Price of a Tattooed Soul

Chapter 2

Cold.

Ice cold.

Pressing into her cheek.

Consciousness crept up on Lydia with thickly padded feet, alerting first one part of her body to sensation and then another before her mind had the opportunity to catch up. There was the chill in her face, with something hard poking into the numbed skin, and there was the heat around her legs, making her ankles prickle as the flesh was brought back to life.

Back to life? When did I get so cold?

The world had gone silent, the storm wreaking its havoc now absent. In its place was a familiar crackle, and Lydia forced her eyelids open to try and discern its source. Immediately, thick smoke made her eyes blur and water. She had to squint in order to make out any detail.

The crackling was a roaring fire a yard or so away from her feet. She was stretched along the ground, but while she saw what looked like dry earth near her legs, patches of white danced along her peripheral vision. Snow. She frowned.

In Los Angeles?

Blinking to clear her sight, Lydia tried to push up from the ground, but the world spun crazily around her. There were trees, thick and dense, surrounding the small area in which she rested, and through their thick branches, she caught glimpses of an evening sky, fading in violets and oranges to midnight. The smell of pine mingled with the peaty smoke of the fire. Nowhere was there any indication of civilization.

Not LA then. Somewhere else.

What happened?

Lydia didn’t know. The last thing she remembered was reading aloud the verse that had come with her music boxes. There had been thunder and lightning and the earthquake, and then…

She blanked on what came next.

There was no then. Then she was here. Wherever here was.

Falling against the snow, Lydia groaned as something sharp stuck into her side. Her fingers scrabbled through the snow and hit frozen earth before curling around a broken twig. She plucked it free from where it jabbed through her thin shirt. When it took all her strength to toss it aside, the first itch of fear began to crawl over her skin. Whatever had happened to her had left her weak as a newborn kitten, stranded in the middle of nowhere, with only the clothes on her back. It had to be up north somewhere if there was snow. Was it still California? Rolling onto her back, she lifted her lashes to stare up at the trees again, trying to recall every biology lesson she might have had. There weren’t many, and they had been over half her life ago. Her concerted efforts fell far short of anything resembling success.

Could be California. Could be Canada. To a city girl like Lydia, a tree was a tree.

Letting her eyes drift shut again, she took a few minutes to inhale deeply, concentrating on trying to clear her head. The memories were there. It was only a matter of remembering. Focusing. Replaying through the past…

She stopped in mid-thought. She had no idea how much time had elapsed. How long could she have been unconscious? It was dusk, so only a few hours at most, but then how did she get so far up north? Could she have been out of it for over a day? Her blood chilled even further at the thought of losing so much time.

But she was alive. That was a good thing. And outside of being debilitated, she didn’t think she was hurt. Cold, yes, but nothing was in pain. A shiver undulated through her body. Okay, she was very cold.

A shadow fell across her face, momentarily darkening the flames that danced through her closed eyelids. It took most of her remaining strength, but Lydia opened her eyes again, curious about what had caused the shift in light. Her pulse jumped when she saw the man standing between her and the fire.

He was dressed in baggy trousers and thick boots caked with mud and dirty snow, with a white shirt barely visible beneath his bulky brown coat. The clothes looked sturdy, like something a mountain man would wear, but they hid anything specific about his body shape. She couldn’t even tell how tall he was. Her best guess would hazard him around five-seven or eight, though Lydia was all too aware her angle on the ground skewed her perspective. In spite of the chill, his head and hands were bare. His brown hair fell nearly to his shoulders in a shaggy cut that said nobody had put scissors to it in quite some time, and his hands were strong and broad where they hung at his sides.

His face banished all those incongruous details.

Long, lean features. A full mouth with a natural cupid’s bow that would’ve cost thousands from LA’s best plastic surgeons. Blue-green eyes so penetrating Lydia couldn’t move under their weight.

Eyes currently regarding her with such awe and disbelief that she had to stifle the urge to look behind her for the true object of his attention.

“You’re here,” he murmured. His breath took form in cloudy wisps before his face. “You came.”

The soft rumble of his voice took her by surprise. He spoke with a precision that belied his rough exterior, a slight Southern drawl in his accent. Even more curious was the note of recognition she swore she heard. He acted as if he knew her.

He spoke as if he’d been expecting—but didn’t dare hope for—her arrival.

Lydia tried again to push herself into an upright position, but the moment she began to move, the man rushed forward, stooping to press her back to the ground.

“You need to rest.” His fingers lingered on her shoulders for several seconds before he pushed them into her skin again. She was already flat on the ground, so she had no idea what purpose it served. From the look in his eyes, she was tempted to say it was to test she wasn’t a ghost.

Closer range revealed fresh details. Calluses thickened the pads of his fingers, but there was an indentation on his left middle finger that looked like it came from holding a pen for too many hours. His nails were clipped short, clean of the dirt she would have expected, and the dark curl of a tattoo snaked along the inside of his wrist up into his sleeve.

As he sat back on his heels, he peeled his coat from his body. The liquid action revealed broad shoulders and a trim waist, his baggy shirt doing little to hide the muscular torso beneath. Before Lydia could appreciate him further, though, the man was leaning over and tucking the jacket around her, protecting her from the cold.

“There is more for me to do.” His tone was apologetic, his gaze still wonderstruck. For a moment, she thought he would touch her face, but he stood back up without ever making contact with her skin. “Rest,” he repeated. “This shall pass soon enough.”

The question as to what the hell he was talking about bubbled to her lips. When Lydia tried to say it aloud, however, the words choked in her tight throat. She swallowed to clear it, but even then, nothing came out but a raspy croak.

Another side effect of whatever had been used to knock her out, she rationalized. It would likely take time for her voice to return, just like her strength.

The added protection of the coat made it easier to get acclimated to her new and definitely odd situation. When he turned his back to her, returning to the fire, Lydia buried her nose in the thick collar, hoping to find some added clue about this mysterious man. There was the faint smell of sweat mingled with harsh soap and, beneath it all, that same peaty smoke. He spent a lot of his time around fire, it would seem.

She watched his silhouette against the flames, his shirt translucent amidst the orange light so that his muscles were more clearly outlined. She even saw the sinuous flex when he tossed something powdery into the blaze, but the sudden burst of sparks diverted her attention, made her shrink within her skin as her focus shifted. A single flame jumped into the air, a momentary roar blasting in her ears.

The man remained unfazed. As the sound died out, he began to circle the bonfire, and his lips were moving when he passed into profile. He was speaking but too low for her to make out what he was saying.

“What are you doing?” she asked without thinking. Her third attempt at speech was better. She actually heard words in the garbled scratching of her voice.

He didn’t stop moving, though his gaze flickered in her direction. “Are you still cold?”

Lydia frowned. Maybe he hadn’t understood her. All right, she’d try again. “I’m fine. What’re you doing?”

His nimble fingers disappeared into a leather bag that dangled from the waist of his pants, and more of the powder drifted into the fire with a casual flick. A fresh cascade of sparks showered onto the surrounding snow, pinpricks melting with a sizzle. He didn’t speak until he had completed a circuit and had his back to her again.

“I’m making reparations. Such gifts are never free.”

Though his manner with her had been gentle, the possibilities within his answer had her trying to sit up again. She wasn’t a gift, and anybody who would consider her one couldn’t have her best interests in mind. These were the words of stalkers and madmen.

But why would anybody stalk a thirty-year-old copywriter who hadn’t had a date in months?

Her struggles drew his attention again, and the man’s pace hurried as he completed two more revolutions around the fire. At the end of the third, most of the snow around it had melted away, the flames dancing strong and proud amidst the trees. He closed the distance to her, but this time, when he approached, Lydia shrank back.

He froze. “You’re frightened.” He seemed completely perplexed by her reaction.

“Well, yeah.” The more she spoke, the easier it got. “I don’t know where I am, I don’t know who you are, and now you’re talking like I’m some kind of prize that you won. Excuse me for being a little freaked out.”

Her response seemed to amuse him, and his shoulders relaxed beneath his thin shirt. “The last thing I would ever do is harm you,” he murmured. “I only ask that you trust me.”

“I don’t know you.”

Crouching at her side, the man pressed her back into lying down, his hands firm but tender. “There will be time for that.” Though his touch didn’t linger, his intense gaze did, poring over her face as if memorizing every curve, every line. “Please. Rest. I know you must still be cold, and I know you’re confused, but I cannot do anything for you until the sun sets. Please, Lydia.”

He knew her name, but the soft reverence with which he uttered it didn’t scream “Ted Bundy” at her. Her gut wanted to believe him. Her gut wanted to listen. And really, as weak as she was, did she have any other options? Resting would help gather her strength back. If he did turn out to be some kind of psycho serial killer, at least she would be in a better position to fight him off.

Her eyes strayed to his very discernible muscles. There was no doubt in her mind he was strong. Right now, she didn’t have a prayer, and frankly, she wasn’t convinced she would have even a Hail Mary once she did feel up to par.

“You’re going to tell me what’s going on?” Lydia asked. “The first chance you get. I want to know exactly where I am, how I got here, who you are, and how the hell you know who I am.”

For the first time, he smiled at her, a pleased little boy grin that lessened the sobriety he wore like a cloak. “I would expect nothing less from you. You have…an inquisitive mind.”

He returned to the fire before she had the chance to question how he knew that. Lydia was left watching him continue whatever reparations he felt needed to be done.

The heat grew blistering, warming the small clearing until her cheeks hurt. But in spite of the escalating flames and the showers of sparks, the trees remained untouched, tall and dark and steadfast. When a slight wind picked up, stirring loose strands of her hair in her face, the thick fronds remained motionless, and if she hadn’t known better, she would have said the pine canopy became even thicker.

Like it was protecting them from the sky.

Or keeping whatever was in the clearing from getting out.

Her companion was no longer interested in the blaze he’d created. After several more circuits around the ring of stones at the fire’s base, he knelt beside it, ignoring the growing damp from the melting snow. He turned his palms upwards atop his bent knees and bowed his head. If they’d been in a church, she would have said he was praying.

Lydia’s gaze jumped back to the fire.

Such gifts are never free.

Fear returned to crawl over her skin with icy pins and needles. Looking at the situation objectively painted it in a bleak palette, with slasher movie red adding just enough color to make her feel like panicking. Her dilemma arose when she looked at him. Maybe she wasn’t always the best judge of character when it came to men; being thirty with her dating track record didn’t afford the highest confidence in her opinion. But her instincts screamed at her about this one.

He hadn’t hurt her.

He’d given her the coat off his back in spite of the cold.

And he looked at her with such obvious concern that she couldn’t help but believe it.

Maybe he was just crazy. Bipolar. Or a split personality. She was seeing Jekyll, but as soon as the opportunity arose, Hyde would come crashing through. That made the most sense.

She looked up at the trees again, her fingers toying with the edge of his smoky coat.

It made as much sense as any of this did.

With a silent sigh, Lydia closed her eyes against the unchanging tableau. She would have to be on alert. The first chance she had, she’d make a break for it, find a phone, and get help. Get help for him, too, if he really was delusional. For whatever reason, she disliked the thought of leaving him alone with his madness.

She must have dozed. The next thing she knew, something was brushing against her cheek, and her eyes fluttered open to see the man crouching next to her. Well, she saw his outline, at least. The pitch black made it impossible to see much more.

He drew his hand away as soon as their eyes met. “How do you feel?” His voice was a whisper, but without any other sounds in the clearing to mask it, he didn’t need to speak any louder.

Lydia catalogued the sensations in her body before answering. Fingers and toes still intact. No pain. Her back ached from being in a single position for too long, but that had a non-nefarious explanation. The only discomfort was the chill that had returned to her bones.

That was when she realized the fire had died out. How long had she been asleep this time?

“I’m okay,” she said, matching his low tone. “Just cold.”

He nodded. “It’s late, and you aren’t accustomed to our seasons here. I wish I’d thought to bring you a blanket, but…” He lapsed into silence, as if unsure what to say.

“Are you going to tell me what’s happening?” Lydia prompted.

“Once we’re quit of this place,” came the reply. “Can you walk?”

Gingerly, she attempted to stand. His heavy coat weighed against her, but the worst conspirators were her weak legs. Her head was awake, but her body seemed to have different ideas. After several minutes, the best she managed was sitting up.

“Let me.”

Before her mouth formed a protest, he slipped his arms beneath her, one under her knees, the other below her arms, and stood as if her five-two, one-hundred-and-forty-pound frame was nothing more than a basket of laundry. Instinctively, Lydia leaned against his muscled chest, her arm going around his neck for support, but if he seemed bothered by the way she held onto him, he gave no outward sign.

“Where are we going?” She had a feeling her questions would be endless for a while yet.

He didn’t answer. Picking his way over the rough terrain, he carried her out of the clearing, allowing the pine forest to swallow them up. Any breaks in the foliage were now gone, and Lydia was left blind to everything but the stranger who held her.

She repeated her question, a little louder. Maybe he hadn’t heard her the first time.

“Home.” His arms pulled her closer against his chest. “We’re going home.”