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CHAPTER 2| Of Liquid Bronze

|OF LIQUID BRONZE.

“Who are you?” He asked in a rough deep baritone voice.

Isabelle blinked in surprise at the sound and authoritative power of his voice, it was the sort that compelled one to speak the truth in every situation, the reaction it however got from her was that of shivers running down her spine in waves the same way the feel of his skin on hers does.

Avoiding his gaze that desperately tried to trap hers she readjusted the silk veil she used to protect her hair from the harsh wind and turned to arrange something for him to eat because as far as she was concerned he needed to be fed more than he needed to be answered. From her calculation he has spent over six days without being fed.

His question once again rang in the room making her stiffen in her spot by the wall.

“I’ve seen you too many times in my dreams, who are you?” He asked in a dry tone that was the total opposite of his stare.

Isabelle turned to face him and with a polite smile whispered loud enough for him to hear all the way from across the room “You’ll have the answer to your question but first you need to be fed.” She stopped by the pot and poured hot broth into a bowl, cut a piece from what was left of the rabbit she cooked the day before and placed it on a separate plate. Isabelle sliced the softened meat into thin pieces that could be chewed without trouble especially for a man whose energy has depreciated after having spent too many days abed, she furthermore brewed tea for the wounded and obviously agitated man whose eyes were focused entirely on hers as if he was waiting for her to disappear. His eyes were following her every move.

He made a sound that she took for exasperation as she settled beside him with the bowl and cup in hand as well as a soup spoon and a glass of water.

“I need you to get up, you can’t be fed lying down and I won’t mind if you help me a bit to move you to a sitting position, okay?” She coaxed him to move softly as though speaking with a toddler or baby and smiling like an innocent toddler herself.

He grunted at the hand she offered to help before replying her with male pride. “Don’t bother, I can get up.” He groaned as the palms he pressed to the floor to raise and support his weight refused to bulge, it felt like his body was stuck to the damned ground. Rather than cooperating, his hands trembled until they collapsed to his sides weakly like the trembling and clumsy legs of a newborn foal. With an expression of surprise etched on his hardened features he repeated the action only to be met by the same reaction from his hands, the unsupportive hands that laid limply on the floor.

Humiliated he turned his head to the side only to catch a glimpse of the young lady hiding her smile beneath her fingers and turning her head to the side so as to not be caught or make him feel belittled or embarrassed.

If only! He thought, grinding his teeth from the displeasure of being seen at his worst.

“Are you finding pleasure in this? Find something that amuses you?” He asked with a straight face having given up on his attempts that were obviously futile. The wounded man took advantage of her surprised expression and took in her features, he drank her up with his eyes.

She wasn’t petite per say but neither was she tall, she had curves that were obvious but not brazen, her hair was covered in a dreadful grey silk headgear and her lips were small yet lush with a touch of crimson, her cheeks too had a permanent blush that didn’t wither from the cold, only enhanced in color whenever she found his eyes on her form which was almost all the time. Her nose was slim and perfectly fit for her heart shaped face, her eyes were what captivated him most, they were what he had every intention of seeing in bright daylight even though she was doing her best to avoid his.

He made a thorough appraisal of her body.

With his eyes on her face he caught sight of a thin pink tongue peeking out to wet her lips before she responded to his question.

“No,” She brushed a slip of hair that escaped from its prison back into place, “I would love to be of help. In fact I’m most grateful you’re awake and you’re able to speak and actually made an attempt to rise, it’s a good thing because I feared for the worst these past few days,” her lips tremble after her admission as she recalled the state in which she found him in, how he became in the deepest throes of fever as if he was addled. “I know you don’t possess the strength to move as you will love to, it’s natural for man to be void of his average strength after overcoming what you did, be glad that you’re alive and do not be humiliated that I’m a witness to what just happened. Now let’s get you fed.” She finished her sentence with a sigh.

The stranger with her help was adjusted to a sitting position with his back to the hard surface of the wall for support and his hands clasped on his battered shirt just above the trousers he wore. He allowed himself to be fed by the mysterious nymph, watched as she tried her best to act composed, as if she had her emotions reined tightly in her hands, the act was seen through by him because he felt every shudder, not of fear, that rushed through her when their skin touched, every goosebump that rose and every sigh that slipped past her lips unconsciously. He felt them because he had those same reactions surging through his own body if not more than what she was experiencing at the moment. His reaction ran deeper than the blood in his veins.

He attempted catching her gaze only to have his efforts turning in vain as she made it her goal to avoid his eyes completely, her gaze was focused entirely on the lips she was feeding.

Isabelle after feeding him rose to get rid of the dirty dishes only to be stopped by a firm grip on her thin wrist.

“What’s your name?” He asked without letting go of her wrist.

With ease she slipped her wrist out of his hold and whispered in a voice that entranced him, “Rest first, I’ll be back in a bit.”

“No.” He growled in barely restrained annoyance taking a hold of her wrist once again in a much firmer grip. “I don’t want this to be a dream, I want you to tell me who you are.” He insisted tugging at the wrist in his hand.

Isabelle dropped the dishes in her hand to the ground beside them and lowered herself into a sitting position beside him then for the first time since he awoke she looked into his eyes.

Awareness sizzled with a fiery hot passion into their souls. Captivated, they stared at each other unblinkingly with a maddening need to learn the secrets behind each other’s eyes. It was like a collision of waves from two different seas, one salty, the other sweet, one hot, the other cold, one dark, the other pure. His orbs were of the darkest shade of black with swirls of liquid heat in them like onyx, Isabelle had never seen eyes like his. Hers though were the color of molten bronze that shone when stoked by passion.

It was like an unending current that kept pulling at their beings, they felt it to the tip of their toes. After a long while, the two managed to tear their gazes away with hardship and when they did he felt more pain than he did when his hand stroked the wound that was inflicted on his chest earlier when he first awoke. The loss rang a scream of longing through him that he found hard to understand.

He lowered his gaze until his lashes were brushing against each other trying to comprehend how he could feel such a mightily strong connection with a mere stranger. He scoffed at his use if the word “mere” because their wasn’t anything mere about her, she wasn’t a mere anyone. Rather, she was someone who stayed with him at a trying time, at a time when it seemed he was as hopeless an helpless as a newborn baby. She was a strong woman who was filled tremendously with valor for caring for a man she’d never known, for taking a stranger in and taking care of him as she would for hers.

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