The Boy With The Crimson Eyes
Chapter 4 – The Cave
There's nothing that I'd take back
But it's hard to say there's nothing I regret
'Cause when I sing, you shout
I breathe out loud
You bleed, we crawl like animals
But when it's over, I'm still awake
A thousand silhouettes dancing on my chest
No matter where I sleep, you are haunting me
- Silhouettes by Of Monsters And Men
Fianna could feel Wolf follow her into the cave, and his close proximity was rubbing her nerves raw. She could tell he was displeased to be here with them. Well, he wasn't the only one.
"Sparrow?" she murmured the nickname softly, trying to ignore the powerful, commanding figure behind her. "Mommy's home."
No response came.
Fianna's eyes searched the lowly lit cave until they fell on her five-year-old son who was sleeping peacefully on their shared fur pallet in the back corner of the cave. One small arm was outflung and the other clasped around Meeko's neck. The light from the dying fire shone on his mop of raven-black hair, bringing out the crimson highlights. His long eyelashes casted curving shadows across his soft ivory cheeks.
Fianna stood for a long time looking at him, her hands clasped to her heart. She loved him so much. Gods, she'd never loved anything more.
Her heart warmed as she watched her baby snuggle into Meeko's fur. She'd never had a pet before. She was never allowed to have one at the orphanage in Riften. She'd always wanted her own dog. Dogs didn't judge you. They loved you eternally. They were loyal. They were a friend. They were family. All things she'd never had until she'd joined the Companions. Meeko was the gift she gave to Drake on his first birthday, wanting him to having everything she never did. Tomorrow was his sixth birthday. By the Nine, how the time flew.
In her heart of hearts, Fianna didn't want him to grow up. She wanted to keep him as he was, young and innocent and safe. She wanted to keep him with her for all time, to shield him and protect him from the world and the people in it. He was her heart. Losing him would break it.
Fianna noticed the pieces of charcoal and several sheets of parchment lying beside Drake, most of the drawings unfinished, and she couldn't help but smile. "Drake loves to draw. I think I even see one of you," she said to Wolf who was standing behind her as she continued to stare fondly at her sweet little boy while he slept. "I love his drawings. I have kept every single-"
"I don't care."
Wolf's abruptness and impertinence stunned her speechless. Her body tensed and twisted to face the Blade. He was staring at her with a bored expression. When she finally found her tongue she muttered a curt, "That was very rude."
Wolf made a low sound of dismissal in the back of his throat, and Fianna bristled at his callous demeanor. She also didn't particularly care for the way he looked at Drake like he was some wet dog covered in fleas.
As she stared at him, she felt her temper rising, positive now that she really, really didn't like this brute of a man, which was new for her since there wasn't a single person on this earth that she disliked. Until now.
"You could be a little nicer, you know," Fianna scolded tersely. "I did save your life."
Wolf shot her a look full of scorn. "And it looks like I'll be reminded of that fact every second that I'm stuck here."
"Much to my regret," she grumbled, irritated with his surly manner.
"I don't wish to be here any more than you." His answer was gruff, harsh. "I will leave as soon as the storm passes."
She sent him a withering glance. "I think that will be best."
"We finally agree on something," he said with an acerbic edge.
Their eyes clashed and warred. Insults lingered on the tip of her tongue, ready to strike, but she bit her tongue. Even in just a simple black tunic and black slacks, he looked powerful and masculine with broad shoulders and strong bodylines. His considerable bulk reminded her of Farkas, which warned her of the strength this man possessed. She should be careful around him. He was strong, capable, assured despite his weakened state due to the poison. Regardless, he was not a man to be trifled with. In all honesty, the cave seemed too small to hold him.
"Do you have any whetstones?" Wolf asked abruptly through gritted teeth, his eyes still sparking.
Fianna blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Whetstones?" he repeated, talking slowly as if she were slow. "Sharpening my sword calms my blood."
"There are whetstones lying beside the fire and your things are over there," she replied curtly with a wave of her hand to where his Blades armor sat against the wall of the cave.
Wolf tore his gaze from hers and moved to his armor with long, taut steps, his hands fisting at his sides as if he were struggling to reel in his temper.
Fianna exhaled a long, slow breath as she stared after him. She rolled her tense neck on her shoulders before moving to the fire. Fianna knelt down and tossed a couple logs on the fire and the cave magically came to life with light and warmth.
Wolf bent down, balancing on the balls of his feet as he searched frantically through the numerous pieces of Blades armor, but Dragonbane was nowhere to be found. "It's not here."
Fianna looked up at the quietly spoken words. "Huh?"
Wolf was moving, advancing on her with the grace of a predator - alert, stalking, menacing. His eyes were ignited with anger and she backed away, but he was still coming until suddenly he was right in front of her, boring down on her.
Fianna was forced to look up as Wolf snarled savagely at her. His cruel visage was frightening, the set of his jaw belligerent, his mouth ruthless and brutal. He had a formidable presence, an imposing figure, clearly capable of great violence. His great height and powerful, broad-shouldered frame was made up entirely of hard, bulging muscle that displayed the raw power he possessed. His commanding bearing both frightened and intimidated.
Having him so close made her feel catastrophic - made him seem larger. She suddenly felt very small and very powerless, even though she knew she wasn't. Fianna's startled gaze flicked sideways to instinctively check for an escape route. She could unleash a Fireball, scoop up Drake, turn Meeko on the Blade for a distraction and run out of the cave and never look back. Meeko would be able to find them, he knew where her safe houses were.
"Where is it, thief?!" Wolf's words were clipped and accusing, his slate-grey eyes hard with fury.
Fianna stared up at him nonplussed. "Where is what?"
"Don't play dumb with me. Where is it?!" he gritted out harshly, and she flinched from the force of his anger.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she snapped quietly. Her eyes flickered to Drake's sleeping form. "And please lower your voice."
"My sword! Where is it?" he stated forcefully, keep his voice low, his eyes still locked with hers.
Her arms crossed over her armored chest, her mouth pulling tight beneath her mask. "How the hell should I know?"
"Because you stole it!" Wolf spat with a fulminating glare as he closed in on her.
Growing hot with indignant anger, Fianna forced herself to reply calmly, "I did no such thing. And I do not take kindly to false accusations."
"You are a liar!" he hissed, pointing a condemning finger in her face.
Fianna's chin tucked as her fingers dug into her arms. "When I found you lying like a corpse in the snow you weren't holding any sword and I was too busy trying to save your life to worry about some piece of steel."
"Do not lie to me." Those hard gray eyes searched hers almost violently, probing, judging.
Her spine straightened under his coldly assessing gaze, her chin held high. "I am not lying. I do not have your sword. I never saw it. You must have dropped it on the field."
His eyes narrowed as his jaw worked, and she could hear his back teeth grinding against each other. "That sword is priceless to me. It was a gift. It was given to me by…"
Fianna's blonde eyebrows bunched together beneath her cowl as his damaged voice trailed off, something grave and forlorn reflected in his face. "It was given to you by who?"
There was a flicker of something in his black-gray eyes before they hardened, becoming cold and emotionless again, his face turning into stone before her very eyes. He averted his face with a quick snap of his chin, clearly dismissing the conversation.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"You must be starving," Fianna blurted out, unable to stand the silence any longer, quickly putting some much needed space between them.
Wolf's eyes flickered to her, boring into her with that impenetrable intensity that rattled her nerves. Those eyes were as hard and cold as his features.
"Umm… why don't you have a seat by the fire?" Fianna suggested politely, her hand motioning to the fur pallet before the fire. "I'll get you some soup. It's my son's favorite."
Wolf continued to watch her stoically with that stare that threatened to unhinge her.
"Or you can just keep standing there. Staring. You know… whatever," she muttered dryly as she moved passed him to one of her many packs that were lying scattered around the cave. She pulled out a small, clay bowl and wooden spoon and moved to the kettle that was hung over the fire. Fianna ladled out a bowl of steaming hot soup and handed it to Wolf.
The raven-haired Nord stared up at her vacantly, unmoving, unblinking.
"Eat," she said firmly, shoving the bowl in front of his face.
There was a coldness, a distrust lurking behind his emotionless gaze.
Her eyes rolled. "It's not poisoned, if that's what you're thinking."
After another long stretch of uneasy silence, the taut expression eased from his features, softening the grim line of his mouth. Wolf reached up and took the bowl from her, his fingers purposefully avoiding touching hers. Fianna then returned to the kettle to get her own bowl.
Wolf sat on the spare fur pallet in front of the fire and Fianna sat on the boulder opposite him with the fire between them. The only sound was the popping of the logs over the fire and the howl of the storm raging violently outside as they ate their soup slowly and silently, with Fianna having to turn away from him each time to pull down her mask to take a spoonful into her mouth. As soon as she was done eating, Fianna tried to ignore looking directly at Wolf, but the Nord warrior's presence took up so much space in the small cave and filled it with a commanding air of virility, her very breath felt threatened. She shifted uncomfortably on the boulder, as the cave seemed to shrink and shift until his presence took up every square inch. She was glad the embarrassing flush of awareness on her face was hidden beneath her cowl and mask.
Against her will, Fianna felt her gaze shift to Wolf. Her eyes raked over the Nord warrior as he silently ate his soup before the fire. The battle-hardened warrior seemed so withdrawn, so severe. He was untouchable and acidic, eyes jaded and brittle. As she stared at him, studying him, she couldn't help but compare him to Vilkas, a horrible habit she did with every man she met. And there was no doubt about it, Wolf was nothing like Vilkas.
Vilkas was noble, kindhearted, honorable, fair, and merciful. Wolf was immoral, dangerous, vicious, disreputable, and ruthless.
Vilkas was warm, brilliant, and passionate. Wolf voice was dark, cold, and unfeeling.
Vilkas had a slim, sinewy figure with trim, lean muscle. Wolf's body was overly large and made up entirely of endless, tightly corded muscle.
Vilkas' voice was deep, smooth, and honeyed, like butter melting in a warm pan. Wolf's voice was dark, raw, guttural, the sound of it akin to broken glass being dragged across a gravel road.
But the main difference between the two men was their eyes.
Vilkas had vivid white-silver eyes that were highlight by the black war paint that surrounded them, like the moon shining bright against a cloudless midnight sky. Vilkas' heart's fire always burned brightly, vibrantly, fiercely in those steel-colored eyes.
Wolf's eyes contained no fire, no heat, only smoke. His black-grey eyes were empty, hollow, lifeless. They were vacant - no emotion, no warmth flickered within them. They were cold. So cold. Haunted.
Haunted, haunted eyes.
They were the eyes of a man who had seen too much, lost too much. Fianna knew a lot of the men who joined the Blades were men who'd lost their families, their children, their wives, their entire villages to dragon fire. Men who were filled with nothing but hate and sorrow and vengeance, and had nothing left to lose. Wolf was one of those men. There was no doubt.
Fianna felt tremendous guilt every time she saw a Blade soldier. Guilt for not fighting beside them as was her responsibility as Dragonborn. Guilt for the lives that were taken by dragons that were being resurrected because of her failure. Guilt for not being able to stop it.
Fianna looked away and put her bowl down before turning her attention back to Wolf. "So… ugh… how are you feeling?" she murmured softly, her quietly spoken voice breaking through the silence.
Wolf tensed. "I'll live, I promise you," he replied in that grating voice without bothering to look at her. "I will not die in a cave."
"Why do you say that?"
His eyes flickered up to meet hers, the intensity there arresting. "I'm destined to die in battle."
"Why?"
"It's a family tradition."
Her cowled head tilted, curiosity gleaming in her mossy-green eyes. "How many times in battle have you snatched victory from the jaws of defeat? Outnumbered, outflanked, but still you triumph?"
His expression shuttered. "Too many to count," he answered after a long pause before looking away from her, clearly done talking, dipping his spoon in the soup and returning to eating.
Curious now, she couldn't help but say, "Wherever I go in Skyrim, I hear your name. The Wolf of the Blades. That name is always half whispered, as if you were a god." Her lips quirked beneath the black cloth of her mask. "Are you?"
Without looking at her he responded in a flat tone, "Am I what?"
"A god?"
The wooden spoon in his hand paused in front of his lips. His eyes shifted to Drake and Meeko in the corner of the cave. "I am no more god than the creature your son is sleeping with," he replied evenly before putting the spoon into his mouth.
Fianna crossed her legs on the boulder, resting her elbows on her knees, a smirk hidden beneath her mask. "But the stories of your prowess in battle are legendary."
"The gifts the gods gave me I use in battle," Wolf replied indifferently before lifting the edge of the clay bowl to his lips and finishing off the last of his soup in one swallow. He set the bowl down on the ground and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "We Blades are blessed in that we do not run from battle. We seek it, hunger for it, grasp it by the throat and demand honor in our passing."
Fianna snorted. "The people of Skyrim fear the Blades. They believe the Blades are trying to take the Snow Tower for themselves while it lies sundered and kingless."
Wolf's expression became thunderous. "We Blades wield our weapons in defense of a valiant cause - to root out evil and destroy Alduin's soul."
Fianna gave him a sharp look. "But you kill and kill often. I saw you on that battlefield a few days ago, Wolf. I saw the way you enjoyed it, enjoyed being the one to deliver so much death. I saw the bloodlust in your eyes. There is no honor in that."
His dark eyebrows pulled low and tight over his clouded eyes. "Like you're any different. You killed the assassin who used to own that armor you're wearing. You killed her for what she had. You killed her because you wanted to."
Fianna's chin lifted sharply, green eyes flashing. "I don't kill for pleasure, Blade."
Something dark and wholly disturbing gleamed in his eyes. "You should try it some time." A wolfish grin split his face. "You might get a taste for it."
Her eyed widened in repugnance. "That's a horrible thing to say." She raked him with a contemptuous gaze. "Only someone truly heartless could kill another human being for personal gratification."
His stormy gaze narrowed on her with contempt. "I've seen horrors, woman, horrors you can't even imagine. You know nothing of me. You have no right to judge me. There is only one way to fight horror… true horror… and that is with terror. You have to be able to utilize your gods given primordial instincts to kill without hesitancy. Without feeling. Without passion. Without judgment."
Fianna met his gaze and burned her scorn into those harsh, world-weary eyes. "Have you no remorse?"
Wolf's hard, chiseled face was set like granite, matching the color of his eyes. "None."
"You use people to get what you want, and suffer no remorse about it?" She murmured in disbelief as she gazed into the Blade's unmoved and expressionless face. Her voice became beseeching, "But you are Commander of the Blades! Skyrim is now host to giant, flying lizards! You're supposed to be their protector!"
"Wrong," he snapped harshly. "You are thinking of the Dragonborn. We Blades live by the sword and stand against evil. We use skill to champion justice and defend right with might. We have to take lives in order to do that."
Fianna's gaze shifted to Drake as he rolled onto his side, kicking off the wolf pelts that covered him, snuffling the way kids do, until he slipped back into sleep again. "But life is to be valued, not destroyed," she replied in a distant voice. She seemed to be far away in thought, or memory, as she murmured softly, "I learned that a long time ago."
After a moment of being lost in painful memories, Fianna looked away from Drake to find Wolf staring at her. Intently. Unwavering. The entirety of his attention was focused on her, his slate eyes deep and penetrating. She found it difficult to breath as those captivating eyes seared into hers. Her blood did a slow burn and then quickly chilled. Her pulse raced and her heart battered her ribs, rattling her composure. Something inscrutable passed in his eyes before he gave one short nod.
Fianna turned away from him, jerking her head forward and looking into the fire. She tried to ignore the Blade, but she could feel him watching her. She could feel those eyes burning into her skin. Stealing a glance at him, Fianna found herself pinned by his bold regard. He was watching her steadily, his expression like a blank mask, which made her feel uneasy.
"Show me your face," Wolf commanded abruptly, his voice brooking no argument.
Her stomach dropped with an all too familiar panic. "I'd rather not."
"Why?" His eyes traveled over her body in cold, dispassionate appraisal. "What do you have to hide?"
Fianna licked her suddenly dry lips beneath her mask, a piece of the cloth sticking to her tongue, going into her mouth, and she swallowed it. She opened her mouth and let the practiced lie slip smoothly between her lips, "My hometown was burned to the ground by dragon fire. I suffered heavy, disfiguring burns. I'm sensitive about them. I don't like being seen." She lied, a lie she'd been using for the past six years whenever someone questioned her about her concealed face.
Wolf appeared dubious, but he said nothing. His grey eyes abruptly dropped to her left hand and zeroed in on the gold band on her finger.
"You're married." A declaration. Not a question.
Her breath caught and panic rose up to shrink her guts.
His eyes lifted sharply to clash with hers. "Where's your husband?"
Fianna was at a loss for words, her breathing unsteady. While she formulated a response, the dark stranger continued to stare at her, his piercing eyes boring into hers. "He's… not here."
"Why?" He didn't surrender her eyes.
Damn him. Wolf was far too perceptive for her liking. Damn him. Damn him to Oblivion. He had no right to probe into her life.
"I'd rather not discuss it," she grumbled in response with more than a hint of finality. To say she kept to herself might have been the understatement of the year. But by virtue of what she was, her solitary lifestyle wasn't even a choice. It was a necessity. Actually, she'd grown used to it. Truthfully, she was happy and didn't need anything – or anyone – else but her son.
"Why are you staying in this cave and not at the inn in Dawnstar?" His eyes were on her, dissecting and questioning.
She remained silent, her chest rising and falling swiftly with her short, clipped breaths.
"You are hiding," he concluded firmly. "Why?"
Fianna knew she should lie again, lie and never stop lying, but for some unfathomable reason, as she stared into those entrancing grey orbs, she found herself unable to push the lie past her lips and instead found herself telling him the truth.
"There is a man… a man who cannot know where I am," Fianna whispered, her voice fracturing with fear. "He is searching for me. If I am seen by anyone, believe me, he will find me. I cannot allow that to happen."
"You're afraid of him." It was a statement. Not an inquiry.
Seeing the icy glitter in his eyes, she shifted nervously as she gave one small nod in confirmation.
Wolf stared at her, his expression dark and grave, and then he murmured, "Is this man Drake's father?"
She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. "Yes." There was an edge of bleakness in her tone.
As they kept their eyes locked, something clicked in his gaze and she knew he had begun to understand.
"Does he intend to cause you or your son harm?" His voice held an edge of steel.
Fianna nodded slowly and felt his intense gaze searching her cowling, as if to read her hidden expression. "While I'm here, you and your son are both under my protection," he said firmly with resolute conviction. "No harm will come to either of you, this I promise."
"Thank you. I appreciate that," Fianna answered in a whispery voice, though she knew she needed no protection from him.
"Sleep," Wolf ordered suddenly.
Fianna's lips lifted into a smirk beneath her mask. "I should be the one telling you that. You're the one injured after all." She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she grew uneasy. "There are herbs that need to be applied to the wound on your chest to clean out the infection the poison left, and your bandages need to be changed." She chewed nervously on her bottom lip. "Do you want me to-?"
"I can do it," he interrupted her with a look of disgust, as if he would rather battle a dragon than have her touch him.
"S-Sure," she stammered, embarrassed and slightly offended by his abhorrence to her. "The herbs and wrappings are on the ground beside the spare fur pallet."
Wolf grunted in answer before turning away from her and heading for the spare fur pallet before the fire. He reached down to pull his tunic over his head, revealing his white bandages and broad shoulders and a bare back that was roped with long, smooth cords that rippled beneath alabaster skin that was taut and smooth. The only breaks to that perfection were the copious scars that adorned his flesh. Old faded scars were mixed among fresh ones that were peppered all over his skin - testaments to his life as a warrior.
Sweet Mara, he was hewn like a statue of stone and endowed with a breathtaking male body, powerful and tautly muscled, well-toned by years of battles, honed to steel by the rigors of the life he led. A flash of onyx caught her gaze and her eyes fixed with interest on the black moon howled at by a black wolf that had been tattooed on the left shoulder blade of his back.
The Nord stopped at the spare fur pallet and turned to reach down for the herbs and bandages resting on the ground. Fianna's breath caught slightly, and she dearly hoped Wolf hadn't heard it, when her eyes came into contact with a very masculine torso that was chiseled and cut with endless lines of hard, bulging muscle. Her eyes widened when they fell to his exposed lower abdominals and the lines along his sides that formed a deep V at his hips that disappeared into his low riding black pants.
Heat crept up her neck and bloomed in her cheeks, something that hadn't happened in years. Mortified at her reaction, Fianna ducked her head thankful her roasting cheeks were hidden beneath her cloth mask, and quickly moved to the pale of water resting on the ground beside the fire and filled a clay cup. Keeping her back to him, she pulled down her mask and downed the water, quenching her thirst. She pulled her mask back over her nose and mouth before returning to her seat on the boulder. She forced her eyes to stare into the fire and not to stray to the very male and very shirtless Nord warrior who was currently tending his own wound while he sat on the fur pallet across from her. She was immensely grateful when he finished and pulled the black tunic back over his head, concealing all that virile strength and potent masculinity.
In the lengthening silence that followed, Fianna could hear the hiss of the coals in the fire and the persistent groan of the wind at the mouth of the cave. Unable to stop herself, Fianna's eyes flickered to Wolf who was sitting across the fire, watching the flames dance across the wooden logs. As relaxed as he appeared, power emanating from his body, electrifying the air around him. He was so icy and distant, detached, with no hint of emotion showing through his mask-like expression. His manner was hostile, unwelcoming, and reclusive. He came off as cold, hard, dangerous, and unfeeling.
But there was more to him than simply the darkness that lived within him, the violence that he lived for, the danger that surrounded him, and the potent broodiness that became him.
As she stared at him, at this menacing and enigmatic stranger, she couldn't help but remember the day she first brought him to this cave.
With the hood of her black cloak pulled over her head and mask pulled up over her nose and mouth, the Dragonborn stumbled into the cave, barely able to keep the massive Nord warrior on his feet. One large arm was slung around her slender shoulders while his other hand was pressed against the gash on his chest, fresh blood mixed with poison seeping out between his fingers and staining his ebony Blades armor crimson. The Nord was as white as the snow she'd found him in, sweating and feverish, his eyes glazed over, and muttering things to himself. He was in shock and most likely seeing things.
She'd used all of her magic to keep him alive when she'd found him, but he needed warmth, water, health potions, and medicinal herbs - all of which were at the cave she was hiding out in with her son. But he was so large - having a good fourteen inches on her and at least a hundred pounds - and she was forced to use her horse to drag him up the mountain to the cave.
Thank the gods Drake was napping in the corner with Meeko. She didn't want her little boy seeing this. It would frighten him.
With the Nord's arm thrown over her shoulder, the petite woman tried to walk him to the fur pallet that acted as her bed. "Okay, Blade. Let's get you lying down and then I'll patch you up and you can go."
He dropped his forehead to the side of her head and his long, sweat soaked black hair fell onto her shoulder and brushed her cheek beneath her hood. He stumbled along with her, making it even harder to hold him up. "My name's not Blade," he rasped, his words slurred.
She paused for just a second and he swayed on his feet, blood dripping onto the floor of the cave. That was the first time she'd heard him speak and his voice… gods… it sounded horribly damaged, as if each word was wrapped in gravel and then dragged painfully across broken glass. She wondered how he came by it.
With great difficulty, they made it in front of the fur pallet, and she started to peel him off of her. "Okay, Blade. Whoever you are. Just lie down."
The massive Nord warrior fell onto the fur pallet, but he didn't let go of her shoulders. She fell with him and immediately tried to pull away. "Please, don't," he begged, grabbing her by the arm and trying to pull her to the fur pallet with him. "You're going to be my wife… you swore… please… don't do this to me…"
"I'm not your wife," she said, freeing herself from his iron grip. She didn't know why she felt she had to clarify that when it wasn't like he was going to remember this conversation anyway. He was feverish and obviously hallucinating.
She stood and retrieved her health potions, herbs, and wrappings for his wound. With her arms full, she returned to her patient.
She paused, standing stock still in front of him. He was on his side, his face pressed into the fur pallet, his blood-soaked fingers clutching the fur so tight his knuckles had turned white. He was shaking, violently, his shoulders jerking sharply as if he were crying, but he made no sound and there were no tears.
Something within her knotted. This man was in pain that had nothing to do with the gash on his chest. So much pain. She could see it. Feel it. It was so palpable it was practically a living, breathing thing in the room. She flinched, the devastation of it too hard to watch. Her heart went out to this stranger. She'd never liked seeing anyone hurting, especially like this.
With a sympathetic smile, she lowered herself to her knees beside him and set her things down before touching his shoulder. "Blade?"
His head shot up and she sucked in a sharp breath as she stared into a tableau of pain and suffering reflected in his bloodshot eyes set in a pale, grief-stricken face covered in a thick black beard and curtained by long onyx hair.
"Please, don't," he said, lifting a hand out toward her. His hand wrapped around the back of her neck and pulled her forward to him, burying his face in the curve of her neck. "Please, don't leave me," he pleaded, agonized. "I won't survive it."
She gently pushed him back onto the fur pallet. "Rest," she said softly.
His eyes full of bottomless sorrow and agony closed and he mumbled something to her which was incoherent, and lost consciousness.
Fianna's eyes shifted to discreetly watch Wolf out of the corner of her eye. She couldn't help but feel like an intruder who'd peeked through another's window and saw something she wasn't supposed to see - a broken soul encased in a hardened warrior. Something must've happened to him. Something devastating. Something painful. Something unforgiveable. She noticed he didn't wear a wedding ring. What happened to his wife? Did she die? How long ago? Did he have any children? She had so many questions.
"What happened to your wife?"
Fianna blanched. Oh gods, no. I did not just say that out loud.
But she did and everything about him stilled. Wolf's jaw snapped together like a steel trap, his entire body stiffening as if he'd been snap-frozen from head to foot. His body stiffened and tensed, and the air in the cave was suddenly nonexistent.
Wolf inhaled a deep breath, trying to hide it, but it was clear she'd hit a nerve. A very personal nerve that he kept very well guarded.
Fianna drew her bottom lip between her teeth beneath her mask, feeling tremors of anxiety forming within her stomach as she became aware that she'd inadvertently stepped onto very thin ice.
He doesn't talk about his wife, apparently.
"You thought I was your wife," she blurted out as an explanation. "When you were feverish and hallucinating you thought I was her."
His answer was taut silence, a muscle working violently in his jaw, his lips pursed in a severe line.
"You don't want to talk about her?" Fianna finally asked after a long, tension-filled pause.
"There's nothing to talk about," Wolf stated without inflection, though black flames flickered maliciously, disturbingly in his smoky gaze.
"So… what happened to her?" Fianna asked, the words sticking to the dry walls of her mouth.
His face contorted, a devastating look of pain and despair in equal measure crossing his features, and when she looked into his eyes she saw things she wished she never had to - pure bleakness and haunted bitterness beneath a cold, unfeeling mask. That look… it tore at her.
But a second later, a shutter came down on his features. His chin turned slightly toward her, hardened eyes of slate glittering beneath long onyx tresses. His expression was like stone, not even his eyes gave anything away.
"She betrayed me," the growl in his voice was sinister, and there was something dark and malevolent in his eyes as he spoke of her. "And one day I will right that wrong with her life." His damaged voice was so quietly deadly, so filled with rancor that Fianna cringed at the sound of it.
She swallowed, hard, her throat working. "What did she-?"
"Leave it be," he snapped in a clipped voice, his lips cemented into a hard line as a clear warning.
Fianna could feel her hands sweat and her pulse leap. Knowing she'd treaded into dangerous territory, she swiftly got to her feet and uttered a quiet goodnight.
While she tidied up the cave and prepared for bed, Fianna couldn't help but glance covertly at Wolf where he remained sitting in front of the fire. His elbow was resting on his bent knee, eyes trained on the flames of the fire.
His expression was unsmiling, with no sign of warmth in those thundercloud eyes. She now knew what had happened to him to make him so cold, so unfeeling, so remote. A woman had betrayed him. A woman he'd once carried deeply for. And he was in pain. So much pain. Fianna couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him, and wonder what he was like before his wife betrayed him. Though, what exactly the woman did, Fianna still didn't know.
Her eyes raked his face, well, the few parts not covered by his beard and she couldn't help but think that he had a dark and wild sort of beauty.
But dangerous. Very dangerous.
With the light of the fire reflecting off his face, she noticed the black and blue bruising forming beneath his eye where her elbow had collided during their fight outside the cave.
Fianna looked away from him and moved to one of the many packs lying around the room. She searched around the pack until she found the small bottle of ointment she was looking for. She poured some of the ointment onto the tips of her fingers.
With a suppressed sigh, Fianna moved toward him and knelt beside him on the fur pallet as he stared blankly into the fire, completely unaware of her presence. He appeared lost in his thoughts, in his memories, his long black hair curtaining his face. She reached out to touch the black and blue skin under his eye, right above his beard. She saw Wolf wince when she lightly traced her fingertips along his bruised skin to apply the ointment.
In a flash, his large fingers brusquely clasped her smaller ones. She jumped with a gasp as his fingers squeezed hers so tight that her bones rubbed painfully against each other. His jaw was clenched, his lips set in a firm line, the tendons standing out in bold relief on his neck. Every sinew and muscle of his massive bulk was rock-hard, tensed, posed for attack. His eyes were narrowed, their dark, strained depths turbulent, roiling.
"Don't touch me like that." His voice was low, deadly, while danger jumped and pulsed around him like fire.
A chill of uneasiness swept over her as the bones in her hand grinded together, the pain in her hand bringing tears to her eyes. The hard expression he wore made the rough planes of his face appear even more forbidding than usual and the fiery heat of his anger glowed liked banked embers in his eyes. Fianna was suddenly deathly afraid of this man, more afraid of him than she'd ever been of anything or anyone in her life.
His impenetrable granite eyes never left hers, never stopped piercing into her like knives as he pulled her fingers from his skin with a look of disgust and unceremoniously dropped her hand away from him.
Wide-eyed, Fianna pulled her now cramping hand to her chest, her other hand rubbing at it to sooth the hurt. "I-I… s-sorry… I…" she stammered.
Wolf got to his feet so suddenly she felt the rush of air from his movement against her mask and a second later he quickly marched out the mouth of the cave and into the blizzard raging outside.
Holding her throbbing hand to her chest, Fianna stared, dumfounded at the mouth of the cave where she could see his towering, ominous figure disappear into the downpour of endless sheets of snow and ice pelting unmercifully down in a wild windfall of swirling flurries and hail.
She did not know this man. Yet, she had this strange feeling that he was very similar to the blizzard he had just walked out in. He was more like a force of nature than a man – cold and biting like freezing rain, magnificently untamed as a hurricane, and every bit as impactful and destructive as a tornado.
And she couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that by saving his life she'd just been sucked into the eye of the storm.
Author's Note: This chapter has a soundtrack: Silhouettes by Of Monsters And Men. You can hear the whole song for free on YouTube.