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She grabbed the ointment instead. No additional warning came, so she figured she’d chosen correctly. Squeezing it onto the towel was haphazard at best, but it wasn’t like she’d be able to apply it directly. When she carefully applied the towel to his back, she noticed the fine tremors that shook him.
And he was still sweating.
He didn’t make a sound as the towel draped over his wounds. She hoped she’d applied enough ointment.
He tensed worse when she reached for the folded, wet hand towel, especially when she brought it to his face. None of her skin touched his as she pressed it against his turned face, its clunky width covering his eyes, not just his forehead. It tried to slide off, and she struggled to adjust it, watching him grow more and more tense.
She stood, leaving the wet rag where it was. A search of the medicine cabinet scrounged up an almost empty bottle of Tylenol. She shook the pills as she made it back to his side. “Just a pain reliever. Hold out your hand.”
She dropped two pills onto his gloved palm.
“If you sit up, I can…” She trailed off as he swallowed them dry. No need to offer him water then.
Capping the bottle, she left it near him as she moved to the bed. She grabbed the blanket there, careful to shake it out over him before letting it fall into place on its own.
Luka’s hand had moved to the cold rag, folding it over so it didn’t cover his eyes. He watched her but voiced no gratitude.
That was fine with Alina. He’d done similar things for her the night before; she was simply repaying him.
His eyes no longer wavered, but the lids drooped. Sleep was probably more important than anything else she could offer him.
She crossed to the bed, pulling down the sheets and blankets there for the first time. She climbed in, still with her shoes on, but kept her face turned where she could see the ground.
The tension in Luka faded, but it took much longer for his eyes to shut. She hadn’t turned off the bathroom light.
When his eyes did close, he looked almost vulnerable under the blanket she had shared with him. It was easy to remember how she had curled up beneath it, broken as well.
Chapter 7
Luka hated to sleep. The dreams always found him. The memories.
It was harder than ever to escape this time. The boy’s eyes from earlier that day judged him for the monster he’d become. He’d known better. He’d been given the choice to kill to save before.
It never worked. Just as Ivankov had killed the boy, he’d killed others. Luka was a fool for ever believing him.
An eight-year-old Luka had pointed a gun at his mother. Ivankov gave him that choice after Luka attacked him with a kitchen knife. He’d been impressed because Luka had managed to cut him in his surprise attack.
Luka had watched his father beg through the crack in the bedroom door. The man who had always seemed so strong, who had told him over and over that it was a man’s responsibility to protect, had whimpered and drooled as Ivankov hurt the women. He’d begged the intruder who had entered their home not to hurt them, but the man already was, and Luka’s father did nothing to save them.
Ivankov had turned the knife on his father. It had almost been a relief. The way his father had cried made it impossible for Luka to move. His small hand clutched at the kitchen knife as he stared through the crack into the bedroom.
While Ivankov was carving up his father, Luka had struck. He’d been as silent as he always was, and the knife he wielded had found its mark, but he hadn’t hurt him enough to make a difference.
Luka refused to beg like his father had while Ivankov beat him for the first time. Ivankov had offered him the knife after, and he took it again, and again, but he didn’t reach the man a second time. His mother had often warned him about the devil and his demons. Luka finally believed her, but it was too late.
While he lay injured and panting, Ivankov had approached and dragged him to his feet. Then he’d wrapped his hands around a gun.
“I like you, little wolf. Use this to kill one of them, and you won’t be the only one to live through this.”
Luka shook his head as the three women stared at him. All three were already bloody, and through his tears, they almost blended together.
“If you don’t shoot one, I’ll kill them all.” Ivankov moved behind him, his hands steadying his grip on the unfamiliar weapon. He pointed it at Luka’s mother. Then he shifted the aim, pointing at first his older sister and then his younger, at Willow. Willow was closest to him in age, though the years between eight and thirteen were broad.
Luka didn’t want any of them to die, but he especially needed Willow. His sister took care of him. More than his mother, who often lost herself in the Bible and prayer.
His mother was praying even then. Her eyes squeezed shut as she called to God.
When the barrel swung her way again, Luka pulled the trigger. The shot wasn’t clean. The bullet pierced her stomach, and she stumbled back against the wall, sliding down.
