Ch 1 New Orleans Part 1
Her hazy memories between flashes of consciousness were of bubbles in the water; the life escaping from her as she stared in the dim and dark gloom. Time had no meaning and she wondered if she was just watching eternity pass by or frozen in hell. Her limbs felt so heavy, the fight's gone from her and all she wants to do is close her eyes and get sucked down into the swamp. Forever cradled in the mud and muck.
But some mercies aren't meant to be granted to her kind. A fish net catches her up along with the other unfortunate creatures meant to be scaled and filleted. The last sensation before everything goes dark once more, is that of being rocked gently against the water and a sudden blinding light from above.
XX
"Fresh catch of the day," a man called in a thick Cajun accent as the net was hauled in by the men on deck of the fishing boat.
They grunted as their muscles strained and the ropes were pulled taut until the net filled with fish was pulled on the deck.
"Let's take her back in to port," the captain called as Ivan wiped his brow with the back of his rough gloved hand. He towered over the other men and his body was large, muscle with a layer of fat that he had never been able to shed.
The Russian watched the other men with cool detachment. This was his latest job, a means to an end until the next pay off. Nothing more.
His stared at the writhing fish suffocating in the net as the boat moved sluggishly down the river. He swore he must not have slept for days if he thought he had just seen something vaguely human in the slimy, wriggling mess.
He stepped closer and definitely saw it again, a streak of hair here, a hand. The sight had him reaching into his back pocket and grabbing his knife. He barely heard the sound of the other fishermen yelling at him as he fell to his knees and cut through the hard wet cords until they sprang free under the sharp blade and crushing strength in his arms.
He reached into the slippery mess and found a shoulder, grabbing beneath the arm pits until he'd dragged the woman out. Her lips were blue, mud, grime and vegetation clung to her clammy cold skin. Long blonde hair was tangled around her in a complete wet mess with all manner of debris threaded among the tresses. She looked like she'd been dead for weeks.
"Mary mother of god," one of the men murmured crossing himself as they stared at the woman while Ivan looked her over methodically and felt her pulse point in her throat.
Faint, but it was there. He turned her on her side and thumped her hard on the back.
"жить," he bit out as he gave her back another hard smack as she jerked forward. The men watched in horror, only one brave soul stepping forward with the intention of reasoning with him to stop.
One more hard hit and she was coughing hard, clawing at the wooden deck. He watched her with sharp eyes as she vomited hard. Her body was shaking and water dripping off of her as mud, blood, and any other number of things fell from her lips until she was spent.
She tried to get up on shaking arms, too exhausted to do much. Her lungs burned as she finally gulped down the air that she had been denied for weeks. Her blue eyes blinked against the too bright light.
Everyone seems to be in motion. Some of the men fearfully stepping back from the woman who looks like a ghoul, others rushing off to find supplies. But Ivan is very still. He watches her and feels something fall into place. Recognition. They are the same.
Amelia had not adjusted to the light when strong arms scooped her up and carried her while she weakly tried to push him off. She could barely think, instinctively pushing against anything she came in contact with, feeling as vulnerable as a newborn.
Her captor had a large nose, a silvery white beard, hair damp with perspiration and violet eyes that were not looking at her. She would have declared that he had an interesting face if she hadn't been trying to desperately remove herself from his hold.
Before Ivan could disappear with her below the deck one of the men spoke up hesitantly.
"Wh-what are you going to do with her?"
"That is my business," he said in a cold voice as he looked back at them with flat violet eyes. "Take the money out of my pay for the net."
Without another word he turned and headed down as the woman in his arms tried to scream from her raw throat.
XX
She was crying as they stepped into his small quarters. He paid her no attention. Her tears would dry he thought, the excitement within him growing as he threw open the door to his room.
The men of the boat avoided him and so he was privileged with his own space, humble though it was. That was good. If they were interrupted it would displease him greatly.
He set her on the edge of his cot and indifferently pulled on her wet clothes as she tried in vain to keep the ruined clinging fabric on.
"Bastard!" she bit out as the layers were stripped away until she was left cold and naked, shivering violently. Oh god in heaven why didn't you let me die? Why save me only to have me be violated more than I already am?
She was interrupted from her vocal thoughts by the weight of a rough blanket being laid on her shoulders.
Indigo and violet gazed back at one another. He understood fear and the need for self-preservation but at the moment there was no need. He did not save her only to harm her.
"Stay," he told her raising an eyebrow as if to tell her not to test him. She wrapped the blanket close to her and nodded a little. What choice did she have? She wouldn't get far when her legs were shaking.
Satisfied with her answer he stepped out, his heavy boots thumping as he left her alone to curl up against the bed. She felt the boat shift, wood creaking, the faint sound of men's voices.
She wanted her mama and her people. Her real people. The ones who'd been driven away by the white settlers. Those that had begged Amelia to stay and fight for them. Fighting all alone until none of them knew her or remembered her among their tribes.
She'd been surrounded by people her whole life and always welcome. Even if her skin was as brown as a beechnut and those around her couldn't decide if she was white or Mulatto, her dazzling smile, blonde hair and eyes usually charmed even the most cynical. Until it all came crashing down.
She woke from her thoughts when the large man stepped back in. Damn but he was tall she thought. He was broad, pale, with dark clothes. It made him look even more imposing and harsh.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and she noticed for the first time the steaming mug he held.
"Are you strong enough to hold this?" he inquired in slow measured words. She had fought to keep her wet things on but it was more like a kitten batting away a hand then a threat to him.
"Yes," she said holding out both of her hands as she accepted the drink, the strong smell of coffee drifting up to her.
She just held it for a long while, letting it warm her fingers slowly, the first part of her that felt warm as he continued to watch her.
"What's that matter? Never seen a woman before?" she snapped as his mouth quirked in a brief smile.
"None that have come back from a cold watery grave," he said tilting his head as if trying to pull her secrets out just by looking at her.
She stared at him without flinching. She had fire and it was returning to her already. Her wide eyes were wary but not afraid as they drank him in just as curiously.
"I was swimming," she said, the lie sounding as false to her as it must have to him. "I slipped on a rock and hit my head."
"Думаю, нет," he said triumphantly, his smile pleasant and not at all like the harsh way his eyes gleamed as he reached forward and cupped her neck with his fingers.
He ran his thumb over the bruising, clearly in the pattern of someone who had put their hands around her neck to strangle her. In the struggle to unclothe her he had already seen more angry black and blue hands imprinted on her skin where someone had restrained her.
She swallowed thickly, her pulse jumping erratically under his thumb as it stroked her damp flesh.
"Before our acquaintance is over you will tell me your story," he promised as she grabbed his hand suddenly and swatted him off.
"Keep your damn hands off of me," she bit out, her fingers white knuckled around the mug. "Or I swear to god when I'm nice and recovered I'll kill you."
He barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes.
"We will be docking in New Orleans by dawn," he said watching the many emotions flickering over her face.
She pulled the mug to her chest and blew on the surface before sipping it. Warmth flooded her and she sighed as her eyes closed.
"Is there anyone looking for you?" he inquired as he stood up to do something with himself. He was tired and would most likely not be having the luxury of sleeping on the semi-comfortable bed tonight.
"No. No one," she said staring hard at the wall. She was safe for now at least. But she had nothing. No money, friends, or even the name she'd used before. All she had were the clothes on her back and charity of people like this man.
She watched as he pulled her soaking clothes up and started to wring them out before draping them across the back of a small broken chair.
"My name's Amelia," she said straightening her back as her fear began to flee.
"Pretty name Дорогая моя," he mused an almost childlike smile on his face, his violet eyes faraway. "I did not know mermaids had names."
"Yeah well it's usually polite in most societies to exchange names when someone tells you theirs pal," she said in annoyance. "Who are you and what's that accent?"
He removed a flask from the waistband of his pants and drank deeply, hissing when he removed his lips as the burn on his tongue worked its way down his throat.
"Ivan," he replied watching her out of the corner of his eye. "I am Russia."
In her tired state she'd figured he'd said 'Russian'. Must still be some water in her ears.
"Really?" she said looking at him with interest, fighting her best to keep herself up and awake. "Always wanted to see places like that. Never been outside of the South."
All too soon her eyelids began to droop and Ivan took the liberty of taking the mug from her fingers before they grew limp. He picked a leaf that had tangled its way into her hair as her head slumped forward. Finally she was lost in sleep, a true sleep that was more peaceful and less deathlike.
XX
He truly had tried to wake her. Why would he not? He was impatient to speak more with Amelia, if indeed that was her name. They had much to discuss.
As he shook her shoulder fruitlessly one last time he sighed and took the liberty of unwrapping the blanket from her shoulders. He was unable to keep his eyes averted as he helped her into the oversized shirt of his. At any rate he had seen almost everything there was to see when he'd tried to get her warm the other day. Even with dirt and filth clinging to her like a second skin she was beautiful but neither his eyes nor his hands lingered as the thoughts passed through his head.
He pulled an old shirt, and his heavy coat around her, lifting his bag over his shoulder and her curled up in his arms as he stepped onto the deck to depart from the ship and take his cut of their catch.
He would not be returning to the ship. Once he was home and rested it would be once again time to find a new occupation.
The other men looked glad that they would be rid of him he thought idly. Perhaps they were smart he thought with a quiet giggle as he stepped off the boat.
XX
This pairing is keeping my muse very active and my need for angst demanded that I write something a bit dark and depressing with a light at the end of the tunnel. I will post warnings at the beginning of each chapter. There will definitely be sex, swearing, possible gore, depression, and thoughts of suicide.
"жить,"=breathe, live
Дорогая моя=my dear