CHAPTER FOUR

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THE CLOCK IN THE LIBRARY struck midnight by the time I finished washing away the mud from his skin and hair. The old-fashioned minute hand tick, tick, ticked as I applied antiseptic cream to his cuts, bandaged sore knuckles, stuck butterfly stitches to the lacerations on his chest, and rubbed arnica into fresh bruises.

I’d managed to get some water past his lips, coaxing him to drink even while he remained unconscious. Occasionally, he acted as if he’d wake up. His pulse would skyrocket, his body would wince, and his forehead would furrow. He’d moan in his sleep about games and friends and blood.

His delusions didn’t last long, the tension in his body draining, leaving him catatonic once again. During his episodes, I kept my hands on his naked chest. I murmured to him that he was safe. That I would take care of him. That all he had to do was open his eyes, and I’d do whatever he needed.

He never responded to me, reserving his reactions to whatever dreams haunted him. Eventually, I ignored his mumbles and flinches, focusing on repairing the exterior wounds, and doing everything I could to repair him.

I worried he’d broken a few bones. The heat in some areas and rapid swelling hinted more than just bruises existed.

But until he was awake, I couldn’t know for sure.

And even if he had broken pieces of himself, what did I know about setting bones? I only knew rudimentary things like making a splint for a broken leg and a sling for a broken arm—just enough to get back to civilization for help.

Not for the first time, my mind ran from the library and flew up the cliff to my Jeep. I mentally made the drive out of the national park and into a populated town with doctors, police, and psychiatrists.

I’d bring them all here or find a way to take Anon to them.

I’d pass on the largest responsibility of my life to professionals who had trained for this.

I...I don’t know what I’m doing.

Kneeling over him, I made a deal with myself.

If he hung on until morning, if I could get him stable enough, if he would only just wake up so I knew he could eat and drink, I’d go for help. I’d somehow make the long journey, not to save myself but to save him.

Crazy how just a few short hours had changed everything.

Incredible how I’d gone from doing anything to get away from this man to doing whatever it took to keep him alive.

Please...wake up.

Don’t die.

My hands trembled as my courage faltered a little.

Dammit.

I dropped the tube of antiseptic for the third time as I tried to apply it to the cuts I’d given him last night. Indentations of my car keys still lingered around his throat and collarbones.

Guilt was a crushing, hissing enemy in my heart.

My shoulders slouched.

I’m sorry.

Tiredness made my arms shake like useless twigs. All my strength had been used. I had nothing left after dragging him here. I’d left scuff marks on the marble tiles as my sapling stretcher hauled in garden debris as well as a nameless man, mumbling under his breath and reliving nightmares in his ill-gotten sleep.

I’d chosen the library because it was the largest, closest room of the house. I’d pushed aside a well-worn chair that sat like a throne in the center. I’d rolled him off the stretcher and traipsed back out the door to leave the rope and branches outside.

I never rested. Never stopped.

The deeper the night turned, the more he sank into hallucinations.

He thrashed as I gently washed his hair. He trembled as I cleaned his body. He keened a noise that broke my heart as I gently pulled off his slacks and wiped away the dirt on his thighs.

His breath was shallow and fast as I touched him with nothing but tenderness and care, his back snapping straight as I applied another bandage to his shin that’d been left raw and oozing from his tumble down the cliff.

I wished I could reach into his mind and silence whatever was tormenting him. I wished I could wake him up so he didn’t have to be their prisoner.

But no matter what I did, he stayed stubbornly asleep.

Exhaustion hung off my eyelashes as I glanced at the clock again and found it was now two a.m., not midnight.

I had no recollection of the past two hours.

I wanted nothing more than to lie beside him in the nest I’d created with cushions from the couch, cosy blankets from the games room, and pillows from a few beds upstairs.

I didn’t have the strength to drag him up the stairs. There was no bedroom on this level. Therefore, I’d compromised. I’d made a bed on the plushest carpet I could find, made him comfortable and clean, wrapped him in a soft blanket, and sat vigil while he suffered things I couldn’t heal.

“Maliki, no—” He jolted with a belly-clenching groan.

Frazzled tears rolled down my cheeks as I cupped his cheek. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

He threw himself away from my touch, rolling in the blankets, knocking me off balance.

I swayed and crashed to my elbows. My bleary stare and bone-weary body begged to lie down. My eyes closed even as unwelcome sleep suffocated me.

No!

Wrenching my eyelids up, I forced myself to focus.

You can’t sleep.

Not while he’s dreaming.

He’d fallen still again, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, his hands clenching as if he held invisible weapons.

My heart fisted with pity.

I’d done everything I could for his physical healing, but his mental health seemed entirely unfixable.

“Anon, it’s time to wake up, okay? Open your eyes, and you’ll see you’re alright. Nothing will hurt you here.” I shook his shoulder for the billionth time, my words slurring with tiredness. “You need to eat and drink.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I fought off a throbbing headache. “If you have a concussion, you shouldn’t be sleeping so much.”

I had no way to refresh myself on symptoms of a concussion. No Google or doctor websites, but it seemed as if he was displaying most of them.

Excessive fatigue.

Inability to be roused.

Emotional outbursts.

As if to prove my point that he’d sustained a significant head injury, he mumbled again, rolled to the side, then vomited.

His back curled, the beads of his spine evident as he wretched up an empty stomach.

Worry made me sharper than I intended. “Dammit!” Scrambling to my feet, I hastily removed the blanket he’d soiled and tossed it into the corner. Grabbing another one that I’d stacked close by, I shook it out and spread it over him.

Kneeling by his head, I brushed aside his long, wild hair, my fingers coming away damp from his clammy skin. “Hush, it’s okay.” I bowed over him, instinct directing my motions instead of common sense. Pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, I murmured, “It’s me. Gemma. If you can hear me, then let’s start again, okay? I forgive you for what you’ve done to me if you forgive me for what I’ve done to you. We can be friends—”

His eyes soared open.

His hands launched for my throat.

He tackled me to the ground.

His gaze was overly dilated, his pupils black as coal. “You want to be my friend?” His voice wasn’t his. It was black and tainted, icy and sharp. “I’m sick of friends who think they can fuck and hurt me.” His fingers tightened on my throat. “I think I’ll kill you instead.”

“Wait!” I dug my fingernails into his wrists, gasping for air. “I’m trying to help you!”

“Help?” He laughed. “I don’t want your version of help.” His thumbs crushed my larynx.

You’re going to die, Gem.

Dark spots danced over my stare.

My legs jerked, trying to get purchase and run far away from him.

Pure panic chased away my exhaustion, replacing my blood with electrifying adrenaline. Shooting my hips up, I prepared to fight for my life (again), only...he collapsed on top of me. His fingers went loose, his face slack.

He was out.

I gulped oxygen and shoved him off me.

Kicking him with a burst of hysteria, I crawled on my hands and knees, coughing and swallowing, never taking my eyes off him.

How many times must this happen, you idiot!

When would I learn?

No matter what happened between this man and me, I could never let my guard down.

Ever.

Jesus, Gem.

I’d deserved that.

He’d successfully reminded me that, once again, I’d been unbelievably stupid. I’d romanticized this entire damsel taking care of the beast scenario.

I’d forgotten that he wasn’t just a man who’d chosen to live in a forest, alone.

He was a man with serious issues, a trauma he hadn’t dealt with, and a mind that, quite frankly, seemed unable to be reasoned with.

He’s unstable.

And you’re in danger if you leave him untethered.

My knees wobbled as I slowly pushed to my feet.

I hesitated.

It went against every caring part of me, especially as I looked down at a man sprawled on the floor, his belly flat and hollow from lack of food, his skin scarred with silver mementos, his face looking far younger unconscious than awake.

I took a step toward him, wanting to pull the blanket over his nakedness. One minor act to provide some comfort before I tied him up.

But he twitched again, his eyebrows tugging low as his head thrashed side to side. “Nyx, don’t. Don’t—!”

I backed away.

Every step I took toward my backpack, my heart pounded harder.

He seemed to be plummeting faster into his nightmares.

His legs flailed outward. His lips tore wide as he silently screamed. He choked on air, his arms swooping up to attack something only he could see. “You’ll die tonight.”

Hurry.

Quietly, even though he paid no attention to me, I unzipped the main compartment of my bag and pulled out another length of climbing rope.

An orange-and-green-speckled cord that boasted the ability to hold hundreds of pounds of dead weight. The instructions hadn’t said anything about being suitable at tying someone up, but if it was strong enough to catch a person as they fell from a cliff, it would hold a man in the throes of a concussed aberration.

“Run, Quell. Do what I say!” He continued to buck and moan, completely hostage to his mind.

Unravelling the rope, I created another lasso so I could grab his arms and knot them together quickly. I didn’t want to be in striking distance now he’d lost himself entirely to whatever he saw.

My heart drummed in my ears as I forced myself to return to him, gritting my teeth as he let out another soul-crushing cry.

His chest shot off the floor as if he’d been electrified, then fell backward. His arms landed by his sides, his head turned to the left with hair draped over his cheek and eyes.

Now.

Quickly.

Dropping to my haunches, I grabbed his left hand and inserted it into the rope. Leaning over him, I repeated with his right, drawing the lasso closed and securing a knot.

I couldn’t catch a proper breath as I fell backward, feeling like I’d just betrayed him even though he was the one who’d kept me prisoner for days.

Having him secure gave me a false sense of power and tears came hotter for his situation. Was this the throes of impending death? Was his brain bleeding? Would he have a stroke and pass away?

Needing to touch him, to somehow find a way to breakthrough his pain, I scooted closer to his head and ran my hands through his knotty hair.

I pulled upward gently, raising his neck and shoulders to place him carefully on my lap.

However, he shot upright.

He swayed in the blankets.

He blinked at the library around us.

And then, he did something that ensured, no matter how much time passed, no matter how much pain he granted or blood he spilled, I would never curse him, betray him, or hate him.

I would only love him.

Love a broken beast who’d survived so much.