Scent of Salvation (Chronicles of Eorthe #1) (18 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Last night’s funeral had left Susan wiped out. Drained. Finished. None of her past projects had such stakes as high as this one. If she didn’t succeed, people would continue to die. This kind of strain sucked. How did doctors live with it?

She wandered the quiet den. Most of the sick were children. The marrow in her bones turned to ice in the early morning sun, and she tried to generate heat by rubbing her arms. Peder had offered her his pallet for the night. He’d be awake taking his turn with the ill. However, there were a lot of empty pallets in the rooms she passed, and the reason behind it drove away the solace of sleep.

Whispers carried through open doorways, too soft for her to understand yet their worried tones were clear. Were they saying goodbye? If not, maybe they should.

The sand squished between her bare toes, a hint of the night’s cool still present. She wandered between the canyon walls. She had breathed more fresh air in the last few days than in the past year on Earth.

Her aimless meandering brought her to the massive wooden main gate that kept the wild things of the forest from entering and eating her. She ran her hand over the surface. The wood was smoothed with age—not a single splinter tugged at her skin. Except wild creatures lived within the den and they might wear civil faces but she’d seen their feral halves.

“Leaving?”

The deep voice sent a shiver through her soul. She didn’t understand how he had such an effect on her. No other man had ever sent her heart racing at the slightest whisper. She spun around. “What are you doing here?”

“Guarding the den. You?” Sorin strolled around her until he blocked the gate. His long hair shone with the faint morning light and cried for a good brushing.

“I wasn’t leaving. I think better on my feet.”

“Ahh… Maybe you should take your thoughts away from the gate.” He pointed back toward the dead-end area of the canyon.

She set her hands on her hips before she used them to smack some sense in him. Alpha or no alpha. “Would you stop me if I wanted to go?” After spinning around, she stomped away but it was difficult barefoot in the sand.

A whisper of movement, which she sensed more than heard, followed. “Pay no attention to what the Payami said about me. I’ll keep my word. You’re not a prisoner, but it isn’t safe outside by yourself.”

“What do you mean?” She twisted around.

Sorin halted before running her over, leaving a hair’s space between them. “I’m not a dog. I’ve never mistreated anyone. If you want to return to the Payami, I’ll find someone to escort you, but I have to remain here.”

“Why do they think so badly of you?” He stood so close. She could barely breathe.

“Most people don’t trust Apisi. We have a bad reputation.” In the dawn shadows, she could only see the outline of his body as he shrugged, and the eerie glow of his wolf’s eyes. “My father was a tyrant.”

She resisted the urge to lean forward and close the minute distance between them. The male had the social skills of a drill sergeant, and hers were starved from neglect. She waited in the heavy silence but Sorin didn’t share any more information. “Sorry to hear that.” She shoved her toe into the soft ground.

He had buried pack members only a few hours ago. He needed a therapist, not a physicist. Susan recognized the weariness in his eyes though. “Do you have any tea?”

“In the kitchen, on the shelf above the potatoes.”

“Come and show me. I don’t know where the damn potatoes are.”

“We have limited guards on the wall. I should—”

She grabbed his hand and pulled. The Chrysler Building weighed less. “I don’t think an invasion is imminent. You sound like you need tea.” Hell, he sounded like he could use a hug, a massage and a good night’s sleep.

He allowed her to pull him to the kitchen where a small fire still burned in the hearth. She filled a pot with water while he retrieved the tea.

“I don’t know anything about the Apisi.” She hung the pot over the flame.

His stiff back was turned to her.

“It means I have no preconceptions. No opinion one way or the other about your pack. From what I’ve witnessed, you all appear very caring.”

He tossed some mint-scented leaves in the heating water.

The silent, strong act was becoming stale. He hid so much behind that mask of indifference, but she’d glimpsed the sorrow at the gravesite, heard his distress when he asked her help, and received a moment of his kindness on the top of the mountain. Combined, she suspected
that
was the real Sorin. Not this distant male.

She rested her hand on his shoulder. “I never doubted you.”

He withdrew from her touch. “You appeared terrified every time we met for someone so full of trust.”

“You snatched me from—from…” What exactly? Safety? Not really. Kele’s pack wanted to beat her and Ahote to bed her. “Then you insisted on climbing the cliff face. What were you expecting? Once we made the deal and set terms, I knew you’d keep to your part.”

“How?”

The question slapped her quiet. She knew so little about Sorin. This proved it. Sighing, she sat on the ground in front of the hearth.

He joined her. The light from the flame softened the hard edges of his face as he leaned forward. “So?”

“Uh, I don’t know. You didn’t hurt me like the Payami alphas did.”

He grimaced, a low growl emanated from his chest. “And they call
us
feral.”

“Kele’s mother is a bitch.” Susan poked at the ashes with a stick. “It’s over with. I survived. That’s another thing though. You never made me submit like they did.”

He brushed his fingertips along her cheek and under her chin, tilting it to meet his gaze. “You’re not a shifter. How can you know pack law?”

The firelight deepened the amber of his eyes; the cold mask had lifted and genuine concern reflected there. Susan wanted to bathe in the honey of his gaze. She leaned forward into his touch.

His lips twitched as if trying to decide to smile or frown. “Tea’s ready.” He turned away.

Swallowing her disappointment, she rose with a groan and stretched her aching back. She retrieved two clay cups and handed them to Sorin.

He poured the tea and carried them to the table where she plopped onto a chair. She hadn’t done any of the climbing yesterday but her muscles went into spasms as if she had.

Sorin’s large hands rested on her shoulders, his thumbs digging into the knots around the base of her neck. “You’re tense.”

Heated desire surged through her body at his unexpected touch. She tingled under his hands and leaned into the massage. Tense?
No shit, Sherlock.

His presence loomed around her, more intense than anyone she’d ever met.

Closing her eyes, she pretended for a second that nothing else existed. She couldn’t read too much into this. Humans didn’t touch each other without permission. Well, at least the polite ones. From the data she’d gathered, shifters did.

“I’m not used to physical activity.” Most wouldn’t consider standing in front of a chalkboard crunching symbolic math an exercise.

He snorted.

“I’ve also been picking at my brain all night trying to come up with a solution for the sick.”

The massage slowed.

“It’s so frustrating. I know what is probably wrong and what they need but it’s not available in this dimension.”

Sorin’s hands slipped from her shoulders.

“If I could figure out how to open a gateway, maybe then we’d stand a chance. But there’s no electricity or computers, let alone a wrench…”

Sorin moved around the table and sat in front of her, his eyebrows drawn together. “If my world is similar to yours, wouldn’t it contain the things you need?”

“At a basic level, yes, but the technology isn’t here.”

“Tech—technology?”

“Machinery, science.”

“The vampires are more advanced than we are. They may have something we can use.”

She sat straighter. “Like what?”

“I’ve never been to the castle so this is only hearsay, but they have weapons that throw projectiles and carts that run on steam.”

Steam age. She’d already considered the possibility of time travel and decided it wasn’t a feasible hypothesis. That’s not how dimension hopping worked. DOUG created a bridge from a fixed point in time that matched the other dimension. If only she could figure out why Eorthe hadn’t developed at the same rate as Earth, then she might stop worrying about any errors she’d made in her dimension theories. “No.” What she wanted was a pharmacy and antibiotics. All these people needed were some medicines her Earth took for granted. Most of the pack would die from a simple, community-acquired pneumonia. She dropped her head into the palms of her hands.

“Maybe with Lailanie’s knowledge of the local herbs you can make what’s needed.”

She looked up at him slowly, her fingers trailing along her cheeks. “Make it…” she whispered.

“Yes, she’s not a full healer but she knows more than me and—”

“Wait.” Something she’d read slid into her thoughts. Slippery as a worm, it stayed out of her grasp. If she was distracted now, she might lose it.
Make it, make it, make it.

Insomnia. Months ago, she’d been bored and surfing the net, reading tidbits here and there. Clicking on what caught her interest and floating on the flotsam of the Internet. Antibiotics were developed during the Korean War. Penicillin, the most basic form, came from blue mold. She’d read a blog about making it at home. Basic survival skills if the world came to end or something of that nature. She’d laughed at the idea. Who would trust homemade medicine?

She wasn’t laughing now. “Mold. We need old bread.” Standing so quickly she knocked her chair to the floor, she spun to scrutinize the cluttered kitchen. “Or cheese.”

“Old bread?”

Her heart fluttered. “The more mold the better.” She had it. Oh, she hoped she had it. The solution was so simple. “I also need water, sugar and yeast.” She counted off the things on her fingers while Sorin raced around the kitchen, lifting clay containers and sniffing through unknown jars.

Out of breath, he spun around. “What else?”

“Um—um…” Her brain cramped as she shuffled through the data. Great memory could be handy sometimes. Even the stupid things remained saved. She pictured her mental filing system—the way she retained all her knowledge. Searching under miscellaneous, she found her keep-for-post-apocalypse-scenario memories. “I need an airtight container.” Where would he find Tupperware?

Sorin set a jug on the table with a cork.

“Perfect.” She tried to high-five him and met air. “Okay, never mind my insanity.” With rising spirits, she emptied the container’s contents into the teacups and ignored the questioning expression on Sorin’s face. “Get the fire really hot. I need to boil the jug and cork.”

She stared at him as he did as she asked without question. None of her assistants back home were this focused. It wasn’t in his nature to take orders—she’d experienced this first hand—yet here he followed her directions. His trust touched her.

He knelt by the hearth, blowing on the coals and adding wood to boil the cauldron of water.

Some of those knots in her shoulders eased while she rinsed and cleaned the jug. She couldn’t imagine the Payami alphas working this hard for their pack. Sorin had traveled from the Temple carrying her yesterday morning, dug graves last evening, took care of the ill all night, and was now helping her make medicine early in the morning.

“You should rest. I can handle this.”

The line of his jaw tightened. “I will when you do.” He set the water closer to the flame. “What next?”

She ground her teeth and moved to the table where Sorin had deposited the spoiled food. No point in arguing with a hard-head. While the jug sterilized, she examined the moldy bits. The messy kitchen might have saved the pack.

“What are you making?” He peered at a decaying bread crumb between his fingers.

“Penicillin. It cures most infections. This is an old recipe that’s been mostly forgotten.”

“Something which is old for your world has not been discovered here.”

“Yet. Who knows what happened on Eorthe’s timeline to hold your progress back? Maybe something happened on Earth’s timeline to accelerate our advances.” She shrugged then held up a piece of cheese. “See the blue mold? It excretes a liquid called penicillium, which might cure the lung disease your people have.”

His bright amber eyes widened. He set the moldy bread back on pile gently. “How long before it’s ready?”

The intensity of his stare bored into her soul. Her IQ began to drop. “S-six days.”

He snapped his gaze away. “Six! Most will be dead in six days.”

Reeling in the wake of his presence, Susan busied her hands, cutting off bits of mold and kickstarting her brain. “I know. Let me think.” The antibiotics needed to ferment in a warm medium to make pharmaceutical-grade penicillin. “Can you make a thin broth?”

Sorin tilted his chin and frowned. “Yes.”

Responsibility weighed a lot. She set the knife aside. “We’ll make a weak batch and use it until the stronger one is finished. It can’t hurt to try.” She didn’t need his doubts plaguing her. She had enough of her own.