Read Online Fracture (The Machinists) by Craig Andrews - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Craig Andrews
Ads: Link
worse, she was significantly dehydrated. The wounds on her wrists and ankles were superficial but needed to be healed, lest the infection return.
Jarrell pooled his body’s strength and projected it into the woman. Instantly, the red, irritated flesh under her bindings began to heal, returning to the same creamy color as the rest of her skin. Simultaneously, the same wounds formed on Jarrell’s wrists. That was the consequence, the sacrifice. Jarrell gave her more than his strength—he gave her his health and his body, and in return, he took her injuries.
The color in her cheeks faded, and her breathing slowed, strengthening. Jarrell felt his own body temperature rise. He was suddenly thankful for the open windows. His mouth dried and his lips chapped. His sweat disappeared as he gave her his water.
Jarrell felt himself grow weak, but still, he continued. The weaker he grew, the stronger she became. He hadn’t been able to prevent her from undergoing this nightmare. He owed her this much—and more. He would give her everything he had to give.
With her physical health returned, Jarrell withdrew. The pulses of energy flowing through her body faded until they disappeared entirely. Jarrell pulled his hand back, rubbing the irritated skin on his wrist. His job was done. He tried to stand, but, dizzy, he staggered to the side and crashed against the wall. Blackness crept in from the edges of his vision. What’s going on? Had she been poisoned?
No , he thought. She had simply been worse off than he’d realized. He’d taken too many of her injuries and given her too much of his strength—and too much of his water.
Jarrell crawled to the round table that held the pitcher of water. He needed to replenish.
Lukas knelt, the metal pitcher ready in his hand. He set a single glass on the ground in front of Jarrell’s face.
Jarrell took the pitcher with shaky hands and tilted it over the glass. Nothing came out. He looked inside. It was empty. He groaned. The back of his throat was dry and cracking. He felt as if he’d swallowed fire. He needed water.
“Thank you, Jarrell,” Lukas said. “We need to be strong. They have the numbers, but we have something more important. Do you know what that is?”
Jarrell barely heard him. His arms buckled under his weight, the empty pitcher crashing onto the ground. Painful convulsions took him next.
“Conviction,” Lukas said. “We believe in what we’re fighting for, and we’re willing to give anything to achieve it. Even our lives.”
Jarrell rolled onto his side, inching his face closer to the pitcher. He licked the condensation off the outside of the pitcher. The cool water droplets soothed his blistered tongue, but it wasn’t enough. He was going to die from dehydration.
Jarrell rolled onto his back, his vision going dark.
A hand cupped the back of his head and a narrow object was forced between his cracked lips. Cold water poured into his mouth, washing away the stale taste of death.
He coughed. Water ran down the sides of his cheeks and filled in the crevice of his neck. Jarrell reared his head toward the glass, his body running on instinct. More water filled his mouth. This time, his body cooperated and swallowed. Jarrell felt the wave of life flow down his chest. His strength grew with every sip.
“It’s going to be okay,” Lukas said quietly. “We have the truth on our side. It’s going to be okay.”
Chapter 7
T he chilly, late-morning air slapped away Allyn’s remaining weariness. The winter sun hung low on the horizon, below thick, high-level clouds, casting long shadows in the forest clearing. Wearing the same office attire he’d worn the night before, black slacks with a white button-down shirt, he wished he’d brought a coat. Allyn had come looking for Graeme. He’d searched the manor, revisiting rooms he’d already been welcomed into, careful not to go where he hadn’t. His brief encounter with Nyla the night before had reminded him that he
Jarrell pooled his body’s strength and projected it into the woman. Instantly, the red, irritated flesh under her bindings began to heal, returning to the same creamy color as the rest of her skin. Simultaneously, the same wounds formed on Jarrell’s wrists. That was the consequence, the sacrifice. Jarrell gave her more than his strength—he gave her his health and his body, and in return, he took her injuries.
The color in her cheeks faded, and her breathing slowed, strengthening. Jarrell felt his own body temperature rise. He was suddenly thankful for the open windows. His mouth dried and his lips chapped. His sweat disappeared as he gave her his water.
Jarrell felt himself grow weak, but still, he continued. The weaker he grew, the stronger she became. He hadn’t been able to prevent her from undergoing this nightmare. He owed her this much—and more. He would give her everything he had to give.
With her physical health returned, Jarrell withdrew. The pulses of energy flowing through her body faded until they disappeared entirely. Jarrell pulled his hand back, rubbing the irritated skin on his wrist. His job was done. He tried to stand, but, dizzy, he staggered to the side and crashed against the wall. Blackness crept in from the edges of his vision. What’s going on? Had she been poisoned?
No , he thought. She had simply been worse off than he’d realized. He’d taken too many of her injuries and given her too much of his strength—and too much of his water.
Jarrell crawled to the round table that held the pitcher of water. He needed to replenish.
Lukas knelt, the metal pitcher ready in his hand. He set a single glass on the ground in front of Jarrell’s face.
Jarrell took the pitcher with shaky hands and tilted it over the glass. Nothing came out. He looked inside. It was empty. He groaned. The back of his throat was dry and cracking. He felt as if he’d swallowed fire. He needed water.
“Thank you, Jarrell,” Lukas said. “We need to be strong. They have the numbers, but we have something more important. Do you know what that is?”
Jarrell barely heard him. His arms buckled under his weight, the empty pitcher crashing onto the ground. Painful convulsions took him next.
“Conviction,” Lukas said. “We believe in what we’re fighting for, and we’re willing to give anything to achieve it. Even our lives.”
Jarrell rolled onto his side, inching his face closer to the pitcher. He licked the condensation off the outside of the pitcher. The cool water droplets soothed his blistered tongue, but it wasn’t enough. He was going to die from dehydration.
Jarrell rolled onto his back, his vision going dark.
A hand cupped the back of his head and a narrow object was forced between his cracked lips. Cold water poured into his mouth, washing away the stale taste of death.
He coughed. Water ran down the sides of his cheeks and filled in the crevice of his neck. Jarrell reared his head toward the glass, his body running on instinct. More water filled his mouth. This time, his body cooperated and swallowed. Jarrell felt the wave of life flow down his chest. His strength grew with every sip.
“It’s going to be okay,” Lukas said quietly. “We have the truth on our side. It’s going to be okay.”
Chapter 7
T he chilly, late-morning air slapped away Allyn’s remaining weariness. The winter sun hung low on the horizon, below thick, high-level clouds, casting long shadows in the forest clearing. Wearing the same office attire he’d worn the night before, black slacks with a white button-down shirt, he wished he’d brought a coat. Allyn had come looking for Graeme. He’d searched the manor, revisiting rooms he’d already been welcomed into, careful not to go where he hadn’t. His brief encounter with Nyla the night before had reminded him that he
Similar Books
