Marked

Chapter Twelve

In the early hours of the morning, when the sun was but a glimmer on the horizon and the sky was a cellophane blue, Rachel got up quietly.

She tip-toed her way out of the cabin, an armful of towels, clothes, and clean boots balanced in her arms.

Charles's cabin had plumbing, and though it was convenient, she found that her mind desperately needed the numbing cold of the water to clear it. 

Nightmares had tormented her all night. The way Mrs. Hernandez's neck had snapped back as blood had exploded from the back of her head, staining the ground crimson, repeating over and over, like a broken record. The body of her mother, her eyes open in a vacant stare toward the night sky, hanging like a veil over the compound.

She knew the others would probably scold her about going out alone, but she rationalized that the river was only a few yards from Charles's cabin.

She'd be back before any of them even woke up and she really needed this. 

Stripping down, she wadded down the bank of rocks and underbrush, until freezing cold water sloshed around her toes and ankles.

It wasn't much different than the baths she'd taken back at the compound. She'd never minded the scalding cold of autumn water. Not frozen over, but cold enough to make your teeth chatter. And she found herself really missing it in the dead of winter when the river was too frigid to use it for anything other than drinking.

Unwrapping her arms from around her body, she dove in, going fully under. Being submerged was a shock of cold through her bones, but after a moment, she hardly felt it. 

The cold was a welcome pain. It eased some of the soreness of her muscles after the fight with Charles. 

It cleared her thoughts.

Here, the river wasn't as savage as it'd been in other parts of the mountain. The water idled by, still a force she had to push against, but nothing she couldn't handle. And if she stood on her feet, the water was only chest high. For a moment, she allowed herself to float on her back, her red hair spreading out around her shoulders like a flame.

There was only the river, the cold, and the sound of birds and of twigs crunching under boots.

She gasped, ducking under the water so she was only visible from the nose up.

From the forest, Hector appeared. The thundering of her heart eased. At least it wasn't poachers.

Hooked to his belt, was a satchel, with the suspicious outline of an animal inside it, a bow grasped in one palm. As he bent to check a snare, his eyes flicked up and saw her.

"Rachel?" He started. He was already swinging his belt off, dropping the bow and making a beeline for the shore. She realized what it must look like—as if she were drowning.

Oh my God, she thought. Don't come in here. I'm naked.

She emerged a little further from the water.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" She hastily said, her arms firmly crossed over her chest, gripping each of her opposite shoulders.

Hector froze, his gaze cutting down to the neat pile of clothing by the riverbank then back at her.

"Dios mio—what are you doing in the water? It must be freezing."

"I...like the cold," She said. She felt like an idiot as her toes wiggled against smooth rocks underfoot.

Hector's brown eyes studied her before they swept along her bare shoulders. As if realizing he was being rude, he cleared his throat and tore his gaze away.