The King's Cursed Bride

Protecting Him: Part 2

            

Carissa wrapped her arms around his waist before his head could be submerged. She positioned him against her side, slinging his arm around her neck, and began wading back to shore.

As the water level dropped, she had to support more and more of his weight. Even though he'd thinned a bit, he was still heavy. By the time they'd reached the shore, she was straining with everything she had to keep upright. She collapsed to her knees on the shore before lying on the ground. Lake water chilled her toes, running up to her knees, but she was too tired to drag them any farther. Her muscles were quivering, and the weight of her bones pinned her to the dirt.

Carissa turned her head to the side to glance at Elon. His eyes moved beneath his eyelids, but he didn't show any signs of waking. She had to get him inside and warm.

She pushed herself onto her hands and knees, then sat back on her heels. She rolled Elon onto his back and slung his arm over her neck. Then she stood—or tried to rather. It took two or three tries before she learned to balance his weight properly.

Carissa stumbled to the cabin, dry grass pricking her bare feet and crunching with each step. No signs of life stirred behind those dark, empty windows.

Carissa halted in front of the door and rapped three times—just in case. After a few moments, she nudged the door. It yawned open, its hinges creaking, to reveal a single room with no one inside. The bed was unmade, its covers flopped back. Carissa shuffled towards it before seating Elon on the mattress. She laid him down before heaving his legs up onto the bed and pulling the blanket over him.

She stood back, though she yearned to tuck herself next to him. But first she had to bring in their clothes. She peered out the doorway. No one in sight. She darted to the edge of the lake, scooped up their clothes, and shot back into the house, the door clattering shut behind her.

Elon's clothes reeked; she'd have to dispose of them later. But at least she could use his dagger. Carissa laid out her dress on the floor. Its right side was marred by filth, likely from supporting Elon. Perhaps the former owners of this house had more practical clothes she could borrow.

She looked up, truly studying the room for the first time. A small wooden table, dusted in stale breadcrumbs, held a tipped cup and empty bowl. A glance inside the bowl revealed the left over dregs of soup—its moisture long evaporated, but stubborn bits of dried meat and vegetables clinging to the sides.

To the left of the room was the bed, where Elon slept. At the back, a set up cupboards arced over a fire pit. To the right was a wardrobe, its drawers lolling open. A quick inspection revealed it'd been stripped bare. Her dress would have to do, and though the skirt would be rather cumbersome, she wouldn't be doing much fighting until Elon awoke.

Carissa glanced over at the bed and finally succumbed. She slipped beneath the covers, pressed herself against his side, and pulled the covers over both of them. She peered over the edge of the bed. The dagger was where she'd left it, next to the bed. Its blade glimmered dimly beneath Elon's clothes.

Carissa settled back in the bed. At least she knew where the dagger was; she might need it later.

***

Wood creaked.

Carissa's eyes opened, revealing the wooden beams of the ceiling above. Within the span of a blink, she remembered where she was: the cabin. The supposedly abandoned cabin.

Seconds ticked by. Then minutes. She tried to keep her breathing steady, as if she still slept. The door was a few feet from the head of the bed. The only way she could see if someone was entering was if she moved. But if she moved, the intruder would know she was awake.

More minutes passed. A sudden gust of wind blew against the outside of the house, and a board in the ceiling creaked.

Carissa huffed a laugh. Just the wind. And to think all of this time, she'd thought it was an intruder, possibly even a Reaper.

She sat up, keeping the blanket to her chest for warmth. Something shot past her face, the air whistling, and she flinched. There was a thunk behind her, and she glanced back.

An arrow had embedded itself into the wall.

"Don't move," someone growled.

Carissa tensed and didn't dare turn around. The knife was just to the side of the bed, on the floor beneath Elon's clothes. But even if she managed to reach it, it was a short-range weapon, and the intruder was armed with a bow and arrow.

"I should kill you now." The pure venom in the man's voice startled her.

"Why?"

He snorted. "You're a Reaper. You may clothe yourself in human skin, but—"

Carissa glanced behind her, and the man held up his nocked arrow. "Don't you see my eyes? I'm no Reaper."

His dark eyes narrowed. In this lighting, she couldn't quite make out their true color. "I know Reapers can shift shape, take on human form." His searing gaze wandered to Elon. "Why you chose human forms to fornicate with each other, I have no idea."

She supposed it did look like that—with their clothes puddled on the floor and them both in bed.

The man shook his head. "Disgusting, and in my bed, no less." And then he drew back his arm, drawing the bowstring taut. His arrow was aimed directly at Elon's chest.

"No." Carissa threw herself over Elon's chest, wrapping her arms around him. He didn't even stir.

The man laughed. "What's this? You care for your lover?"

Carissa glanced over her shoulder to glare at him. "First of all, he's my husband. Secondly, he's sick. That's why we came here, so he could rest. And we're not Reapers."

"Then you're servants of the Reapers, and that's just as bad."

If she could just get him closer, then she could reach for her knife and use it. But that meant she'd have to leave the safety of her bed covers—which was almost as frightening a prospect as him shooting at her. Since she'd married Elon, he'd been the only man who'd seen her without clothing. She wanted it to stay that way.

Carissa sighed. "I'll make you a deal. Don't shoot us, and we'll get dressed and leave. We thought this cabin was abandoned, and we didn't mean to intrude."

He huffed a laugh, his smile obscured by his thick beard. "And let you inform other Reapers—"

"We're not Reapers."

His gaze flicked away from her in annoyance. "And let you inform the Reapers as to my whereabouts? I think not. I'll make you a better deal: you allow me to bind you and you keep as my prisoner, and I spare your life."

Carissa clenched her jaw. "No."

"To me, it doesn't seem as though you have an option."

"There's always an option." Carissa rolled over in the bed and reached for the knife on the floor.

An arrow whizzed by her ear before hitting the wooden wall behind her. Her cheek stung. Carissa lifted her fingertips to her face. They came away bloody.

The man's smile was grim. "Are you willing to bet your life on that?"