Stolen Melody (Snow and Ash #2) (9 page)

She frowns. “You’d better be careful with that one.”

I really, really don’t want to talk about this. “I’m fine. Really.”

Mia snickers, making her look a whole lot younger.

By the time Axel returns, I have three fitting pairs of jeans, seven pairs of not-so-granny panties, and enough tops to last me a week without washing. A new pair of boots too, which I fervently hope are pee-free. I am never wearing the old ones again.

“You get what you need?” he asks. He nods at Mia and takes my packages without me even asking.

“I guess.” I can’t help staring at him. Where the heck did my criminal lover go?

We exit the exchange and hang a right toward a section that looks like it’s reserved for housing. All the buildings are small, much smaller than the house I grew up in, but all of them have chimneys with smoke pouring out and carports filled with firewood. It’s snowing again, and I spot a team of men out shoveling the streets.

“How many members do you guys have?”

He looks at the men. “Those aren’t members. Those are workers.”

“What’s the difference?” He’d better not mean slaves. He’d better not.

“If a town can’t make their tax in food or goods, then we take labor.”

“Slaves?”

“No. It’s just for a period of time. The next time we go back and they can make their tax, the guys go home.”

“Sounds like slavery to me.”

“Well it isn’t. Did your friend look like a slave?”

“Mia?”

“She’s a worker. She earns her keep, just like all the others.”

I’m quiet as I mull this.

“We work them hard, but they get a place to stay, meals, heat. Hell, Melody, half the planet would love to be in their shoes.”

I bite my lip. Maybe.

“How else do you think we built this place? With two hundred guys? No way. We used labor.”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re still stuck in the twenty-first century. If we didn’t make them, half these guys wouldn’t even go home.”

“Why not just keep them if they want to stay?”

“If we tell a town that we’re taking their guys for a year and they can have them back if they can pay their tax next year, what do you think happens if we don’t bring them back?”

“They don’t trust you?”

“They stop cooperating. People get killed. This system works, Mel. Don’t question it.”

“Quit calling me that.” I’m about to say I’ll question anything I want, but a couple hours ago I did that and we got in an argument. Then I got angry, stalked off to an unprotected place, and almost got raped. He’d been right about things then. How do I know he isn’t right now?

He leads me down a street and hangs a right at the third cross street. The houses are all very similar, but there are some differences. A couple are brick. A few are made of logs, but the majority are made of repurposed siding. He’s looking left and right, and it looks like he’s mentally reading off the house numbers. When we get to the sixth house on the right, a log structure with an enclosed walkway leading to the—whatever you call it, wood storage area, he stops.

He fishes a key out of his pocket, tramps up to the front door, and tries it out. When the door swings open, his eyes brighten and a boyish smile spreads across his face.

“Is this yours?” I ask.

His eyes are still sparkling when he turns back to me. “Wait here a second.”

He darts inside and dumps the packages. He reappears a moment later and scoops me up in his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Just shut up.” His face is carefully blank as he carries me inside and sets me on my feet inside a small living room/kitchen. There’s a fire already going in the fireplace, but other than a couch, a table, and a rug, the place is bare, completely devoid of decoration.

I think he just…did he carry me over the threshold? Like some kind of bride?

I feel a little sick at the thought. It makes me think of honeymoons and painful sex. I cross my arms over my stomach.

Something in my expression dims his smile. He scratches the back of his head. “Why don’t you see if there’s anything to eat in the kitchen? I got a couple things I need to do.”

I touch the bruise on my face and nod. No sex. Not yet anyway.

I find a loaf of bread and a hunk of butter as well as a five-gallon container of water with a spout. There’s no fridge, of course, but it can’t be more than sixty degrees in here. Luckily water doesn’t spoil. I’m finding it harder to work my jaw. It’s more swollen now than it was, and it’s starting to hurt worse. I chew carefully, glad that this time it’s not jerky on the menu. Axel’s outside doing something, I don’t know what, and I eye the ugly blue couch with the cabbage-rose print. Soft. I haven’t felt anything soft in what seems like months. There’s a matted yellow afghan hanging over the back. It smells clean, though, and so does the couch. It’s not long before I’m curled up for a nap.

I smell vanilla. I don’t know how long I’ve been sleeping, but it feels like I could lie here for ten years. I haven’t smelled vanilla in I don’t know how long, though, and this brings me to my feet. I toss a glance into the mini kitchen, but I don’t see anything cooking on the old-style wood stove.

The front door opens, and in comes Axel lugging a large bucket of steaming water.

“’Bout time you woke up,” he says as he passes through the room. He smirks, ruining the whole effect of the rebuke.

“What—” I wince and press a hand to my swollen face. The skin is tight and my cheek is fat, and I feel about as attractive as a walrus.

“Thought you could use a bath,” he says, making a left into a room I haven’t yet seen.

“Thanks a lot.” Now I’m ugly and I stink.

I follow him inside what turns out to be a small bathroom. There’s a shallow tub, a deep sink, and a composting toilet. Since Axel is toting water in and out via bucket, I assume we don’t have running water. We didn’t have any in Sadie’s Bend, either, but what with all the engineering that went into this place, I was sort of hoping.

The look he gives me is dark and quelling. Now that he’s finished adding this bucketful, there’s a good six inches of water in the tub. Steam rises up.

I sniff. “Is that vanilla?”

He frowns. “Found some of that old shower-gel stuff at the exchange. I didn’t know what kind you’d like.”

In point of fact, I only like vanilla in my food. Vanilla-scented anything—I hate it. But holy bats, the guy’s actually trying to please me. “Did you do all this for me?”

He flicks me a look and turns away, blushing. Blushing, for God’s sake. “I figured, you know, you had such a shit day and all.”

I nod, but I’m nervous. Is he going to bathe me like I’m some kind of sex toy? Is he prepping me for another round of painful sex?

He nods at a faded navy-blue towel balanced on the sink. “That’s yours. When you’re done, let me know and I’ll take my turn.”

He cups my face, inspects my cheek, and gets another one of those I’m-going to-fucking-kill-someone looks. Then to my utter astonishment he gives it a soft caress before he turns and leaves me to myself.

He shuts the door. Softly.

Share bathwater? Ick! No one, I don’t care who he is, should have to sit in water where someone’s dirty crotch’s just been. I strip off my clothes as fast as I can, grab the washcloth, and give myself a thorough scrub down before I even think of lowering myself into the water.

The heat drives into my bones and smooths away my tension. This feels rolling-your-eyes-back, luxury-hotel good. When I dip my hair in the water and let the heat sink into my scalp, I’m almost ready to cry. There’s no shampoo, so I use more of that vanilla stuff to scrub my head. I end up using the toothbrush cup to scoop up water and rinse my hair over the composting toilet. Gross, I know, but I don’t want to leave him greasy-dirty-hair bathwater.

Resigning myself to another night of torture by enormous dick, I give my crotch another scrub. If I’m going to give him the thank you I’m sure he’s expecting, I might as well not smell like fermented ass.

Why am I being so nice? I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fact that other than him, there’s no one left on the planet who would do for me what he did today. I owe him this, at least.

I didn’t think to get anything at the exchange to wear to bed, so I lie here in a T-shirt, panties, and a pair of socks. That fire stove does an okay job of heating the place, but I hate being cold. Hate it. I tuck the covers up to my chin and wait for Axel and his huge dick to get here.

He comes in carrying a handful of candles and wearing a pair of boxers. It’s the first time I’ve seen him this naked. I spot a scar on his upper left chest. Did someone knife him? Shoot him? He’s got those tribal-looking tattoos running back over his shoulder and most of the way down his arm, and he’s got a ripped torso with this vee that points down into his underwear.

“Where did you get candles?”

“One of the towns, they keep a ton of bees.”

“You guys should negotiate for a whole hive and bring one here.”

“Are you going to carry it?”

Bees? “No.”

He lights the candles with a knife and flint and then perches beside me on the bed. “Take your shirt off.”

I breathe deep. Here goes. I pull the tee over my head and toss it to the side. He runs a finger from my collarbone to the tip of my breast. His touch is light and I tingle. He cups both breasts and rubs his thumbs over the tips, sending a sweep of warmth to my crotch. But then he backs off. He pushes my hair away and inspects my face. “This hurt much?”

“Yeah,” I admit.
Come on
, I want to say.
Let’s get this over with
.

Twin slashes appear between his brows. “Flip over onto your stomach.”

I stare at him, not sure what it is he’s planning on doing.

He makes an unmistakable roll-over sign with his finger.

I do as he asks, but I squeeze my eyes shut. I hope, I really hope, he’s not into that anal stuff. I don’t know much about it, but it sounds creepy-wrong. It’s bad enough that he puts that thing in my pussy.

Axel starts with soft, slow hand strokes up my back. I figure he’s just trying to calm me down. It goes on for a few minutes, though, and it sinks in that he’s giving me an actual massage. When fifteen minutes pass and he moves on down to my butt, I figure okay, now he’s going to rip off the undies and do the deed. He doesn’t. He digs his fingers into my thighs, and I fully expect him to spread them wide and go for the gold. By this time I’m relaxed enough that I might not even resist. It’s when he gets to my feet and spends a full ten minutes on each one that I feel like a cat getting its back scratched.

“Oh my God, Axel, where did you learn to do this?”

“Feel good?” he asks softly. It’s almost like he…feels bad for me?

I moan contentedly. My eyes are shut, but the flicker of the candle flame still dances under my lids, hypnotic and sexy.

He slides his hands up my body and begins on my shoulders again. It feels so good I could practically meow. He could do just about anything with my body he wanted, and I’d be okay with it. Every once in a while, my lover presses a kiss into my neck, my shoulder, the sole of my foot. It’s pure seduction mixed with cuddly comfort, and I’m not sure at what point I fall asleep.
 

When I wake up later, my T-shirt’s still gone, my socks are gone, but I’m wearing my panties. The candles are out, and I’m cuddled against a nearly naked man who gives off more heat than a gas furnace. He didn’t even try to fuck me. I don’t understand. What’s he up to?

“What’s this?” Axel stares down at his plate like he doesn’t believe the food could be edible.

“Turkey and mashed potatoes. What’s wrong? Don’t you like turkey?” My stomach twists. I probably should have asked.

“Where’d it come from?”

“The oven?” I wrap myself in my arms. I’ve been here two weeks, and I feel like everything I try to do is wrong.

“You made this.” Deadpan, he gives me the full-on ice of his blue eyes.

“Yes.”

He looks at me like I just did something really weird as he scoops up a massive forkful of the potatoes.

I slouch as a shiver of failure creeps up my back. I want to go home.

Axel frowns and digs into the turkey next. Me, I just stare at my plate. They assigned me to work Mia’s off shift at the exchange. It’s my first real job, and I don’t even know what half of the merchandise is. Some guy came in earlier today and asked for a maul. I just stared at him like some idiot.

“Why?” Axel’s brow wrinkles, and he’s staring at me all strange. Or maybe he’s irritated. I don’t know.

“Why what?” I’m close to tears.

He waves a hand over the table. “All this. Why?”

“Why do you think?” I plunk my fork back onto the table. “It’s what people do. They eat dinner.”

“You could have got it at the dining hall.”

I can’t take it. I can feel my eyes tearing up. I’m feeling incredibly alone and totally out of my element. I have since I got here. Axel’s doing whatever marauders do during the day, and I’m trying to learn how to do math without a calculator. I’m usually in bed before he gets back, and we lie there without touching all night. It’s like I disgust him now.