Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 38973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
And a water droplet fell into my eye. Jesus fucking Christ.
Muttering a curse, I lowered my bow and swiped at my eyes, listening as the doe scampered off, spooked by my annoyance. It’d rained hard as fuck last night, which made this morning prime hunting time. But damn, I’d been hunting for a couple of hours now, and it was cold, and my shoulders were wet from the constant dripping of water from the trees.
Sighing, I moved out of the trees and set my bow down, reaching for my pack so I could drink some water. I glanced around, listening to the river rushing below at the edge of the cliff. This place was beautiful and was one of the biggest reasons I bought this land and built my cabin on it. It was peaceful—just the sound of nature all around. No random loud noises. Nothing to trigger my PTSD.
Usually.
A low groan reached my ears, and I spun around, blinking in surprise at the boy laying on his back, his clothes drenched, his lips blue. Blood stained the rock his head was laying on, and his purple hair was damp, water droplets running across his face in rivulets.
“Fuck,” I growled, rushing forward. I’d seen him the night before dragging two bodies up the mountain, but I’d minded my own business. People dropped bodies over the cliff all the time. As a previous soldier who’d done my own fair share of violence and had dropped more bodies than I cared to count or remember, I had no right to judge. Especially since I didn’t know the why behind it all.
Besides, interfering would only bring trouble I wasn’t interested in being involved in. Better to keep my head down, my mouth shut, and mind my own business. I’d learned that from a young age. My mom had never been in the picture, and my dad had been involved in some shady shit until he got arrested when I was sixteen.
Head down. Mouth shut. That was the motto I lived by.
I dropped to my knees beside the boy and pressed my fingers against his pulse. A sigh of relief spilled past my lips when I felt his slow and steady pulse drumming beneath my fingertips, but he was damn near at hypothermic levels, if he wasn’t already. His fingers were too cold, and it looked like blood had stopped flowing to them a while ago.
Shit. I needed to get him to the cabin so I could get him warm and dry. From there, I would determine if he needed a hospital, or if I could manage helping him on my own.
Slinging my bow over my back, I grabbed the boy’s axe, which was laying beside him, hooking it through the strap on my backpack. No doubt, he’d used it last night to dissect whoever he’d been disposing of. I didn’t want to leave it there in fear someone else would come across it—especially someone who might turn it into law enforcement. Something about this boy already had me ready to do anything to protect him—and maybe it was because he was just so small and looked so fragile. But I wouldn’t risk his freedom.
Slowly and very carefully, I lifted the boy into my arms. He was super light and easy to carry, even while he was unconscious and hanging in my arms like dead weight. His purple hair dripped over my arm as I quickly made my way through the woods toward my cabin, heading down the mountain a bit. It didn’t take long before the water from his soaked hair began to bleed through my coat, turning my arm cold.
Pushing open the front door of my cabin, I stepped inside, toeing off my boots before carrying him up the stairs to my loft. Not caring about him potentially ruining my sheets, I gently deposited him on the bed before stripping him out of his wet clothes. I kept my gaze on his face, avoiding his body. I wanted to look—Jesus fuck, did I want to look at this beautiful boy and drink him in—but I wouldn’t. If I got the chance to see him naked—and fuck, I really hoped I did—I wanted him to be conscious. Wanted to see his skin flush as I raked my eyes over him.
Wanted him to consent.
I quickly dressed him in a pair of my sweatpants, which were big on him, but I was able to tighten the string enough to make them rest on his hips. Then, I pulled one of my long sleeve shirts over his head before lifting him up again—
Blood.
“Shit,” I breathed, quickly bringing him forward to rest against my chest so I could inspect the back of his head. Sure enough, he was still bleeding—not a lot but enough to concern me. Parting his hair, I gently felt around his scalp. He moaned in pain, but when I leaned back to look at him, his eyes were still shut, and he was still unconscious.