She watched in horror and awe as in one quick movement, he wrenched the wrist of his injured arm out and forward. She heard the resounding crunch of bone sliding into socket, and her skin crawled. Not because of the disgusting way in which he’d fixed his joint but because his eyes had been glued to her the whole time and he’d barely flinched.
Her body seemed to catch up with her mind, and she strained harder toward the torch. He descended on her, fangs bared, and she cried out just as she felt the wood beneath her palm. The faintest brush of his teeth traveled along her collar bone, but he refrained from biting her. She pulled on the torch, trying to loosen it from the odd angle as he sniffed at her hair, then raised his head only a few inches above hers and studied her. His mouth opened, about to say something, but she never heard what it was. She brought the heavy torch down on his skull with a resounding crack.
He crumpled on top of her. Lily wheezed and gulped fruitlessly, attempting to draw air while crushed under his weight. She squirmed and wiggled until she was out from underneath him, then breathed deeply.
He lay unmoving again, and her torchlight revealed a large wound gushing blood on the back of his head. She winced in sympathy. The gash was much too large to have been caused by her meager attack. It must’ve happened during his fall. Lily cursed again, her fear giving way to anger and exasperation. She glared up into the trees. Where the hell did you come from?
Lily stared at the man and then back toward her camp. She didn’t regret knocking him out, though a small squirm in her belly argued differently. He’d pinned her down, after all. And it was clear he hadn’t been completely with it yet. Yes, knocking him out had been the right move. But guilt still pulled at her as she stared at his head wound. She hadn’t been the one to cause it, but she’d most assuredly made it worse.
What was she supposed to do now? What if a scavenging animal came by and he wasn’t able to wake up? No, she couldn’t leave him, no matter how badly her logical brain urged her to. He could’ve easily hurt her, but he hadn’t. Maybe if she helped him, he’d help her. Tell her where the nearest town was. He’d spoken English.
Lily’s heart picked up speed again, and her eyes widened. How had he spoken English? The aliens in the bunker had as well. Did he know them?
She couldn’t tell him about Alex until she knew she could trust him. She needed some answers. A stray thought came to her, and she explored it. I could tie him up. Make sure he doesn’t die, and then ask him questions when he comes to. Lily glanced in the direction of her camp, where all her gathered cordage sat waiting. She’d never be able to drag him that far. He weighed a ton. She’d have to bring the rope to him.
Lily assessed the area. A large tree limb hung overhead. Not the safest place to build a fire, but it’d have to do.
She took a moment to catch her breath then stood. Glancing down at her body, she saw she was filthy, stained everywhere with blood and dirt. She stretched the material forward and huffed out an annoyed breath. So much for that!
***
Verakko’s head was pounding. Not the normal dull ache he felt when dealing with people. More like the butt of a knife being rammed into the base of his skull. It was difficult to think, but Verakko could feel that he was sitting up. A spurt of venom shot to his fangs when he perceived tight rope binding his hands and…a sling around his right arm.
His eyes flashed open and took in the shape of a fire. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and ground his teeth against an onslaught of pain shooting through his skull.
“You should keep still.”
Verakko froze at the sound of a soft voice. A female voice. Scanning the area, his gaze landing on the blurry shape of a person sitting on the opposite side of the fire. Slowly, the world around him came into focus. “Who are you?” he growled, tugging on his hands experimentally. The rope was strong and the knots were tied with expertise, but whoever had tied them had underestimated his strength. He could break out if he wanted.
Verakko recalled falling through the trees and landing. There’d been something else, though, some event. His heart picked up a fraction as the female’s narrowed eyes came into focus. She’d been there, touching him and checking him over. But then she’d touched his fangs, and he’d known he needed to stop her before she accidentally cut herself. If there was even a drop of venom left, his gentle savior would be dead in a matter of minutes.
He’d flipped her, meaning only to hold her in place while he explained, but her scent had distracted him, and then… Verakko frowned, anger and embarrassment coursing through him. Then she’d knocked him over the head and tied him up.
His vision cleared, and the pounding in his head reduced. He stared at the small female crouching with a large piece of wood in hand as though ready for a fight. She had dark brown hair that framed her oval face and shimmered gold near the tips. The color distribution was odd but not unpleasant. He imagined her eyes were brown, but it was difficult to know for sure with the green fire reflected in them.
“Where did you come from?” she demanded.
The Strigi, he recalled with a start. His eyes shot to the trees above.
