The Lost Souls (The Holy Trinity #2.5)(14)

It was dark when Carrie awoke, feeling strong enough for the first time in days to sit up on her own. The only light in the trailer was coming from the flickering fire and a few candles on the windowsill. Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she stared at the shadowed figure bent down in front of her, tending to the fire in an archaic-looking stove.

She realized she didn’t even know his name. Then again, she’d been half-catatonic until now.

“Hey,” she said softly as she attempted to untangle herself from the pile of blankets covering her.

He glanced over his shoulder and grunted.

“My name’s Caroline,” she continued. “But everyone calls me Carrie.”

“Marko,” he said.

“That’s a weird name,” she mused.

Another grunt.

Maybe he was a caveman? With the full beard and long hair, he could certainly pass for one. Maybe none of this was real? Maybe she had died out there in the snow? Maybe she’d…

“I’m starting to think I’m dreaming,” she said, shaking her head.

Marko snorted as he straightened his body. Standing tall, he towered over her. “Then, do you mind waking up?” he asked. “Because your dreams really suck.”

She burst out laughing because, well, she wasn’t exactly sure why, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Pretty soon, she was clutching her stomach, her body quaking and her stomach cramping as she continued to laugh with wild abandon.

The expression on Marko’s face as he watched her only furthered her amusement.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, holding her hand up. “I’m…sorry.”

But she couldn’t stop.

She was laughing. It was a sound, a feeling, she’d forgotten.

And then, just as suddenly as she’d started laughing, she was crying, shaking and sobbing and blubbering like an idiot in front of a total stranger.

Her world had ended, she’d lost everyone, she’d been so sure she was going to die and she almost did, but…

She’d been saved.

Carrie’s thoughts slid back to before her little world had come crashing to a stop, and she began remembering all she’d planned for herself and how she’d wanted her life to go.

Instantly calm, she glanced up at a bewildered Marko and studied him—his long black hair, brooding dark eyes framed with heavy lashes, the striking structure of his cheekbones, the strong jaw, the dusky hue of his skin. He looked like a younger, darker Joe Manganiello.

“Do you ride motorcycles?” she asked.

His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Uh, I rode stunt bikes in carnivals and…” He trailed off, gaping at her.

She was laughing again, laughing and crying, releasing months of pent-up emotions—horror and grief from living in fear of the world outside her house, then in fear of her brother. And finally, in fear of living out the rest of her days alone, dying alone, never having done anything with her life, never having left Elderton.

Then she laughed at the expression on Marko’s face as he watched her break down, put herself back together only to break down again, sobbing both joyful and devastated tears.

“I think you need more soup,” he muttered, averting his eyes.

Carrie laughed even harder because—yep, he so thought she was crazy. Maybe she was. Maybe all that time she’d spent locked up in her own mind had driven her over the edge, but she didn’t care because she was warm and her belly was full and—God, thank God—she was no longer alone. She wasn’t alone anymore. There was hope now. Marko, his heated trailer, his food, his clothes—it all added up to hope.

“Thank you, Marko,” she choked out. “Thank you so much…for saving my life.”

? ? ?

Marko watched the girl lean over the stove, mixing the dried vegetables into the already boiling pasta with shaking hands. He felt bad. No, he felt more than bad. She was seriously thin. Skeletal, even. A few days ago, she had looked like she was damn near death’s door when she’d literally fallen at his feet.

Her wavy blonde hair was clean now, full and shiny. Her pale face was flushed with a healthy glow, but dark circles still ringed her light blue eyes. He doubted she could be more than sixteen or seventeen, yet her tired eyes looked ancient. She had the eyes of a girl who’d seen too much, who’d been to hell and back. And whereas that pretty much sucked ass…she could join the f*cking club. Anyone left standing today had been through hell and back.

“Did you steal this trailer?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. “Or is it yours?”

“Mine.”

“So, you have gas?”

He shook his head. “Ran out.”

“Oh. This is my grandparents’ farm.”

“Cool,” he muttered, and she went back to stirring. He continued to stare at the back of her head, not sure how he felt about her as a roommate, especially after that…episode the other day. He’d never known what to do when a female started crying or acting irrational. Usually he would just walk away, but walking away from Carrie would have entailed walking into a subzero snowstorm. So Marko had ridden out her emotional train wreck, continued to offer her soup, and eventually he had fallen asleep, sitting up. When he had woken up, it was over.

He’d since formed a plan in case she went all hormonal on him again. He’d nap it out. He wished he’d thought of that strategy back when Nadya had thrown her temper tantrums.