Chapter Eighteen

 

Lake had thought she'd used up all her screams during the last half hour she'd watched her husband get hacked to pieces. Each sword thrust, each cut was a knife in her heart. A blow to her soul. She already knew how this would end and had long since sunk to her knees. She'd thought she'd given up on the religion of her youth. Given up on God, but as she watched Syon thrust his sword deep into Hudson, she sent a desperate plea heavenward. “Please God, help him.”

In that moment, she watched Hudson's knife come up and slice Syon's throat. They both went down in a spurting of blood. Lake was up running before anyone could stop her.

Syon had rolled off, clutching his throat, trying to stem the flow of red. She quickly checked Hudson. He was breathing. There was still time.

She carefully pulled the sword out of Hudson's body, then used his shirt to stop the bleeding. “Don't you die on me. I will fix you, but you must stay alive to fight.”

Hudson made no move, just the stilted gasps that told her his body was shutting down.

She pulled her pack off her back and dumped the contents on the ground until she found them. The small vials of white powder. Microbiotics.

But before she could use, them she had to disinfect the wound. She turned to the men standing around her. “Quickly, help me get him inside.”

A few men just stood and stared at each other until the man with gray hair came over and grasped Hudson underneath his arms. Another man took his feet. They quickly got him into the hut and on a table. Blood pooled underneath, but Lake paid no mind. “Give me some clean towels and your supply of whiskey. Hurry.”

They brought her the supplies, and with a shaky hand and a heartfelt apology to Hudson, she poured the stuff on his opened wound.

His back bowed. His scream hoarse and animal-like as if he were burning alive, but Lake couldn't afford to falter now.

She quickly took a small amount, combined it with oil, and poured it into the wound. She forced what she had left down Hudson's throat. And when he started to fight, she held his mouth and nose until he swallowed.

Finally, he passed out into darkness where even the liquid fire of the alcohol couldn't reach.

 

***

 

Hudson woke to a hazy veil of red. His insides felt like they'd been burned out with a hot poker. It hurt to breathe, move, blink.

Was this death? For some reason, he thought it would be better, more comfortable. Maybe a hundred virgins tending to his every need. The thought was strangely funny, but when he laughed, the pain was so intense he almost went under again.

“Hudson?”

His vision cleared and a woman with white hair, blue eyes, and damning full, red lips hovered above him. By the goddess, she was beautiful. Maybe death wasn’t so bad.

“Hudson? It’s me, Lake.”

How pretty. He liked the name, reminded him of strawberries and summer picnics.

“How are you feeling? Are you in much pain?”

Pain? He couldn't feel anything else. Was there another sensation?

“I can give you something for the soreness, but I wanted to try and keep you up. Give you some water. Do you think you can sit?”

He was going to say no, but the pushy woman didn't wait for an answer, just lifted him and forced water past his lips. He didn't even try to be brave. The fire that burned his insides was too intense. He groaned.

“I know...I know. I'll give you some whiskey for the pain.”

But he had to know something first. “Wh- Who?”

“Who am I?” She smiled, her eyes softening into the bluest of skies. “Why, I'm your wife. Don't tell me you forgot about me again?”

His heart stopped, then did a double thump. He grew dizzy, his stomach dropped, and even in his condition, he recognized the signs.

How many times would a man like him be lucky enough to experience the powerful, all encompassing, head over heels, falling in love sensation again?

He gave her a weak smile. “Not a chance.”