Page 32 of Cardinal House
His eyes are like whiskey, rich honey yellow, warm but hard. His black brows are pulled in a tight dip, his forehead creased, and his attention is all on me.
“You’re safe now,” the man whispers, “I’m going to keep you safe.”
“Where am I?” my voice a cracked whisper, I swallow hard, licking my dry lips.
The man turns, sitting on a stool higher than the bed I lie in, reaching for something on his other side, before turning back to me, a cup in his hand, a white paper straw. He leans closer, guiding the cup to my mouth, the straw to my lips.
“Drink,” he encourages, those unusual coloured eyes holding mine.
I take the straw into my mouth, gently sucking up cool water. It feels incredible sliding down my parched throat, the inside of my mouth coming alive again as I swallow it down.
“Not too much,” he says, then, “we’re at my house,” he tells me, taking the cup away and placing it back down. “How are you feeling?”
I stare up at him, my eyes dropping from his stare to the black stubble covering his jaw, following the stark cords in his neck to the round neckline of his black t-shirt grazing the hollow of his throat. My fingertips twitch, wanting to touch him there, like it’s familiar, as though I’ve done it a hundred times before.
“Luna,” the man says, my eyes snapping back to his, my lips parting.
Luna… that’s me.
He speaks my name knowingly, like we’re familiars, friends, lovers?
Tears fill my eyes, my breath burning as I hold it tight. Staring up at him, he reaches forward, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Instinctively, I lean into his touch, his skin so, so warm, his palm and fingers calloused, but the way he lets me nuzzle into his hand, sweeps his thumb beneath my eye, cups my cheek, makes my body relax, my breath exhale in a rush. But the tears fall all the same, he makes me feel safe, and I don’t know who he is.
“Luna,” he whispers, and I know that’s my name, I know that’s my name, but I don’t know his, and- “Do you remember what happened, baby?”
Baby.
“No,” I shake my head, lifting my hand to press over his, bandages and tape and gauze wrapped around my stiff fist. “I don’t remember.” tears roll down my cheeks, wetting his hand, but he doesn’t lean back, he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t remember who you are,” but I don’t want you to stop touching me.
He sucks in a breath, pain and something else darkening his features, but he doesn’t move his hand away, and he doesn’t try to, my hand still over the top of his.
“It’s okay,” he hushes, the pressure of his hand on my cheek the only thing I can feel. “You don’t have to remember anything right now, all you gotta do is feel better.” He offers me this tiny, sad smile and I swallow hard, my throat thick, my face wet. “Don’t get upset,” he whispers, sweeping his thumb across my cheek, “I’ll look after you.”
My eyes slam shut tight, tears squeezing free, a sob rattling my chest, my body jumping with a core deep cry, but the man doesn’t release me, he doesn’t move away, I don’t scare him off.
“It’s okay,” he repeats, over and over, spreading tears across my cheek with the smoothing of his thumb. “You can cry,” his deep voice is a gruff whisper, rough but soothing, and as my entire body trembles with my sobs, he just sits and lets me ride it out.
Sniffing unevenly, my breaths too stuttery, I blink my eyes open, and find his already on me, soft and open, “I don’t know anything, my head’s all,” I purse my lips, pulling in a deep, hard breath, “fuzzy.” The cries soften, and he’s still shushing me, patient.
“I’m Wolf,” he says calmly, “Wolf Blackwell,” his hand like fiery warmth against my cheek.
“And how do I know you?” I manage to get out, hiccupping on the words, my eyes wide and wet on his.
He frowns a little, his face pulling tight briefly before smoothing out again. I can smell him now, his skin so close to my nose, the strong scent of disinfectant, but something else too, him, lilies and teakwood. It doesn’t feel familiar but it feels safe.
“I was shot,” he says blandly, like it doesn’t really mean anything, but a small gasp escapes my lips all the same, my fingers tightening over his on my cheek as my heart clenches with worry. “I’m okay, now,” he reassures me, this pained smile curling one corner of his lips. “You took care of me, in the hospital.”
He stares at me a moment, letting it sink in, and, “I work there.”
He smiles then, nodding, “You do.”
Exhaling slowly, I feel my chest loosen slightly, “But why am I here with you?”
Wolf’s eyes narrow, one of them twitching at the outer corner, “Because somebody hurt you, and I found you, brought you here to take care of you.”
Everything inside of me feels like it’s being rejected out of my skin, because, “You thought I was dead.”
“I couldn’t get a pulse, or a heartbeat, or a- fuck. Anything! I should never have put you in that coffi-”