Ash Fallen Page 2

  When they were alone, he came around the table and stood before her. She couldn’t help but feel small as he towered above her. “A Mender, huh?”

  He scrutinized her. After a half-century of purity crusades, tens of thousands of variants (the lawful term given to people with powers) were hunted down and killed. They were called disparate, deviants, mutants – “the un-pure.” The women suffered most. Accused of calling on evil spirits to wield their powers, they were met with unspeakable deaths. The crusades ended decades prior, but the variants who remained often kept their powers hidden, out of survival for the most part.

  Although they were awarded equal rights and laws were enacted to keep them safe, they still battled discrimination and people’s fear of the unknown. Ash was surprised she gave up the information so willingly. The thought of spending the evening in cramped quarters with ill-mannered men must have frightened her. He’d speculated that it might do the trick.

  “A Mender, and a Soother, actually,” she said, holding her head high.

  He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Prove it.”

  “How would you like me to prove it?” she demanded, raising an eyebrow. She placed her hands on her hips, then quickly returned them to her sides when she realized the gesture drew her captor’s attention to her bare midsection.

  His gaze lingered on her slender, toned waist, then, as if finally realizing he was gawking, he returned his focus to her eyes. “I was thrown from a horse a few days ago. I tweaked my back. I want you to make it feel better.”

  “Speaking of horses,” she said, side-stepping his concentrated stare, “I couldn’t help but notice the rather impressive pack of horses at your disposal. Was there a reason we had to walk today?”

  “I like to keep the horses rested when we have less than a day’s journey. Now can you help me out or not?” He sensed she might be stalling.

  “Fine. I’ll need you to close your eyes.”

  “And let you sucker punch me and run away? There’s no chance of that,” he chuckled.

  Rosalie’s shoulders slumped as her chances of escape dulled. “Okay, well I’ll need to close my eyes, so I’ll need your word you won’t try anything.”

  His blue eyes pierced hers. “You have my word.”

  She could tell he was being truthful. The intensity of his stare made her shudder, but it wasn’t in fear. She held his gaze, refusing to back down. “Take off your shirt and turn around.”

  Ash obeyed, slipping off his shirt and offering her his bare back. After taking in his tan, muscular form, she closed her eyes in concentration. She placed both hands flat against his back and moved them slowly until she felt the site of the injury. She could always find the spot. Injuries had their own energy. Closing her eyes, she whispered a soft chant.

  As she recited the words, Ash felt a chill, then a rush of warmth down his spine – then, relief. When the pain lifted, he turned to her and smiled in amazement. The smile was genuine, revealing a small dimple below his left cheek. “You fixed it.” He twisted from side to side without discomfort, then turned again to face her.

  “Careful now,” she warned. “I’m not a Healer. I soothed the pain and facilitated the mending process, that’s all. You should be right as rain in a week or two, but the pain may return before then. The soothing charm only lasts for so long.”

  “You’re going to stay here until I’m better then.”

  She took a step backwards, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She was partially relieved she wouldn’t spend her nights in a prison cell. But she also didn’t need this brute of a man assuming he could do with her as he pleased.

  “I will have a separate cot brought in,” he clarified.

  A blush crept across her cheeks. “I agree then.”

  “Sweetheart, I wasn’t giving you a choice.”

  Once a cot and blankets were brought in, Rosalie busied herself preparing for bed. She brushed her teeth with her index finger and untangled her hair with her fingertips. When she slipped under the covers, fully clothed except her shoes, Ash approached her – rope in hand.

  “And just what do you intend to do with that?”

  “I’m afraid it’s necessary.” His mouth curved downward in an apologetic frown.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I need to make sure you don’t run off. Or try and do me in while I sleep. It’s either this,” he said, skimming his fingers over the rope, “or I can put you in that fancy cell you saw earlier. Your choice.”

  Rosalie’s bravery faltered, and her bottom lip trembled. She knew nothing about this man or his intentions. Once he bound her, there would be nothing to stop him from doing with her as he pleased. Terror gripped her body and clawed at her throat. As he came closer, she held her breath, her body paralyzed by fear. She stared into the icy abyss of her captor’s eyes, at a loss for words. “Please,” she managed.

  Ash studied the way her eyes shone when she was frightened. The tears she held back glistened against the green of each iris. It angered him that he noticed such an insignificant detail. “If you’re worried I’ll try something, you’ve got it all wrong,” he said gruffly. “I’m not that desperate and frankly, you’re not my type.”

  If he was trying to provoke her to lessen her fear, it worked. Anger flashed in her eyes and she thrust her wrists upwards and towards him.

  His gruffness dissipated and he softened his tone. “I’ll keep one hand free, okay?”

  She shrugged as if it made no difference to her, but there was no mistaking her visible relief.

  When he leaned in to bind her, he caught the intoxicating smell of sandalwood and jasmine – a stimulating blend of spicy and sweet. He closed his eyes and struggled to maintain his composure. With quick movements, he wrapped the rope around her left wrist, then tied the end of the rope to a hook on the wall. He fashioned a brass bell to the rope. When Rosalie struggled against it, the bell clanged.

  “With one hand untied, I’m sure you’ll be able to free yourself, but this bell will be my alarm if you try.”

  When he tapped the bell with his index finger, she shot him a withering look. She wanted nothing more than to punch him; to see his look of surprise when her fist connected with his beautiful jawline. With her free hand, she punched the pillow instead.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ash ducked out of the hut to cool down. His body begged for sleep, but he needed a walk and the crisp night air to clear his head. He’d meant it when he said Rosalie wasn’t his type, though he hadn’t intended it as an insult. Typically, he was drawn to carefree women he couldn’t see a future with – women who, like him, weren’t looking for long-term. Rosalie didn’t fit the part. Despite her cool exterior, flirty behavior, and flagrant disregard for modesty, he suspected she was a one-man woman. The marrying type. The worst kind. He’d need to keep his distance; for both their sakes.

  He’d seen more attractive women before, although he couldn’t recall when. He thought back to the moment his eyes first met hers. The brilliant green of her almond-shaped eyes had softened his defenses. Her delicate face was a staggering contrast to her brazen temperament. She was already causing him to do things he wouldn’t ordinarily do – leaving weapons behind at her village, having her stay in his room instead of putting her with the other prisoners. Okay, perhaps he couldn’t blame her for that last part. It wasn’t her fault his flesh was weaker than he had realized.

  The three moons of Orthron lit up the night sky above him. His breath froze in mid-air as he exhaled, but he felt blanketed by an unexplainable heat. It had taken all his willpower not to kiss her when he had her alone. He imagined how she would taste – a maddening blend of sweet, yet salty after the day’s journey. Her intoxicating scent of sandalwood and jasmine still lingered, leaving him spiraling.

  He headed towards Stryker’s hut, but changed his mind before he reached it. He knew his friend didn’t approve of him taking Rosalie with them. If it were up to Stryker, they would have dumped her at the next
village, despite the plan at hand. The female presence was a dangerous distraction in a camp full of men. He headed for Marx’s hut instead – the one person who agreed with Rosalie’s presence in the camp; though Marx’s reasons for keeping her around were less complicated than Ash’s.

  Despite his attempts to avoid Stryker, the two men met up outside Marx’s hut.

  “Don’t worry about it. She’s my problem,” Ash said before Stryker could start in on him.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. She’s all of our problem.”

  Ash locked eyes with him and furrowed his brow in concentration.

  “Don’t even try it,” Stryker said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Try what?” Ash asked innocently, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  “You know what you were doing.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  Stryker shook his head in disapproval, but his face split into a wide grin. “Save that wooing trick for the ladies my friend.”

  Marx opened the door without prompting and invited the two men in. “I saw her brought in,” he said once they were behind closed doors. “Pretty.” He shot Ash a pointed look.

  “Hadn’t noticed,” Ash countered, but his cheeks warmed, and he flashed a guilty grin.

  Marx huffed in reply. He tossed each of his guests a warm beer and popped the top off a third one for himself. “I wouldn’t get too close,” he cautioned Ash. “You know the reason she’s here.”

  Ash was about to ask why Stryker wasn’t getting the same lecture, but instead he nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. His expression was grim, and he took a long swig of the beer. His face contorted when the warm, bitter liquid touched his tongue.

  “Nothing is certain,” Marx said after several moments of silence passed. Again, his gaze settled on Ash.

  Ash grunted in agreement, uncertain if the words were meant to be taken as a warning or encouragement. He hoped for the latter. He drained the remainder of his beer in misery, pretending it was his drink’s lack of refrigeration that was responsible for his dark mood.

  As he made his way back to the hut, Ash was bleary-eyed, tipsy, and looking for a fight. His foggy discontent melted away, replaced by captivating clarity, when he saw Rosalie lying there. She was fast asleep; her reddish-brown hair splayed across the pillow. She was curled up in a fetal position, and despite her bound wrist, she looked at peace. He studied her cheekbones and pretty mouth. He imagined her lips would be soft; agonized over how she would taste. A sweet nectar of wine and honey. But it wasn’t only her beauty that fascinated him. He’d been impressed by the way, despite her fears, she’d stood up for her village – begging him not to leave her people defenseless. It took courage. Courage and compassion.

  He bent down and straightened her blanket, covering where her thigh was left partially exposed between the strips of her leather skirt. Unable to stop himself, he lifted a tendril of her hair off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. He let his fingertips rest against the softness of her skin. When Rosalie sighed in her sleep, and her plump lips parted, Ash sighed too. His father once told him beauty was more dangerous than the blade. He’d disagreed up to this point. Thoughts in turmoil, he crept to his own cot. He had a feeling he was in for a long night.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Rosalie’s dreams were vivid. She dreamt of fleeing the vast walls of Mabel Village as it went up in smoke. A chorus of voices shouted in anguish as she made her escape, leaving the frightened throng behind to fend for themselves amongst the flames and smoke plumes. She knew she should feel guilty for abandoning her people, but she felt as if she was running towards something as opposed to running away. She edged forward with purpose. And through the smoky haze she saw the one she ran to. She saw Ash.

  When she awoke, she bolted upright in bed, disoriented. Her hand flew to her necklace, her fingertips caressing the smooth stone as she glanced around the unfamiliar room to try and collect her bearings. Her neck and body felt tight. She’d slept curled into a ball, a habit whenever she felt troubled or insecure. It was when she began to massage the kink in her neck that she noticed both her hands were free. The rope that had bound her lay limp on the floor; the unwelcome bell lay beside it.

  She smiled to herself, realizing Ash must have untied her while she slept. It pleased her more than it should have. She glanced over at his cot and was disappointed to find it empty. It was scarcely dawn.

  Rosalie scolded herself. This may be her chance to escape yet instead she lay moping about a man she didn’t know and should, by all logic, fear. Scrambling out of bed, she tugged on her shoes, then opened the door, ready to bolt.

  “Do you need something?” a man asked. He stood beside the door, leaning casually against the wall of the hut and picking his teeth with a slender, plastic object.

  “Got anything to eat around here?” She knew the man recognized the wild look in her eyes and realized she’d planned to make a break for it.

  Sparing her pride and doing his best to hide his amusement, the man nodded towards the campfire. “There’s some leftovers if you hurry.”

  She studied him. Was she allowed to wander the camp as she pleased? How many eyes were on her? She couldn’t be sure.

  “It’s not going to grow legs and walk over to you, if that’s what you’re waiting for,” he smirked.

  Ignoring his comment, she walked towards the inviting fire. The warmth of the flames beckoned her closer. A handful of men stood beside it, warming their hands and jawing. But most men were busy breaking camp and packing up the horses.

  She approached an elderly man sitting close to the fire, poking at the smoldering logs with a long, wooden stick. “Where is everybody going?”

  “You mean, where are we going? We’re headed to the next base camp, as planned.”

  “You mean this isn’t where you live?” Her tone was a blend of confusion and relief.

  “This hovel? No. This was an abandoned township we made into a base camp while we scouted out the nearby villages.”

  “So you could plunder them.” Rosalie spoke sharp, not bothering to keep the disdain out of her tone. It sickened her to think of what may have happened to her village after she’d been taken away. Her mind flashed back to her dream. Had her village been burned?

  The man looked up at her. He rubbed his chin in thought as if he contemplated arguing with her. Seeming to change his mind, he went back to poking at the fire with his stick.

  Realizing she wouldn’t get any more out of him, Rosalie plucked a plate from a stack on a tree stump and proceeded to dish up a porridge-like substance from the black kettle suspended above the fire. She glanced around for utensils. Finding none, she sat on a fallen log and began to eat, shoveling the food into her mouth with her fingertips.

  “Very ladylike,” a man’s voice declared from behind her. She jumped and whipped her head around. Ash towered above her, eyes dancing with humor. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said, stifling a grin.

  “You didn’t frighten me.” She returned her attention to her plate, pretending his presence didn’t affect her, but her shaky fingers gave her away as she picked through her food.

  He sat beside her, not waiting for an invitation. “How did you sleep?”

  “Fine.” She didn’t return his gaze and silence passed between them. “Thank you for untying me,” she mumbled after a long pause.

  He shrugged. “We’re headed out in a bit. You might want to dress warmer. I put some clothing on the cot that is a bit more … practical.”

  “More modest?” she said, glancing over at him and raising an eyebrow.

  “More comfortable.”

  “You mean more comfortable for you.” She knew she shouldn’t toy with him, but presently it was the only defensive move she had.

  It was obvious her comment unnerved him. He cleared his throat but didn’t answer. Instead, he stood to his feet, mumbled something about checking on the horses, and walked away. There was no arguing
with her.

  She smirked with satisfaction. She’d pegged him perfectly.

  When she returned to the hut, she found a change of clothing stacked neatly on the cot. She held up a man’s flannel shirt. It was a pale blue; threadbare and faded, but it felt soft and warm against her skin. She held it to her face, inhaling the woodsy, soapy combination and enjoying the tickle of the fabric on her cheek. “More comfortable,” she said aloud, smiling to herself.

  She glanced around the hut, then removed the knife she kept sheathed beneath the leather folds of her skirt. She stripped off her shirt and skirt and tossed them on the bed beside the knife. She discarded her panties on the floor and smirked at Ash’s oversight at not finding her a replacement pair. Then again, she realized, it might not have been an oversight at all.

  She stood beside the cot in her bare legs and the button-up flannel shirt as she held up the pants to inspect them. She was pleased to find they were tailored for a woman, but for someone a size or two larger than herself. She pulled them on, then crouched on the dirt floor of the hut to find the rope. Retrieving it, she used her knife to cut off a section of rope, then buried the knife below her discarded clothing.

  Rosalie threaded the rope through the beltloops of her pants and tied it in a knot in front. She was swimming in the bulky shirt, but she was grateful for its size. It meant she could hide her weapon. She fastened the sheathed knife to her make-shift rope belt and pulled her shirt over it. Satisfied the knife was properly concealed, she rolled up her shirtsleeves, then sat on the edge of the cot and slipped on her socks and shoes.

  “You ready to go?” Ash poked his head into the hut, startling her for the second time that morning. “You’re a bit jumpy today,” he chuckled.

  She stood to her feet, placed her hands on her hips, and glared in his direction but didn’t say anything.

  He cleared his throat. “We’re headed towards Greenwich. I think you’ll find our next camp more suitable to your taste.” His gaze traveled up and down as he stared in her direction.