Droplets (DROPLETS Trilogy Book 1) (11 page)

     The two-story cabin appeared to be the main structure, but as I looked I noticed there were other cabins in the three surrounding trees. These smaller structures matched the larger one in craftsmanship and design. Completing the house, a series of wooden plank bridges created lofty pathways from tree to tree.

     “Did you build that?” I asked with clear astonishment.

     He nodded and again I noted the pride in his eyes. He was enjoying my amazement.

     “Come on,” he said seriously, not letting me gawk at the structure any longer. To my surprise he led the way this time, and I noted that his dagger was no longer in his hand. I spotted the weapon encased in a sheath against his left forearm.

     Walking up the sturdy stairs, I had to concentrate in order to keep up with him. My eyes were fixed directly above our heads as we got closer and closer to the looming cabin above. 

     Our bare feet hit the steps in the same padded rhythm until we reached the top. Leading inside, flat planks of wood created a small deck in front of the door. We were at least four stories off the ground, and I gulped thinking of what would happen if I fell. Glancing upward at the few branches above my head, I saw the sky was getting darker. Soft, tiny stars were just becoming visible on the pale canvas above us.

     The creak of wood sounded beside me and I looked at the wooden door that had been pushed open. Inside, I could hear the sounds of feet moving on wood in the night-darkened room. The rough scrape of a match shot through the night air and was followed by the bright flash of fire. Illuminated for just a moment by the lit match, I watched the crouching shadow of the man place the match into a fireplace. Slowly the logs sprang to life and kindled the room with a flickering light. Other patches of light appeared around the room as little lamps were lit by the mysterious man.

     Biting my lip nervously I stepped into the warm glowing room.

     All the furniture within the confines of the cleverly crafted walls was made of wood.  Before the fireplace was an elegant wooden bench, and a matching pair of chairs stood against the far wall. To my left there was an area that served as a kitchen (complete with counters and cabinets), rugs on the floor, and sheer curtains covered the windows. My mind flashed back to the rough hands that had encircled my wrists. Those very hands held more meaning now as I contemplated the skill they had.

     The room had a manly feel to it. The rugs and fabric curtains were woodsy, making me feel like I was in a cabin in the mountains, even though I knew I was far from there. In the kitchen was a black wood-burning stove complete with a small chimney leading to the ceiling and through the roof. Off to the corner was a metal basin with a water pump, and across the room a staircase rose to what I assumed would be the second floor.  

     “You will stay here for the night.” The deep voice said. I startled.

     “Okay,” I said and nodded to confirm that I understood.

     He stood across the room with his arms hanging awkwardly by his sides. Once or twice he opened his mouth to say something but then stopped. I waited patiently.

     “Sit down here,” he said gruffly, his harsh manner returning. “I will get you some food.”

     Not wanting to give him any more reason to be angry, I quickly obeyed and took a seat on the bench before the fireplace. The wood was smooth and polished, and touched my skin gently. The curve in the seat was welcoming and I found that I would have been comfortable, if not for the male presence that was loudly opening and closing cabinets in the kitchen behind me.

     “Here,” he said and shoved a wooden bowl and spoon into my hands. Inside it was a thick gravy stew with large chunks of vegetables and greasy, brown meat. 

     With ease, I watched as he grabbed one of the chairs from across the room and set it next to the bench. He slid into the chair and without a word began to eat the food with relish. 

     Hesitatingly, I filled the spoon with a chunk of meat and lifted it to my mouth. Surprisingly the gravy was filled with flavor and oozed from the meat as I chewed it. Satisfied, I ate quickly as my stomach woke up and responded to the nutrition hitting its empty confines.

     As I ate I could not help but glance at the young man sitting to my left. The same questions ran through my mind. Who was he and why was he here? And why were there more cabins in the adjacent trees? Was it possible that he did not live alone?  Looking at the size of the pot on the black-wood stove I knew that it contained a great amount of stew. Were there others who would be eating with us as well? The thought of others made me even more worried.

     “You were hungry,” the young man said. I jumped and almost dropped my spoon. He put his half-finished bowl on the floor and stood. “Here, I’ll get you some more.” He stuck his hand out for me to give him the bowl. His manner all of the sudden seemed more hospitable.

     “No, its okay, I’m good.” He raised an eyebrow.

     “You don’t want anything more to eat?” He questioned disbelievingly.

     “Well,” I said. “I wouldn’t mind more, but don’t we need to save some?” This took him by surprise.

     “Why would we need to save some?” He looked totally confused. “I have plenty and it needs to be eaten.” He explained this as though I were a child and it made me frustrated. I didn’t want him thinking that I was young and immature.

     “What I meant was, shouldn’t we save some for the others?” Now he really looked at me like I was crazy. But within a moment his eyes flashed and he whipped his dagger out of its sheath, pointing it directly at my chest. Within a moment he became very serious and almost angry.

     “What others?” he railed me in a demanding tone. His voice reached new heights of anger. “Are you not alone?”

     “No,” I said quickly. My eyes were wide and innocent as I pressed into the back of the bench away from the knife. “I am.”

     “Then who are you talking about?” He bored his eyes into mine. I cowered a little, partially afraid and partially confused by his piercing eyes.

     “I assumed there were others who lived in the cabins out there,” I said as quickly as possible, and pointed feebly in their direction as if he could see them through the wall. His shoulders relaxed and he sighed with relief. Closing his eyes, he slid a hand across his face and then looked back at me.

     “Lissie,” he said calmly. It was the first time he had said my name. Somehow the word sounded different when he used it. “I’m the only one who lives here. I’m the only one who has ever lived here.” His tone was reassuring and it soothed my nervous thoughts.

     He returned the dagger back to the sheath on his arm and ran a large hand through his hair.

     “I’m sorry I got so defensive, I just like to know what’s going on.” He said.

     So he would probably like to know that I’m not human, I thought, but I couldn’t tell him that.

     “What’s your name?” I asked, speaking softly. Something about his openness made me want to know, even though my eyes kept flickering to the dagger on his wrist and my heart continued to pound heavily in my chest.

     “Patrick,” he said. His features had softened and he looked at me with eyes of rich brown. He was still standing and his broad frame seemed to take up the entire room. Something in his gaze made me feel as though I was falling.

     “How long have you been here alone?” I asked desperately wanting to know the answer.

     Immediately his softened features closed. He tore his eyes from mine and looked at my bowl.

     “Here,” he said opening his hand to me. “I’ll get you some more stew.”

11. Company

I woke the next morning with the sun warming my face and a wonderful woodsy smell alerting my senses. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the bright light, and I had to wait to sit up and look about the room.

     I was in a comfortable double bed with a wooden head and foot board. There was a dresser and bedside table. The rest of the space was filled with half-finished carvings, chairs, tables, and other smaller objects. Woodchips covered the floor and to my left there was a staircase that led downward. I found it funny that I didn’t remember walking up them last night.

    
Wait
, I thought.
What happened last night?

     It all came rushing back in an instant. The hill, the sunset, the meadow, the house in the trees, the stew, and then Patrick.

     Patrick. Both fear and wonder were bonded together with that name. There was something about him that made me curious, more curious about a person than I had ever been before.

     Thinking deeply, I tried to remember what had happened the night before, but the last memory I could recall was falling asleep on the wooden bench. I remembered Patrick sitting in front of the fire lost in his own thoughts, but then nothing after that.
How did I get upstairs?
I blushed when the realization hit me:
he must have carried me up here.
Was this his room and bed? Suddenly everything felt intimate and I was unsure of what to do.

     I lay back down in the bed, my heart thudding heavier and heavier. I stared up at the wooden planked ceiling. My thoughts were a mess. There was a manly smell surrounding me and it did nothing to help my thoughts.

     After a moment I wondered where he was and sat up again.

      Crawling out of his bed I made my way to the stairs. When I reached the edge of them I heard a female voice coming from the first floor. Alarm shot through me. Patrick had said he was the only one who lived on the island.
Had he lied to me?
 

     Lying down on the dusty floor, I pressed my ear to the wood to try and hear better. Soft voices reached my ears, their words laced with caution.

    “I just don’t get it,” the female voice said, irritated. “How could she have gotten through?”

     “I don’t know,” Patrick said, bewildered. His baritone voice sounded deeper and smoother than I remembered. “She is either more cunning, or
he
has finally figured out how to get through.” Patrick emphasized the word ‘he’ with malice and I wondered at his anger and worried for whoever he was talking about. The small glimpses I had seen of Patrick’s protective and cautious nature were enough for me to know he was an excellent fighter.

     “Did you find her or did she find you?” The girl’s voice cut through the room.

     “I found her,” Patrick’s said in a low voice. After he said this I heard the female sigh in relief. Why would I cause so much distress? I remembered Patrick’s tense face last night when he had mistaken my statement about saving food for “others”.

     “Tell me everything,” the female demanded. “I’ll need to have the story straight in order to tell Shaylee. You know how she gets.” I could almost hear the nod I was sure Patrick gave.

     “The night before last I saw smoke above the trees, which led me toward the cave. I hid in the branches of the trees and spotted her eating on the cliff.” Abashed, I put a hand over my mouth; I hadn’t realized he had been watching. “She looked exhausted, but I waited to see what she would do. I thought it might be a trap.”

    
Trap? For what?

     “Of course,” the girl seemed to agree.

     “Then she fell asleep,” Patrick said, mystified. It was as if I confused him.

     “Really?” The girl was similarly astounded.

     “Yes, she slept the whole night and right through the day. I worried that something was wrong with her, so I climbed the cliff and just as I was getting closer she woke up and saw me.”

     The girl gasped, “Patrick, you could’ve been killed!”

    
Killed?
I sat in silence listening to what was going on below, my mind trying to grasp what was being said.
Did they really think I was a threat?

     “I was fine,” Patrick spoke quickly as though he did not agree with the woman. “As I was saying, she woke up and when she saw me she turned around and was going to jump off the cliff.

    Again the woman gasped but this time she said nothing. There was a long silence in the room below.

    “But luckily I was able to catch her before she fled.”

     “Luckily,” the female voice agreed. “Do you think she’s with
him
?” Even though I wasn’t in the room, I could hear her emphasis on the word. I wondered who this person was and why they refused to say his name.

     “That’s what I thought at first,” Patrick agreed, “but then she told me what had happened to her.”

     “Don’t you think she could have lied?”

     “That’s just it—I know she lied.” I pressed my hand over my mouth, once more while listening intently. “But it’s because I knew she was lying that I decided to trust her.”

     There was some twisted logic, and I could not figure out what he meant. Why trust me when he knew I was lying?

     “I know it sounds stupid,” Patrick confirmed, “but I figured if she was so obvious in her lie then she could not be working for him. If she was working for him you know she would have had a scripted story to tell and her acting skills would be much better. I think this girl is very genuine actually.”

     I waited to hear the woman’s response. Somehow after Patrick had explained himself, everything made sense. He was right; if I was a threat to him then I would have had a story already planned, a logical alibi. Instead I had stumbled through my excuse which was partially true, and he had been able to see right through it. A new respect for Patrick grew in my mind as I realized how intelligent he was.

     “So what exactly did she tell you?” The woman asked, without rebuking his choice of harboring me in his house.

     “She told me she had been on a boat with her father and brothers when they got caught in a storm and she fell overboard. She said she doesn’t remember anything else.” When he retold the story I realized how lame it sounded. No wonder he had seen right through it.

     “Patrick, there hasn’t been a storm that big in at least a month.”

     “I know, that’s how long she said it’d been since it happened.” Patrick lowered his voice and I could just barely hear him say, “It just doesn’t seem right though. There’s no way she has been living here for over a month. I would have noticed.” My heart thudded heavily as they quickly condemned me. 

     “It’s just too coincidental,” the female was definitely frustrated now. “The night of that storm was the night we spotted—”

    “Shh!” Patrick hushed her, cutting off whatever it was she was going to say. “She might be awake by now.”

     Realizing they might come and check on me, I hopped up and made my way back to the bed. I slipped in silently, pleased to find the mattress did not squeak. Pulling the covers up to my shoulder I rolled onto my side so my back faced the stairs.  Sure enough, a few seconds later I heard a pair of feet ascend the stairs and enter the room softly.

     The footsteps came closer to the bed, the sound pricking my memory. I remembered waking up numerous times in the middle of the night and hearing the distant sound of feet walking back and forth across the floor below. The sound had been repetitive and comforting, and each time had lulled me back to sleep. Until now I had thought it a dream.

     With a little more drama than necessary, I rolled onto my back and looked up at the ceiling, blinking my eyes rapidly for good measure. A deep polite cough made me aware of who was watching me. My heart sputtered slightly and I internally wondered at this reaction I had to his mere presence. 

     He stood at the top of the stairs, his hand gently resting on the railing. Something about his expression made my stomach tighten. His eyes were softer this morning, but there was still wariness in his gaze. I noticed that the dagger was still present on his arm.

     An uncomfortable silence filled the room and I was all too aware of my presence in what seemed to be his bed. Sitting up, I moved to get out on the side opposite him—I didn’t want to come too close to where he stood.

     “Breakfast is downstairs,” he blurted out as though relieved to have finally come up with something to say. I nodded in response and began to make my way toward him. Something in his expression told me to stop. He ran a hand through his golden hair while quickly speaking.  

     “A friend of mine is downstairs.”

     He paused and I widened my eyes to feign surprise, not wanting to explain my earlier eavesdropping. “She wants to meet you.”

     Again I nodded my head, “Well, okay then.” Without another word I passed him and made my way down the small staircase and onto the main floor. Patrick followed right behind me.

     Standing next to the empty fireplace was a beautiful girl, her skin golden from the sun and wavy beetle-black hair falling to her waist. Little strands were pulled back in tiny twists to keep the hair away from her dark green eyes. She was slender, with long legs and a toned, muscular body. A pink camisole revealed a bit of her flat belly, and short jean shorts complemented the tan on her lanky legs. Her arms hung at her sides, but they were anything but casual. Something in her stance made the tips of my fingers tingle, and her gaze watched my every move with incredible intensity.   

     “Lissie,” Patrick came up beside me and spoke cautiously. “This is my friend Kryssa.” He gestured toward her with his hand and without thinking I moved forward with my hand extended.

     “Nice to meet you,” my voice said bravely; it sounded braver than I felt. Kryssa stared at my hand for a moment and then took it carefully as though measuring me up. Her touch was cool and soft, yet somehow felt so smooth she almost felt wet. Something about her touch pricked at a memory, but I could not place it.

     After shaking my hand Kryssa seemed to relax, but only slightly. Her eyes snapped from mine and clapped onto Patrick’s. “My father will want to meet her.”

     Her words were spoken with finality, as though arguing the point was out of the question.

     “I knew you’d say that,” Patrick shrugged though his jaw tightened.

     “There’s no reason to fight it,” a softness filtered into Kryssa’s voice. “You knew this before I came here this morning.”

     Patrick nodded while I stood between them feeling self-conscious.
Why were they talking about me as if I wasn’t there?

    
“Sorry, but why do I have to meet your father exactly?” I asked, turning my gaze on Kryssa. Her green eyes flashed to mine.

     “Because he will need to know of your presence here with Patrick.” Again the statement was matter of fact, and clearly not to be questioned.

     Patrick butted in, “Don’t be hard on her, she’s not quite aware of what’s going on.” I felt like a child, but I appreciated his defense as opposed to the anger he showed last night.

     “And she will remain unaware until after meeting with my father.” Kryssa’s eyes were now on Patrick and there was something in her gaze which seemed to be trying to communicate more than was being said.

    “At least talk to Shaylee first,” Patrick spoke softly, his voice almost inaudible. I could see she was going to disagree, but cut her off.

     “Yes, please do,” I said, making both Kryssa and Patrick look at me as though I had lost my mind. The wariness returned in Kryssa’s eyes. “I wouldn’t mind having some time to adjust to things here. I’m not even sure of what happened to me, and from what it sounds like, I would have to answer to your father,” I raised an eyebrow in question and when Kryssa did not speak I took it as confirmation to my beliefs. “It just might be better if I have an idea of what happened before I speak to him, don’t you think?”

     I left the question up to her, but I could tell I had already persuaded her. Her eyes met mine, blank for a moment, and then she shook her head slightly as though to clear a thought.

     Slowly she nodded, “Alright I will speak with Shaylee, but it’s more than likely she will come here to meet you.” Her last words were spoken harshly, but there was something in her eyes which showed respect. Maybe my persuasion had earned her trust.

     “Where do you live?” I ventured, wondering if she would tell me.

     “Not here,” she said softly. Making direct eye contact with me, and this time there was a hint of a smile around her lips. Without further explanation she spun toward the door and strode across the room. Just before she disappeared, she tossed a farewell over her shoulder and the sound of her bare feet on the steps slowly faded away.

     An awkward silence fell between us as I struggled to say something. But this silence was different from the previous night. Somehow it was companionable, or at least the hostility was no longer present. Patrick’s defense about my experiences made me relax around him. I knew he was wary of me, but I no longer worried that he would hurt me.