ChapterFour
Two hundred pounds?Ha. Always so optimistic, Nelly!
Dragging Clark out of the truck, onto a blanket, across the yard, and then up the steps of her porch was a grueling task. By the time he lay sprawled out on her living room floor, she was somehow both overheated and frozen. Her throat was raw from sucking in great gulps of frigid air. Her half-frozen hair caught in the sweat slicking the back of her neck. Her pajama pants were stiff with melted and refrozen snow.
She was cold, exhausted, and in desperate need of a hot bath, which was a luxury she absolutely would not be getting anytime soon.
Nelly collapsed beside her unwanted guest on the rug. The back of her head hit the floor with a dullwhumpas she attempted to regain feeling in her limbs and breath in her lungs at the same time.
“Where,”she wheezed, yanking down her scarf with one trembling hand, “did you get all that bulk from? It would have been easier to haul a truck with my bare hands. What do they feed you out here?”
She knew orcs were built sturdier than any other beings, particularly humans, but damn. It just seemed excessive.
No wonder he rides a Clydesdale.
Although her body aches were only getting worse as the heat gradually worked its way into her numb limbs, Nelly somehow summoned the will to roll onto her hands and knees to leverage herself into a sitting position.
Clark lay completely still in the glow of her fire. Fine rivulets of blood had seeped from the cut on his head and frozen in a crimson spiderweb, but she was relieved to see it was apparently already clotting. Other than that and the fact that he was covered in quickly melting snow, he didn’t look too bad.
That didn’t mean much, though. The gods only knew what kind of internal injuries could be sustained when you slammed your ancient vehicle into a tree in the middle of a blizzard.
Worry crystallized into indignation. Sweeping her gloved hands over his broad chest, hair, arms, and legs, she snapped, “Just what were you evendoing,Clark? Driving that truck in this weather, out here of all places? What was so godsdamned important that you—”
The gift.
The sentence crumpled into dust in her throat. Nelly turned her head to peer over her shoulder at the little table by the front door. She’d forgotten about the present, or perhaps had convinced herself that it was a figment of her imagination. Everything else was so outrageous that the idea that Clark might have driven in a storm to drop off a present for her was downright incomprehensible.
Confusion and a deep, achy pang settled into her chest. Why would he do that?
Nelly looked back at Clark. Her heart, treacherous beast that it was, skipped a beat.No. It’s not like that. Don’t go forgetting how much of a jerk he’s been just because he did one nice thing for you and then bled all over your rug.
It was one thing to know one had a completely involuntary crush on a hot orcish neighbor with a terrible attitude and it was quite another to go all soft the first time they showed even a shred of kindness. Nelly had made similar mistakes in the past, and they’d always bitten her in the ass.
Pushing all thoughts of gifts and what they might mean aside for the moment, she used her couch to stabilize her shaky legs and stood up. They both needed to get out of their wet clothes to warm up and she needed to grab the first aid kit she was legally required to keep by her front door.
Seeing as they were big on self-sufficiency, the Orclind trained all government employees in the basics of survival and first aid. Since her home was owned by that government, she was also required to render aid should anyone need it, or at the very least have supplies ready in case of an emergency.
She’d spent most of her life in one forest or another, so the survival training wasn’t necessary, but she was infinitely glad that she’d paid close attention to the first aid training. She’d known much of it, but the tech included in the standard kits had all been new and a little miraculous to her.
Snatching the heavy, orc-sized kit from its place just behind her couch, Nelly hustled back over to Clark and knelt by his side.
Since he was breathing normally, she decided the best course of action would be to get him warm and dry first, then assess his injuries. Patching him up wouldn’t do a damn lick of good if he went into hypothermic shock because she didn’t remove his soaked coat.
After a failed attempt to pull down the zipper, she cursed and used her teeth to pull off her wet gloves. “Just don’t touch any skin,” she reminded herself. “You can put on gloves in a second. Just get the clothes first.”
That was, of course, a trial in and of itself. Nelly gritted her teeth as she gingerly pinched the metal tab with her thumb and forefinger. As expected, the moment she made contact, a flood of images pounded against her psychic barriers.
After a lifetime of rigorous training and reinforcement, she was an expert at blocking out the bulk of the memories attached to the coat, but it was never a completely clean process. The first time she touched a new object with her bare skin,someinformation got through the layers of protection in her mind.
Clark tossing the coat onto a chair. A big green hand snatching it off a hook. Clark shrugging into it as he gets ready to leave the bar, a megawatt smile creasing his cheeks. The sleeve catching on a nail as he stands on his side of the fence separating their land, his eyes locked on her passing in front of the kitchen window, rays of sunset splashing across her face—
Nelly yanked the zipper down.Build your walls high, build them quick,she silently chanted as she struggled to get his arms out of the sleeves without touching his skin.Keep your mind locked tight, brick by brick.
Psychic barriers were naturally imperfect and needed constant maintenance to keep strong. The mind was fluid and so too were its defenses.
Unlike Clementine, Nelly had the option to be a little lax in her barrier work, since much of her issues were solved by the simple but constant use of gloves. She regretted that complacency as she struggled to shore up her barriers and strip his torso down to nothing but his olive green skin at the same time. Memories slipped through invisible cracks.
Soft, well-worn flannel gliding over corded arms swathed in deep green skin. The suds and cool water of a wash. Quick, callused fingers passing buttons through their holes over a taut stomach lined with thin, linear tattoos. The shirt flying into a half-full hamper. It hanging loose and unbuttoned as he cooled off from a hot, exhilarating ride. The final button secured just over a delicious, lickable hollow between his pectorals—
