“You two are like battling a tsunami. Pointless and exhausting.” She shook her head, looking over my wounds and down my torn and bloody clothes with another sigh. “Suppose you will needmoreclothes also. I’ll send them up to your room with a first aid kit and some food and drink.” She huffed, looking past me, waving me off. “Go, before anyone sees you.”
What I owed this woman seemed beyond a thank you. She continued to take me in, feed, and clothe me every time Warwick and I got into a life-and-death situation, which waseverytime.
I dipped my head in utter appreciation before slipping by her and following Warwick to the back room. It was small with no windows, barely room for a twin bed, a nightstand with a lamp, and a single wooden chair.
Warwick flipped the man onto the bed, the springs squealing under the impact. The thief’s wound still oozed with blood, his clothes soaked, his chest struggling to rise with each breath. The guy was human, average height, weight, and looks, if not slightly baby-faced under the scraggly beard. Dirty blond hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, the round-brimmed hat he had been wearing long gone. His torn, bloody clothes were what I’d picture a gunslinger wearing, with a bandolier of bullets and guns strapped across his torso and around his hips. He appeared to be around his mid-thirties, but living the way he did had marked him with deep scars that hadn’t healed right, making his age hard to pin down.
Warwick was stripping him of all weapons and ammunition when another man entered the room. He was at least half human—gray-haired, slight, short, and fragile-looking, glasses perched on his nose. He wore dark clothing and held a black doctor’s bag. But something ethereal in his eyes and face structure suggested he might not be pure human.
His eyes widened at seeing Warwick, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “Warwick, I didn’t expect you here. It’s been a long time.”
“Doctor Laski.” Warwick nodded at him, moving out of his way so he could reach the patient. “This time, the call isn’t for me.”
The moment the doctor’s eyes landed on the man in the bed, his demeanor changed. Locked on the patient, he scuttled to his side, tossing the bag on the bed. He ripped the man’s shirt open, inspecting the wound, scowling.
“Unless you are here to assist, I need you to leave.” Dr. Laski yanked off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves before diving into his bag and retrieving a syringe. Jabbing the needle into a small bottle, he flicked his finger at the syringe, filling it.
“Will he survive?” Warwick’s tone was neutral, not caring either way.
“Doesn’t look good. He’s lost a lot of blood, and the bullet might have hit a vital organ,” the doctor stated, jabbing the thief with the needle.
Warwick grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the door.
“I need him to live.” A harsh demand broke from my mouth.
“I treat every patient I have with the same hope.” The doctor didn’t even spare me a glance, his focus entirely on his patient.
“Let the man work.” Warwick dragged me from the room. “If anyone can save him, it’s him.”
“Have experience?” I clipped as Warwick shut the door behind me, yanking me toward the stairs.
He snorted. “More than once, princess.”
“Is he human?” It was more out of curiosity, my mind still getting used to all the various people in Savage Lands. I grew up with one kind: human. They were all I knew or understood, never realizing the one who might be different in HDF was me.
“He has fae blood in his family line, but he’s more human than fae. Still, it’s there, and he can heal patients quicker and better than any human doctor. His own friends and colleagues turned on him when they saw how good he was, also realizing they were aging faster when he wasn’t. It became a witch hunt, and he had to go into hiding, leaving his practice, his home, and wife of thirty years and disappear in the Savage Lands to survive during the years of persecution.”
As a child, I learned about the dark years after the fae war when the East broke free from the Unified Nations and fought for power amongst itself. The persecution of half-breeds was at a fever pitch. Anyone even suspected of having a drop of fae blood was rounded up and sent away. I had never thought much of what happened to them. I was so young, but now I realized they weren’t “sent away.” They were hunted down and slaughtered. Most probably smuggled themselves into the Unified Nations or hid underground in the seedy world of the Savage Lands. They were no longer blatantly hunted like they once were, but the stigma hadn’t gone away.
His plight invoked more anger in me—at myself, HDF, and the world. Why did people have to make life so much harder when it was already hard enough? All this death, pain, and agony were completely man-made. Why couldn’t we all stop trying to put our own fears and beliefs on everyone else and just live our lives? Who are you to say this man, who had no control over the fae blood running in his veins, was less than you? Worthy of being murdered because he was different?
Living in this mixed pot of people, you saw every single being had a life, feelings, family, friends, hopes, and dreams. We weren’t different at all; circumstances made our goals on how to achieve those things different. The anger toward each other, the drive to eradicate someone else hoping it would ease your life and burdens... it was disgusting and totally wrong. It only made life that much tougher for all. Heavy, insufferable, and dark.
Warwick went up the stairs and I followed, my feet coming to astop right at the top, my stomach twisting at the figure standing in front of our door.
“Luv.” Rosie’s red lips pulled in a smile. Her arms were filled with clothes, bathroom essentials, and a paper bag smelling of Thai noodles. “I was hoping it would be you.”
I didn’t move or speak. I was emotionless—gutted. I stared at her like a stranger. She was now. Right or wrong, I couldn’t pretend the knife in my back wasn’t from her. True, Warwick and I weren’t together, and she was a prostitute, but that didn’t mean I could be friendly toward her now. She was another harlot in the den of iniquity.
“I can sleep in another room if you were planning to be a‘paying customer’again tonight. I don’t want to get in the way of anyone making money by spreading their legs.” I glared at Warwick, but my cold tone jerked Rosie back as if I slapped her. She blinked. Then her weight shifted between her feet, eyes drifting to the ground. Guilt. Shame.
Warwick’s lids narrowed on me, rage bristling from him, getting my insinuation. “Excuseher.” He growled at me, grabbing the items from Rosie’s arms, then with his free hand, yanked me roughly in the room. “Thank you, Rosie.” He slammed the door to the room we always stayed in, but this time when I stepped in, it felt different.
Tainted.
There wasn’t an inch of this room not covered in what some considered sin. The walls retained moans and screams, the furniture was saturated with the smell of sex, the bed sagged with punishing use. I hadn’t cared much before, but it was different now. Even when I had seen him with the four women in this room, it didn’t tarnish the comfort and safety this space provided. They had felt distant and detached.
But now, all I could see was Rosie straddling him, her tits bouncing as she rode him, his hips plowing into her, their faces scrunching with pleasure on this very bed. Her lips on him, his hands fondling her.
