I promised a quick update, and here it is.
Enjoy, and Review!
…Chapter 8…
Natalya circled to behind him to see messily tied bandages being rapidly stained through by deep crimson.
He glanced around to look at her, puppy-like eyes looking sadly but cautiously at her, like a wild animal afraid of the predator. She had seen it before in the animals she took in that she found injured near her house.
Oh, don't look at her like that! She had a heart! It's not like she didn't like people, it's just that she didn't like those outside her family who tried to get close to Ivan.
And she loved animals. When she was younger, she had wanted to become a veterinarian. She couldn't remember when that had been replaced by the dream of marrying her brother, but it was.
The animals looked at her like that, leading her to believe that it was humans that had done it to them. If they could speak to her, she'd ask them who did this and hunt them down to let them feel every single pain that those poor innocent creatures did. But back to the victim at hand…
She felt a little hurt by the touch of fear in his eyes.
She wasn't that scary, was she? She just wanted to protect her brother from things like him…
…wait, was she seriously considering helping the creature?
That would be completely counterproductive to her plan to get rid of him! She should be praying that the wounds get infected and that he dies a slow and painful death.
Her icy eyes met his again, and she relented.
Perhaps he wasn't quite so bad. Perhaps she'd been a bit quick to judge. No one with eyes that reminded her so much of an innocent animal could be evil, right?
And perhaps if she helped him, he'd do his best to stay away from Ivan.
She ventured closer and he flinched back before looking ashamed himself. Normally, this would be the moment where she'd retreat for a while before attempting to approach even slower again.
But while he might act like one, this was no injured animal. The boy would be able to understand her intentions without her needing to coddle him.
Besides, Ivan would eventually start wondering where they went, and NO ONE keeps Ivan waiting.
"Turn around," she ordered.
He opened his mouth to speak.
"Do it."
She didn't let him.
Sighing, he did as he was told, slumping his shoulders as he dropped the colorful shirt to the floor.
"Ivan won't be happy about you treating your clothes like this," she spoke, moving to take a closer look at his bandaged back.
"I'm a fair hand at getting stains out of clothes," the Lithuanian spoke, "So long as I clean them before he sees them again, he won't care."
She was close enough to touch the slender back now, and did so, reaching out a hand to touch the crusted bandages. She felt a shudder pass through the frail-looking body before he steadied and she moved to press her whole hand against the back, feeling the texture of the coverings.
"These won't come off so easily," she murmured, noting the nearly solid bandages, used so many times that they felt like plastic, "I'll have to cut it."
They were nasty anyways. It looked like they were once white, but had become a vomit-inducing color of dirty yellows, browns, and deep reds. She reached to get her blade.
"No!"
She raised an eyebrow as he turned around, crossing his arms, hugging himself, in an action that was purely defensive, head looking away, preparing for a strike.
"Now what?"
He lifted his head to look at her, his cheeks flaming at his exposed torso as he ducked his head again, his hair covering his cheeks, "Those are the only ones I have. If you cut them, I won't be able to reuse them."
"That would be the point."
His head jerked up at this, green eyes once again staring into her icy orbs.
He opened his mouth to try to speak…
"I'll get you some replacements. Now stay still unless you want me to add some more scars," she moved behind him again and prepared to place the tip of the blade to the top layer of bandages.
"You don't have to do this for me, Miss Arlovskaya; I know you don't like me."
But there was nothing but defeat in his tone as his shoulders slumped.
She ignored him, cutting the hardened bandages free. She was thankful for the gloves she wore as the edges of the bandages tried to cut into her hands.
The coverings would've done more hurt than help, slicing into his back, the filth getting into the wounds that she could she were fairly deep.
In fact, their only purpose could've been to keep others from knowing his secret.
He was lucky he hadn't gotten an infection by now.
"We'll let it air while I go fetch replacements. Stay here."
As she left, she thought she imagined him respond.
"It's not like I've got much of a choice."
But it must've been her imagination.
Toris didn't seem the type to retort like that.
…
Eduard gave up on waiting for Toris to return.
He had probably been summoned by Mr. Branginski and so wasn't able to come fetch them.
And if not…then it would be best not to let his master know.
He could only wonder where the eldest was.
And pray that he was all right.
…
Natalya returned to the brig of the ship, her arms full of bandages, trying not to think of how she was going to help her worst enemy.
The people back home would be surprised, shocked, to see her even consider something like that.
It was one of the side-effects of being considered the ice-princess. None of them knew of the countless animals she took in; whether she liked them or not, they still deserved her help. But there was one creature she loved most of all. She rarely saw them, and there'd be no way to help an injured one if she did come across it, but…
Natalya had always liked butterflies, their fragile wings flapping in the air.
Yes, that's what he reminded her of, a butterfly.
And it was because of that resemblance, and the one to a scared little animal, that she'd help him.
And anyone who said otherwise…was lying through their teeth after swallowing too much vodka.
Now if only someone explain that to her heart, which was beating too fast for just a mere butterfly.
…
He was ashamed to note that part of him didn't believe she'd return.
That she'd leave him down there to get blood poisoning, or to attempt to venture back upstairs with his torn back visible.
He was relieved when she returned, bandages of such a pristine white in hand that he thought she was holding snow.
"Turn back around."
He obeyed the order, and she started wrapping them around his torso, tight enough to stay flat, but not so tight as to cut off his oxygen.
"Thank you," he breathed as she pinned the final strip in place and stepped away, letting him grab his shirt and dust it off, "Thank you, Miss Arlovskaya."
"Natalya."
He stopped short of pulling the shirt over his head.
"I beg your pardon?"
"My name is Natalya. You may call me that."
"But Miss Arlovskaya…"
"If we are alone, I will not respond unless you call me Natalya."
"But…"
She shot him a glare.
"I understand."
"You understand what, Toris?"
His breath jerked in his chest at the sound of his name, and he was sure it had nothing to do with the bindings.
"I understand…Natalya."
