Read Online The Immortal Game (book 1) by Joannah Miley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joannah Miley
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to her. She could see more of it now, not much, but a little. Part of it seemed peeled, like a banana. A bullet? She looked to Ash’s face again.
His eye twitched and then his lip. “Ruby,” he said, a labored pant. Her ears pricked at the first word he had said, her name. He was breathless, and there was that odd gurgling noise. With an effort he added, “Close—the—door.”
“What—”
“Close it,” he said with more force than she thought could come from his wrecked body.
She looked back outside. The light reflected off the dark empty street. Her thoughts were frozen between reason, she should run for help, and her acute awareness that he was asking something important of her. Would he be in trouble somehow if she got help?
“Please,” he whispered.
She nodded slowly, but the movement felt disconnected from her body. She maneuvered his feet carefully and closed the door, blocking the light outside. She turned on the table lamp next to the couch and went back to him.
She watched as the cut on his face got smaller. She surveyed the wound in intervals and watched the bullet in his chest move closer to the surface. After a time she lost sight of it and peered in to get a better look. Her attention was yanked away by a sharp pain in her knee.
“My god.” It was a whisper to the dim room. She picked up the peeled metal that had been inside Ash. Her eyes darted back to the wound. His body had driven it out.
She put a blanket over him, careful not to cover the wound, and pushed back to the wall. She propped herself up against the cool white-painted wood and watched him.
Her mind drifted, full of dark images. Ash injured. Ash shot . And something even darker than that. Oppressive warnings. And snakes.
She jerked, sometime later, and hit her head against the wall. There had been a sound. She scrambled to Ash and leaned over his face.
The wound on his cheek was gone. The dried blood flaked away. The gurgling had stopped and his breath had fallen into an even but shallow rhythm. His eyes opened and then fluttered closed.
She gasped. The blue she expected was gone. They were bright red.
He moaned.
“Ash.” she croaked. “Tell me what to do.”
His eyes closed again. He swallowed hard. His face contorted in pain. She put her hand on his cheek where the cut had been. His face relaxed, but frantic electricity ran off him. The connection she usually felt was there, but it was weak.
She kept her hand on him, hoping to smooth away his hurt. She didn’t know why it helped, but she knew it did and was sorry she hadn’t thought of it sooner. He slipped into unconsciousness again, his mind, like her, wanting to spare him from the pain.
…
Weak grey light came in through the curtainless windows of the front room. Ruby opened her eyes, and sat up next to Ash. He was still unconscious but he seemed more peaceful now. Her hand rested on his shoulder and the energy that came off him was strong and smooth.
There was a pool of dark red blood surrounding him. His blue Henley was ripped and bloody. It was the same shirt he had worn when they went rock climbing, when they had ordered dinner. It was the shirt he was wearing when he kissed her.
She looked to the wound on his chest and let out a relieved breath. There was only a depression and a hideous purple bruise where the bullet wound had been. The cut on his cheek was a memory.
She shook her head. It was impossible. But she had seen it with her own eyes. An emotion, maybe relief, but stronger, welled in her. She bent and kissed his lips, feeling bold.
His eyes fluttered open. A small smile turned up the corners of his mouth.
Her body produced an odd soft sound, a combination of a laugh and a cry. She kissed him again, but he was already gone, back under a wave of unconsciousness.
In the bathroom she washed the blood from her hands and looked at her reflection in the old mirror with the silver gone from the edges. Her hair was tangled on one side. There was
His eye twitched and then his lip. “Ruby,” he said, a labored pant. Her ears pricked at the first word he had said, her name. He was breathless, and there was that odd gurgling noise. With an effort he added, “Close—the—door.”
“What—”
“Close it,” he said with more force than she thought could come from his wrecked body.
She looked back outside. The light reflected off the dark empty street. Her thoughts were frozen between reason, she should run for help, and her acute awareness that he was asking something important of her. Would he be in trouble somehow if she got help?
“Please,” he whispered.
She nodded slowly, but the movement felt disconnected from her body. She maneuvered his feet carefully and closed the door, blocking the light outside. She turned on the table lamp next to the couch and went back to him.
She watched as the cut on his face got smaller. She surveyed the wound in intervals and watched the bullet in his chest move closer to the surface. After a time she lost sight of it and peered in to get a better look. Her attention was yanked away by a sharp pain in her knee.
“My god.” It was a whisper to the dim room. She picked up the peeled metal that had been inside Ash. Her eyes darted back to the wound. His body had driven it out.
She put a blanket over him, careful not to cover the wound, and pushed back to the wall. She propped herself up against the cool white-painted wood and watched him.
Her mind drifted, full of dark images. Ash injured. Ash shot . And something even darker than that. Oppressive warnings. And snakes.
She jerked, sometime later, and hit her head against the wall. There had been a sound. She scrambled to Ash and leaned over his face.
The wound on his cheek was gone. The dried blood flaked away. The gurgling had stopped and his breath had fallen into an even but shallow rhythm. His eyes opened and then fluttered closed.
She gasped. The blue she expected was gone. They were bright red.
He moaned.
“Ash.” she croaked. “Tell me what to do.”
His eyes closed again. He swallowed hard. His face contorted in pain. She put her hand on his cheek where the cut had been. His face relaxed, but frantic electricity ran off him. The connection she usually felt was there, but it was weak.
She kept her hand on him, hoping to smooth away his hurt. She didn’t know why it helped, but she knew it did and was sorry she hadn’t thought of it sooner. He slipped into unconsciousness again, his mind, like her, wanting to spare him from the pain.
…
Weak grey light came in through the curtainless windows of the front room. Ruby opened her eyes, and sat up next to Ash. He was still unconscious but he seemed more peaceful now. Her hand rested on his shoulder and the energy that came off him was strong and smooth.
There was a pool of dark red blood surrounding him. His blue Henley was ripped and bloody. It was the same shirt he had worn when they went rock climbing, when they had ordered dinner. It was the shirt he was wearing when he kissed her.
She looked to the wound on his chest and let out a relieved breath. There was only a depression and a hideous purple bruise where the bullet wound had been. The cut on his cheek was a memory.
She shook her head. It was impossible. But she had seen it with her own eyes. An emotion, maybe relief, but stronger, welled in her. She bent and kissed his lips, feeling bold.
His eyes fluttered open. A small smile turned up the corners of his mouth.
Her body produced an odd soft sound, a combination of a laugh and a cry. She kissed him again, but he was already gone, back under a wave of unconsciousness.
In the bathroom she washed the blood from her hands and looked at her reflection in the old mirror with the silver gone from the edges. Her hair was tangled on one side. There was
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