Caraval (Caraval, #1)(40)

When she opened her eyes, lurking shadows moved where they did not belong. Then she closed her eyes again and the dreadful cycle repeated.

She told herself it was only in her head, the shadows and the sounds. Wails and footsteps and crackling noises.

Until something cracked that was definitely in her room.

Scarlett sat up carefully. The dying fire buzzed as it tossed bits of light here and there. But the noise she heard was louder than that.

It came again. Another crack, right before the hidden door to her room flew open and Julian stumbled in. “Hello, Crimson.”

“What are—” Scarlett couldn’t finish her question. Even in the grainy light she could tell something was not right. His uneven steps. The tilt of his head. Quickly, she escaped her bed, covering herself with a blanket. “What happened to you?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Julian swayed as if drunk, but all Scarlett could smell was the metallic tang of blood.

“Who did this to you?”

“Remember, it’s only a game.” Julian smiled, twisted in the firelight, right before collapsing on the lounge.

“Julian!” Scarlett rushed to his side. His entire body was cold, as if he’d been outdoors all this time. She wanted to shake him, to wake him back up, but she wasn’t sure that was a brilliant idea given all the blood. So much blood. Very real blood. It matted his dark hair and stained her hands as she tried to put him in a better position. “I’ll be right back—I’m going to leave and get you help.”

“No—” Julian grabbed her arm. His fingers were frosty, like the rest of him. “Don’t go. It’s only a head wound; they look much worse than they are. Just grab the towel and the basin. Please.” His fingers tightened as he said the word please. “It will raise too many questions if you bring anyone else up here. The ‘vultures,’ as you called them, they’ll think it’s part of the game.”

“But it’s not?”

Julian wobbled his head as his chilly hand fell away from Scarlett’s arm.

Scarlett didn’t believe that the vultures were the only reason he wanted to avoid attention, but she hurriedly fetched two towels and the basin. Within a minute the water was red and brown. After a few minutes Julian gained a bit of warmth. He was right about the head wound; it didn’t seem to be as bad as it looked. The gash was shallow, though he tilted to the side as he tried to sit upright.

“I think you should stay lying down.” Scarlett placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Are you injured anywhere else?”

“You might want to check here.” Julian lifted his shirt, revealing perfect rows of golden-brown muscle, so much she might have blushed, if not for all of the blood that stretched across his abdomen.

Using the cleaner of the towels, Scarlett cautiously pressed down against his skin, moving the cloth with slow, circular motions. She’d never touched a young man—or any man—like this. She was careful to touch him only with the cloth, though her fingers were tempted to travel elsewhere. To see if his skin felt as soft as it looked. Would the count have such a flat, lined stomach?

“Julian, you need to keep your eyes open!” Scarlett scolded as she attempted to push thoughts of his body away. She needed to focus on her task.

“I think this cut might need stiches,” Scarlett said, yet as her cloth wiped away the blood it revealed a smooth line of unmarked, unbroken flesh. “Wait, I don’t see a wound.”

“There’s not one. But that feels really good.” Julian moaned and arched his back.

“You scoundrel!” Scarlett pulled her hands away, resisting the urge to smack him only because he was already injured. “What really happened? And tell me the truth or I will throw you out of this room right now.”

“You don’t need to make any threats, Crimson. I remember our deal. I’m not planning on staying or stealing your virtue. I just wanted to give you this.” He reached into his pocket. She noticed his knuckles weren’t bruised or bloody, on either hand. If he’d been in a fight, he hadn’t fought back.

Again she was about to ask what happened when he opened his hand.

Sparkling red.

“Were these the things you were fussing about?” Julian dropped her scarlet earrings into her hands unceremoniously, as if he were handing back one of the bloody towels.

“Where did you find them?” Scarlett gasped. Though it truly didn’t matter where he’d recovered them. He’d gone to the trouble of retrieving them. Despite his rough handling, not a stone was missing or chipped or broken. During her studies, Scarlett’s father had required she learn the proper way to say thank you in a dozen languages, but none of those phrases seemed like quite enough in that moment.

“Is that how you got injured?” she asked.

“If you believe I’d get injured over costume jewelry, you’re thinking too highly of me again.” Julian pushed up from the sofa and started for the door.

“Stop,” Scarlett said. “You can’t leave in your condition.”

His head cocked to the side. “Is that an invitation to stay?”

Scarlett hesitated.

He was injured.

That still didn’t make it appropriate.

She was engaged, and even if she wasn’t—

“I didn’t think so.” Julian grabbed the doorknob.