Page 79 of Carved Obsession


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She’s a motherfucking ray of sunshine in this apocalyptic storm.

One moment, she’s behind me. The next, she’s crouched at my feet, swiping frantically at my trousers.

“Scarlet, stop th—”

“This isn’t working.” She shakes her head, rising to her feet, and I don’t even think she heard me. “Right. Off with them.”

I frown as she cranes her neck to fix me with her dark gaze. She doesn’t offer an explanation. She removes my jacket from around her waist and dumps it into the bucket, ignoring my protests completely when I try to explain she needs to keep it against her wound.

The woman hushes me, demanding I strip as her T-shirt flies over her head. She’s already kicked her shoes off, and she’s pushing her leggings down.

She’s an unhinged, blood-boiling, stubborn little woman, and I can’t even argue with her. I’m forced to watch the strings of blood flow out of the small wound on her side, mixing with rainwater as she ignores the damn thing completely and demands I hand her my shirt and trousers. I oblige, then bring my gun and holster inside the old cabin, taking the opportunity to look for a first-aid kit in the few storage spaces.

“Bingo!” I exclaim as I finally find a weathered tin stocked pretty well with everything from gauze to painkillers.

Someone’s definitely using this cabin. What a surprise they’re gonna get next time they come here.

I want to look in the large chest, but the ache in the pit of my stomach calls me outside. To her. I need to make sure she’s safe.

So I hurry back out, gauze and tape in hand.

“What are you doing?” she asks when I grab her arm and pull her to her feet, turning her side to me.

“You’re bleeding.”

“We already knew that, genius.”

Her insult drifts over my head as I focus all my attention on patching her up. It’s temporary. I’ll have to replace it when she moves her ass back inside the shelter. But at least it will put some pressure on the wound.

She squats down the moment the bandage is on, and my attention is once again pulled to her actions. To the care with which she rinses the mud off our clothes passing one by one through that small bucket before she attempts to squeeze the better part of the water out.

I tell myself that I’mrelentingwhen I begin to pluck them out of her tired hands and wring out the excess water, but the reality is that there wasn’t much protest in my intention. I help her with each garment, taking them inside one by one and temporarily laying them on the wooden chest. There are only five pieces of clothing, but the repetition grows curiously comforting. Domestic, somehow. And the empty bucket sends an odd, disappointing sensation through my stomach.

I walk out of the cabin but halt, mesmerized. The kitten stands a few feet away, arms spread wide, head craned back, closed eyes aimed at the sky as she takes in every heavy drop battering her almost naked body. The cotton panties cling to every curve, sports bra tight against breasts I’ve already admired, and she makes no attempt to come out of the deluge.

I’ve already crossed half the distance before I realize my legs are acting on their own, pulled in by this ethereal image. My fingers itch to trail down her skin, and deep in my chest blooms a need to feel what she feels right now. The rawness of whatever emotion drives her to stand there and absorb the chaos of this ruthless storm.

The beauty in her burrows deep beyond her soft skin, and it compels me to attempt to experience the world through her eyes.

Maybe she hears my steps, maybe her instincts alert her to a predator closing in, but she straightens and turns to me slowly. Charged moments pass, stretching the silence that has been remarkably comforting between us, and just like this cloudburst, the reality I’ve been shoving into the deep corners of my mind assaults me.

Scarlet can’t be someone I simply play with in Metamorphosis. Definitely not a quick fuck, or a singular, all-night-long conquest. She can’t be part of my life temporarily. If I let Scarlet in...she will never be rid of me. Nor I of her.

The slight shake in her flesh is the only thing capable of pulling me out of this train of thought, and I urge her toward the cabin, refusing to walk in before she’s safe inside.

I shut the door behind me, annoyed that apart from an old lock a strong wind could break through, not much else keeps us secure in here.

With the lights from our phones turned on, we make our way through the tight space. She moves the bucket below the spot where the roof leaks, and I scramble to make a fire in the old stove. Luckily, all we need is already here. The cabin is well stocked by whoever uses it. Yet, with my thoughts distracted by Scarlet’s current state, it still takes me a few attempts to get the fire going. Though, my lack of experience contributes to it too.

But it’s on, lighting up the space as well. When I turn, warm light bathes Scarlet, shining and sparkling over her wet skin as she stands next to the bed, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

Her clattering teeth make me anxious, but her lack of interest in the wound soaking the bandage concerns me more. I’ve been watching her, and I wonder if she either has a really high tolerance for pain, or she just masks it extremely well.

The latter raises too many questions that threaten to turn me violent, especially combined with her sharp retort regarding her upbringing.

She turns toward the bed, cocking her head.

“Do I dare?” she asks, bending over to lift the blanket that covers it.