Page 49 of Crucible
It was real.
Panic fuses with my blood, turning it cold when itallcomes rushing back, and I realize where I am.
Northern Canada.
The mountains.
The wilds.
The cabin.
The animals who inhabit it.
The bed of twisted branches.
Khalil’s bed.
I’m in Khalil’s bed, and I’m alone. I don’t know for how long. I have to run while I still can—before they remember me and pick up where they left off.
Tearing the thick blanket away, I get my first glance at my bare feet and legs. I’m wearing a green and black wool flannel shirt instead of my dress, and it’s two sizes too big, so the hem reaches the top of my thighs. On my right leg, there’s a fresh white bandage wrapped around my knee, and matching ones are on both of my arms where the worst of the frostbite is located. When I feel something pulling at the skin near my hairline, I carefully reach up and wince when I touch the stitches there. The list of injuries grows longer when I discover an IV in my arm,a gauze pad taped to my cheek, and another on the back of my right hand.
I feel fine, considering, but I know I must look a mess. Even though my uncle isn’t here, I can still hear him berating me for not upholding the standard of my name.
I’m never allowed in the public eye without first being plucked and primped for hours. Hell, I’m still expected to groom myself meticulously even when I’m sick and bedridden.“You are a role model, Aurelia. It’s not enough to simply appear as one. You mustbehavelike one.”
Rescue could come any day now.
I need to be prepared.
I’d nearly driven Tyler mad during our three days in the wild, constantly picking and fretting at my clothes and hair and bemoaning the absence of my luggage while he fought to keep us alive.
Noticing a mirror on the dresser, I rise from the bed on unsteady legs and remove the IV from my arm before I limp to the other side of the room.
I’m horrified by what I find.
It’s even worse than I imagined. The reflection that greets me doesn’t look like my own.
My once vibrant curls, which require meticulous care to manage, are now dry, frizzy, and fraying at the ends. The dark circles under my eyes make me look like I haven’t slept in days, even though it feels like I just woke up from a coma. Meanwhile, the parts of my skin that aren’t covered in bandages have turned mottled from bruising.
I’m still fussing with my appearance when I hear a creak on the wooden floor, and I startle, realizing I’m not alone.
I don’t hear or see him, but his presence is electric—charged up and full of stifled fury, drama, and danger. He appears relaxed as he watches me from the door, but I know he’sin desperate need of release—somewhere for all that pent-up energy to go. I push that thought away since I know what kind ofreleasehe’ll be looking for.
“Women,” Khalil says derisively. My only window to escape is closed now that he knows I’m conscious and moving around. “You’ve been through more trauma in a week than most people suffer their entire lives, and your first concern is your hair?”
I pause but don’t let my shame do more than raise its ugly head before I burn it to cinders with a flame thrower. I’m proud of how unaffected I sound as I continue to stare into the mirror while using my finger to try to fluff my clumped lashes. “Who says worrying about how I look isn’t just another trauma?” I speak truthfully. From the corner of my eye, I see his lips part to respond, but I’m far from finished. “It’s bold of you to assume that you’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me when you’re not even in the starting five.”
“Oh? I’m all ears, Goldilocks. Tell me your secrets.”
“Tell me yours,” I retort. When he doesn’t respond, I release a quiet laugh in case his ego can’t handle being mocked. “Didn’t think so.” Standing back, I look over my appearance before deciding that it’s the best I can do without my makeup bag or toiletries. The only useful things I’ll probably find in this cabin are shaving cream and a razor.
After too much time, I finally allow my gaze to leave the mirror and travel to the door where Khalil is standing.
He’s wearing a stark white muscle shirt that makes his brown skin even more striking, while the deep holes where the sleeves should be shows off his muscular physique—particularly his arms and obliques. His dark plaits are hanging down today instead of pulled back like the last time I saw him.
Which was…
The question forms on my tongue, but I stop it from passing my lips because on the heels of how long I was out is what they might have done to me while I was unconscious.
