Keeper of Crows (Keeper of Crows #1)(21)

“I have no issues.”

“You have control issues,” I argued. “You control a billion birds, fella. Tell me that’s not a sign of a control freak.”

Keeper approached a two-story stone home. The texture of the sidewalk felt like sandpaper in a wound. Looking down and behind me, it was no wonder. I’d left bloody footprints all the way to the front door, which Keeper shouldered open.

“No key?”

He smiled slightly. “Keys aren’t necessary here.”

“No, why use house keys when you have brute force?”

He craned his head in a few directions.

“Do you hear something?” I asked.

“Other than your incessant questions and inner monologue?”

I raised one brow at him.

“No, but I was making sure. I’ll check everything thoroughly in a minute, but this is a safe place. We’ll spend the night here so you can rest.” As he jogged up the steps, a gust of air rattled the windows of the house, followed by the sound of scratching and rustling from the roof. His freaking birds. They would tell every Lesson where to find us tonight – or today – whichever it was. Or maybe they were like a security system sign; a deterrent. Keeper Systems. Do not enter or the birds will eat your soul.

“It’s the latter. No one will bother us, and from here I can call for help.”

He jogged upstairs and back down, carrying a dark lump.

“You’re calling for help?” I wondered who the Keeper of Crows called for back-up. Batman? He smiled, throwing the pile of dark clothing at me. I caught the pieces against my chest.

“Get dressed. I’ll be back in a moment.”

I smirked at him as I untied the top strands of my hospital gown. “You can stay and help, if you’d like.” The cotton drifted down, the gown catching on my breasts. My nipples were sharp as the thorns in the forest we’d just climbed out of.

Keeper swallowed, not entirely unaffected. Easing the sliding glass door open, he stepped onto a balcony. I eased the panties on, my legs sore from I didn’t even know what. How’d he know what size I was? And how’d he know the clothes were here? I fastened the bra and pulled the shirt on. Sitting on the couch, I pushed my feet through the pant legs, wincing as I forced my toes to point. The flesh flexed along with the movement, and something on the bottom of my foot began to bleed again. Buttoning my pants was easy; however, bending forward to roll the pant legs up at the bottom hurt like hell. The carpet underfoot was painted crimson.

Outside, Keeper called one of his birds. He spoke to it, and though I couldn’t hear him, I wondered if he was using the language he’d spoken against the lightning leash, the same language that he’d controlled Pamela and tried to control me with. It was lyrical and beautiful. If only it had worked.

He stroked the bird’s head and raised his hand, allowing it to fly into the air. He watched for a long moment, until I couldn’t see the crow anymore and doubted he could, either. He turned and opened the door again, stepping inside.

“I will rinse and bandage your feet. They’ll heal by morning.”

There was no way they would heal by morning. Maybe in a week if I kept them clean and wrapped, but bandages were the first step in that process.

He smirked, having gotten his way, and ran up the steps. I could hear him rifling through cabinets, and then he returned with a thin, white towel and a bottle of water. Easily tearing the towel into strips of fabric, he wetted one with the water and settled next to me on the couch.

“Give me your foot.”

Um. What if they smelled? “Honestly, I can do this.”

“You can’t. Give me your foot,” he repeated patiently. I lifted my left leg, and when he grabbed my ankle, the electricity shot up my leg again. “Are you doing this on purpose?” he growled.

“Doing what?” I sat up and tried to take my foot from him.

“That jolt-thing… Never mind. Just sit still.” He blotted my feet and tied strips of cloth so that the knots sat along the top of my foot in a long row. His skin was perfect, the tattoos stationary for now.

Shifting in his seat, I realized he’d heard me. Sorry. It’s just strange that they change.

“It isn’t strange for me. Give me your other foot, please.”

I eased my left one down and lay back on the couch while he gently tended to the other. I expected his touch to be rough, like the beautiful exterior of him, but it was a whisper, a barely-there brush that didn’t hurt at all. Under his breath, he uttered words in the beautiful language. I wondered if they were words of frustration. Would angry sentences sound beautiful when spoken by the Keeper of Crows?

When the bandages were finished, he gently sat my foot down and stood up.

“I’m hungry. Is there food in the fridge?”

He stared down at me. “We’ll eat in the morning. For now, you should get some rest.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I was planning to sleep on the couch, when his arms scooped me up. Gently, he carried me up the steps to the first bedroom we came to and laid me on the mattress. The blankets had already been turned down.

Watching him walk away was the perfect end to a very long day, but it left me wanting. I could hear him moving around, but couldn’t tell exactly where he was in the house. The safe house, he’d called it. But this place, if it truly was Purgatory, didn’t make me feel safe at all. I was afraid. Would I ever be able to leave? Why was I here to begin with?