The Darkest Night

by Emma V. Leech

  Bram frowned and tried to remember what the hell had happened. He had a vague recollection of a fight at the gates, but the rest was a blur of pain and confusion. He glanced at his shoulder to see the bandages and wondered if maybe he had jumped to conclusions. He looked back at the woman who was still glaring at him with indignation. He had simply never seen anyone quite like her before, though. What kind of race had blue and black hair? He had heard of a kind of water sprite, the nixe, having blue hair, but he had never actually seen one himself. But then there were those strange pieces of metal in her face. He wondered if they were spells or perhaps some kind of ward.

  He frowned, glancing up at her and realising he didn’t have a lot of choices in any event. He felt like he was about to pass out. “What are you?” he croaked, wanting at least to establish that much before he succumbed to the heat that felt like it was dragging him into a furnace.

  “I’m a nurse,” she replied, still scowling at him with suspicion.

  His head tipped back, hitting the wall at his back which was blissfully cold. “A healer?” he asked, wanting to be sure he’d understood.

  “Oh, God, you’re not a damned hippie, are you?” she asked, narrowing those sharp grey eyes.

  He gave her a blank look. He’d never heard of a creature called a hippie before. Were they like pixies, perhaps?

  The girl, or witch, or whatever she was, rolled her eyes at him. “A New Age traveller, maybe?” she pressed.

  Bram opened his mouth to explain that he was Fae, which he thought ought to be damn obvious even if he wasn’t of the purest blood, but a wave of dizziness hit him and he closed his eyes.

  “Damn tree hugger, I’ll bet,” she muttered. He managed to open them again as she got up to put more wood on the fire. He started at the sudden movement and she rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m not going to eat you,” she said, snorting and shaking her head. “But that wound needs to be cleaned. I was hoping to do it while you were still out cold.” she said, pointing at his shoulder. “It’s going to sting, I’m afraid.” He watched as she bit her lip, looking suddenly anxious. “It’s still bleeding more than I like. You’ve lost a lot of blood, I think.” Bram wondered if he looked as shocked as he felt as her rather severe face softened. “There’s a terrible storm raging outside. I have no signal on my phone so I can’t call an ambulance, and we’re miles from civilisation.” She sighed and chewed at a fingernail, looking rather nervous herself now, which seemed odd if she was a witch.

  Bram was still breathing hard but he turned his head to look at his shoulder, which was still oozing blood. He could see the remains of what had been his shirt wet and dark with it. Swallowing, he turned away again before he threw up. He’d never been great with blood.

  The woman moved suddenly and he tensed. She held out a hand to calm him and moved slowly, picking up a large basin and sliding it towards him. “If you’re going to be sick, do it in that please,” she said, gesturing at the bowl. “I don’t want to be clearing up after you all damn night.”

  “You are too kind, my lady,” he muttered, not appreciating her rather harsh tone.

  Her eyes narrowed and she glared at him. “Damn straight, I am. I should have let you bleed to death in the rain, instead of dragging you inside and trying to save your life!”

  He closed his eyes, laying his head back against the damp plaster at his back. “I apologise,” he said, feeling guilty now. “That was uncalled for. I do thank you, most sincerely.” He opened his eyes and looked back at her, hoping she could see he was sincere. “Please ... would you help me, my lady?”

  She frowned at him, still looking as though she thought he was a mad man. “Fine, but you can cut the crap. You’re not playing your stupid fighting games now.”

  Bram blinked at her. His head was fuzzy and it was hard to think through the fog, but this woman seemed to say the strangest things.

  “What happened?” she asked, as she rummaged about in a heavy looking black bag. “One of your little make-believe soldiers think it would be fun to be more authentic and you came off worse?” Bram just stared at her, wondering what the devil she was on about. “Your battle re-enactment went wrong, did it?” she pressed, and finally one word made sense. He latched onto it, figuring that was what she was asking about.

  “Battle ...?" he said slowly and then nodded at her. "The war must have begun by now, certainly.” He paused, narrowing his eyes at her. He really didn’t know what side she was on after all. She wasn’t Fae, that was for sure. “What do you know of it?” he demanded, suspicions flickering to life again.

  She snorted in disgust. “Nothing, thank God,” she said, shaking her head at him. “And let’s keep it that way, shall we? Now ... your shoulder.” She walked over to him and he watched her as she moved, not trusting her an inch. “If I help you up, can you stand?”

  Bram nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure it was true, but she bent down and took hold of his good arm and he tried to get his legs to move. With a grunt of effort, he managed to haul himself to his feet as his shoulder throbbed, but then stumbled as his head span.

  “Whoa there!” She grabbed a hold of him until he was steady again, and Bram found himself surprised that such a slender woman was so strong. She looked up at him, assuring herself perhaps that he wouldn’t faint if she let go, and then blushed, clearly realising that she was wrapped around a half-naked man. She let him go fast enough, then, and pointed at a kitchen chair. “Sit.” Bram obeyed in silence, watching her all the while.

  She came back to the table carrying a small bottle and another wad of his ruined shirt. “Take a deep breath,” she instructed once she’d taken off the bandages, before pouring the liquor over the wound.

  Bram hissed as it hit, pain whiting out his sight. He clutched at the table, vaguely aware that she was warning him the exit wound was next. Despite his best efforts, he exclaimed as the pain came again. His skin burned and pulsed, the searing pain making his stomach roil. He pushed himself off the chair and fell to his knees, vomiting into the bowl she had given him earlier.

  He sat there, sweating and shaking and feeling like death. He felt foolish and vulnerable and so damned weak. Bram started as a cool cloth was pressed against the back of his neck and the woman sat on the floor beside him. She held his long dark hair out of the way, before pressing the cool cloth against his forehead, too.

  "I'm sorry." His head was bowed, and he pushed the disgusting bowl away.

  "Don't be ridiculous," she said, and he was taken aback by the compassion in her voice. "I'm amazed you didn't pass out."

  “Thank you,” he said, wishing he didn’t sound so damned shaky. "For helping me."

  She nodded but said nothing. “Can you get up? The floor is filthy and I don’t want that wound getting infected.”

  With a lot of cursing and stumbling about, they managed to get him seated back at the table. Bram laid his head on his good arm, trying to breathe through the pain until the dizziness passed. Closing his eyes, he decided that the woman had been given plenty of opportunity to finish him off, so he had to trust her. For now, at least.

  ***

  Ameena could hear the storm outside, raging and thrashing at the countryside around her. What a night. The wind howled past the small building, branches scratching at the shutters on the windows as the wind tugged at the edges, making the wood rattle and bang. She had liked nights like this as a child, in this place. She’d felt safe and cosy and secure in her room, knowing nothing bad could happen. Her throat tightened as she knew she’d never felt such peace since.

  She carried one of the candles, holding it aloft as she walked into the tiny room that had once been hers. The white wallpaper was a dingy grey, and the fairies in the pattern that had been frolicking amongst flowers and wearing acorn hats for many years now looked weary and forlorn. A few tatty posters of kittens and ponies remained, and the white metal bed was bare except for a fusty-looking mattress. Ameena sighed
, heart sick for the way this place looked in her memories. It had been a safe place, a place where she had been truly happy. She didn't honestly think that was an emotion she had ever found again. Not since the day her parents dragged her out the door, crying bitterly and telling them she would never forgive them for ruining her life. She’d been honest, at least, as in truth, she wasn't sure she ever had.

  She went back to the kitchen, but her patient hadn’t moved and she thought he was sleeping, or maybe passed out again. Tugging out a hoodie from her bag, she laid it across his shoulders. He was still slumped over the table and she imagined he must be in shock. Walking across to the room on the opposite side of the kitchen-living room, she found her parent’s bedroom and opened the door. Only the mattress remained in here; other than that the room was bare, but there was a fireplace, at least. She went back to the kitchen, taking some wood from the store beside the log burner and got the fire going there as well.

  While he was still out of it, Ameena took the opportunity to bind up his shoulder as best she could. By this time, the chill had been taken off of the bedroom and she tried to wake him. He mumbled, still incoherent as she felt his head. Damn, he was burning up. She found an old chipped mug and washed it before pouring some of the clean, boiled water into it.

  "Here." She held the mug to his lips and he drank a little. He stared at her, eyes glassy with fever. The poor devil looked like he was completely out of it. "Can you stand up?” she asked, wondering if he even heard her. “You can't sleep here all night, but there's a mattress through there, you’ll be more comfortable."

  He moaned and went to lay his head back on the table.

  "No," she said, tugging at his good arm. "Get up. Come on, get on your feet."

  It took a lot of cursing and muttering on both sides, but eventually they made it to the bedroom and he collapsed onto the mattress. Within seconds, he was asleep, but Ameena watched him as he moved about in his sleep. He was restless and fretful and she feared that the fever was getting worse.

  Muttering about the stupidity of men in general, she went back to her old bedroom and hauled the mattress across. She'd have to stay here tonight to keep an eye on him. She just hoped in the morning she could get a bloody signal on her phone and he could get to the hospital - and out of her life. She had quite enough problems of her own to contend with, thank you very much.

  She was woken an hour or so later by the sound of his voice, and lit the candle she'd left by the bed with her lighter. His skin glistened with sweat in the candle light, wet strands of long dark hair trailing across his cheek and down his neck. One arm was flung over the edge of the mattress, trailing on the floor, and she took his hand and felt his pulse, which was hammering under his skin. He started muttering again and she sat down beside him, trying to figure out what he was saying, when she realised he was still sleeping.

  "Please, Leola, no ... No ..." He seemed frantic, his breathing erratic, and she washed his face and neck again, speaking to him softly to try and calm him.

  "I didn’t … I didn’t do it!" he raged, sounding desperate and afraid and furious all at once.

  Ameena sighed, wondering what it was he hadn’t done, but pressed the damp cloth to his forehead. “I know,” she said, even though she didn’t. “I know you didn’t do it. Just rest now. You’ll be alright.”

  He seemed to relax after that and she went to go back to her own mattress.

  “Don’t go.” His voice was rough and scratchy, and though she knew he was likely dreaming and it wasn't her he was speaking to, she replied anyway.

  "Hush, now, it's alright." She took his hand and his breathing slowed further, as the dream seemed to leave him. With a sigh, she lay down beside him still holding his hand. "Go to sleep, you're quite safe, I'm not going anywhere ... I won't leave you."

  Chapter 3

  Ameena woke, disorientated. She could feel the thud of a heartbeat, the tantalising combination of rough chest hair and smooth skin under her cheek. Sucking in a breath, she held very still as the events of last night came back to her in something of a rush. Well, this was awkward. Blinking in the dim light, she opened her eyes and was greeted with a landscape of impressive male beauty. That might well belong to a lunatic, she reminded herself. Sitting up and trying not to disturb him, her eyes drifted up over those splendid abs and that impressive chest to her patient’s face ... and eyes that were open and watching her. She jolted awake, moving away from him and sitting upright.

  With difficulty, she tried to return to her professional demeanour, which wasn’t easy as she simultaneously blushed and stifled a yawn.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, rubbing a hand through her hair to try and liven up the no doubt flattened spikes.

  “Hurts,” he muttered, his voice dry and rough.

  Ameena nodded, trying to ignore the fact that her parent’s old room looked like it had two exceedingly disreputable-looking squatters in residence. “I don’t doubt it.” She reached forward, touching his forehead with a frown. “You’re still burning up.”

  “The lead,” he rasped, closing his eyes as the effort of speaking wore at him. “From the bullet,” he added, as though to clarify. “Poison.”

  Ameena frowned. Lead poisoning from a bullet that had passed through him in a split second seemed unlikely, to say the least. “The bullet was gone, it couldn’t poison you.”

  He shook his head, dark eyes flicking open to stare at her. “Very poisonous ... to me.”

  She gave him a sceptical look, not really believing him. “You’re allergic to the bullet?” she repeated, watching him nod again.

  “Lead ... it’s poisonous.” His tone was insistent but his eyes closed against the pain and he fell quiet. Ameena got to her feet, realising she should have given him some painkillers last night. Not that it had mattered so much, he’d been pretty much dead to the world; well, apart from the dreams.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded as she glanced back at him. There was anxiety in his voice, his eyes bright with fever.

  “To get you something for the pain. I’ll be right back.”

  She returned to the kitchen, pulling another top from her backpack and putting it on, she needed to get the fires lit as the place was bloody freezing. Grabbing the first aid kit, she found a packet of ibuprofen, filled the chipped mug with what remained of the boiled water, and took it back to him.

  “Can you sit up?” she asked, kneeling beside him and wishing there wasn’t dust and cobwebs everywhere she turned.

  He nodded and went to move, and then bit back a moan. Ameena set the mug and tablets down and knelt beside him, putting her arm behind him to try and help him up. He was a large, solid male, however, and weighed a great deal more than her. Somehow, they managed to prop him up, but they were both sweating and breathing hard by the time it was done.

  “Thank you.” He leant back against the wall with his good shoulder; his eyes closed against the pain as she picked up the packet of pain killers and broke two out of the plastic blisters.

  “I have to get out of here,” he said, sounding panicked now. “I have to …” he trailed off and ran a shaky hand through his hair.

  “Yes.” Ameena nodded in wholehearted agreement. “Yes, you do, and as soon as you’ve had these, I’m going to phone for an ambulance.”

  He snatched at her arm, his grip strong, and she gasped, fear spiking under her skin until she realised he was looking terrified, not murderous. “No.” He shook his head, his expression fierce. “No .... ambulance.”

  He sounded the word out as though it was foreign to him, as if he hadn’t spoken it before. Ameena glared at the hand on her wrist and back at him. He took his hand away. “Please,” he added, sounding a little chastened.

  Ameena rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t be a bloody fool. That wound needs professional care.” It suddenly occurred to her that he was afraid because there were bound to be police involved over a bullet wound. “Look,” she said, hoping she sounded like the voice o
f reason, as it would be the first time. “Any amount of trouble with the police isn’t worth avoiding getting properly treated.”

  His eyes had widened at the word police and he shook his head with more vigour. “No. You have cared for me, the wound will heal.” The was a stubborn set to his jaw that didn’t bode well for her getting him off her hands.

  “That wound will get infected if you don’t keep it clean,” she said, her words rather harder now as the vision of caring for him indefinitely sprang to mind. “I don’t see you leaving here on your own two feet, and you are certainly not staying,” she added, folding her arms and hoping she’d been fierce enough to get the point across.

  He nodded, though she wasn’t sure which bit he was agreeing with. She sighed and held out the painkillers to him. He narrowed his eyes, staring at them with suspicion. “What are they?”

  She laughed at the misgiving in his eyes. “Ibuprofen, for the pain.” She tipped them into his hand and held up the mug of water but he just stared at the tablets like she was trying to feed him cyanide. “Oh, for crying out loud, just swallow them, will you?” she muttered, shaking her head. “If I’d wanted to do away with you, I wouldn’t have sat up all bloody night checking you were still breathing!”

  He seemed slightly reassured by this logic and put the tablets in his mouth and then grimaced. Ameena handed him the mug and he downed it, shaking his head. “Ugh.”

  She snorted, amused by his disgust, before getting to work relighting the fire as he watched her every move. “What is your name?” he asked, as she coaxed a tiny flame to life.

  She was head-down, blowing on the embers of the fire that she had found still glowing, faint but bright as she replied, “Ameena.”

  “Mina?” he demanded, and her head came up with a frown.

  “No. Ameena,” she repeated, correcting him as she waved a plume of smoke away from her face.