing. On the counter sat a small jar of ointment and Ravyn was dabbing it on her wound.
His eyes widened in alarm. “What the hell is that?” he demanded. Didn’t the woman have any sense? For all she knew, she could be putting rat poison on her arm.
“Salve,” she answered calmly.
He realized she was totally oblivious to both his arousal and his frustrated anger. Damon took a deep breath, and noticing he stood naked and dripping, wrapped a towel around his waist. She wiped the excess unguent on the side of the jar and reached for a cup sitting at her elbow.
“Ravyn,” he said, moving towar
d her as fast as he could. It wasn’t fast enough. She finished the contents of the glass before he could grab it away from her. She released it easily. The bottom held a fine coating of sediment. He brought the cup to his nose and sniffed. Definitely not water.
Alarm ran through him. What had she consumed and how much? If he got her to vomit, would that get enough of it out of her system? He closed his eyes and pushed his dripping hair off his forehead. She could have ingested the first of it shortly after he returned to the shower. It might already be too late.
Damon ignored the sound of the water shutting off, but when he felt movement, he opened his eyes. Ravyn had walked past him and had nearly reached the bedroom. “Where are you going?”
“To bed,” she answered easily and left him where he stood.
He chased after her and held her wrist to stop her. “That stuff you drank, we have to get it out of you.”
“You’re so sweet to worry, but it was just a healing powder. Nothing in it is going to hurt me.”
“You don’t know what you ingested,” he insisted.
“I knew how to turn on the lights and the shower. Trust me to know what I used.” She pressed her lips to his chin. “Why don’t you finish drying off and come to bed?”
Damon let her walk away from him. Something inside told him Ravyn did know what she’d taken, that it wouldn’t harm her. And she moved better, looked better than she had earlier. It scared him, but he would trust her knowledge and his instinct against all logic. He returned to the bathroom, rinsed out the cup and recapped the jar before running the towel over his hair and body.
By the time he reached the bed, Ravyn slept. Her breathing appeared normal, and he relaxed just a fraction. Damon tossed his towel on a nearby chair and crawled into bed beside her. If she had any difficulty during the night, he would deal with it.