Birthright

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Over the next hour, Kray explored the house. He rifled through closets and drawers and even the medicine cabinet, partly because he was hoping to find something useful and partly because he wanted to keep moving. To keep busy so that he wouldn't have to think about the fact that the girl he'd loved with all of his heart, the girl who still dominated his thoughts even after all these years, might die at any moment.

She hadn't fought him when he'd hugged her earlier. In fact she'd gone soft against him, pressing her face into his shoulder. She hadn't made a sound, but the way she'd clutched on to him told him everything he needed to know. She really was scared. And it'd scared him, too. There was no scenario in his head where he'd ever imagined that Alex Drasse would ever die.

Letting out a sigh, he grabbed a couple of shirts that was more decent than the crumbling and dusty stuff in the closet and went back downstairs. Alex was sitting upright, finishing a can of diced fruits. Kray had eaten a couple of nutripaks and a can of corn he'd cooked in the fireplace, and that was more than enough for him. She needed food more than he did.

Kray showed her the shirts, "Found these for you."

He started to hand them to her and remembered she probably wouldn't be able to inspect them on her own. So he displayed them to her, first the white shirt that looked a lot like their uniform shirts, and then the black t-shirt with an ancient heavy-metal band label across the front. He was surprised when she said, "I'll take the t-shirt."

"Didn't know you had a wild side," he said.

She gave him a half-smile. "Harder to hide stains in white. Or blood."

He took the fruit can from her and set it down on the table, waiting while she struggled to pull off her unbuttoned shirt. She wore a gray tank top underneath—he tried very hard not to dwell on that—stained with dried blood. Her collarbone and most of her chest was also smeared with blood.

Her injury looked better. He'd patched it up with strips of cloth, and it seemed to be improving. Nothing more than a blot of blood on the bandage now. And further below was the prominent bruise on her slim belly, a death sentence imprinted on her skin.

After watching her for about ten seconds while she tried to pull her arm out of the sleeve with a pained look on her face, he stepped in to help her, knowing she'd never ask on her own. She held still as he pulled the shirt off her. "I'm not used to being so weak," she said.

"About time you joined the rest of us mortals," Kray quipped.

If he thought jokes would cheer her up, he was wrong. The austere expression on her face refused to go away. He reached for the black t-shirt, but she stopped him by saying, "I don't want this blood on me."

Kray straightened. "I'll get you something."

Five minutes later, he had a bowl of water—he'd definitely need to make another trip to the well—and a ratty t-shirt bunched up in his hand. She looked up at him, a question in her eyes. Kray answered it by sitting on the coffee table and dipping the cloth into the water.

She inhaled sharply when he touched the wet cloth to her neck, but she didn't stop him. He was careful not to wander too close to the bandage. He went around it, scrubbing blood from the column of her neck, the hollow of her collarbone, wondering if this was as crazy to her as it felt to him.

Alex reached out and touched his forearm. His skin prickled as her thumb smoothed over the intricate black bindings on his arm. "I've never touched Sanser bindings before. They're not like I imagined."

"What did you imagine?" he said curiously.

"Rough texture. But they're smooth, like marble."