again.
She had done it dozens of times since.
This was the first time she had done it to another person.
Stiles grunted, but he didn’t move, didn’t ask her to stop. Within seconds the healing wound had disappeared. But then she realized it wasn’t the first he had ever suffered. There were gnarled scars all along his back, his skin twisted and tied into knots that marked the places of former wounds.
She bit her lip as she slowly pulled his shirt back over his skin.
“I’m sorry about your family,” she said.
He glanced at her. “Yeah, me, too,” he said.
“We should go,” Wyatt called to them.
Dylan stood and held her hand out to Stiles. “I’m Dylan,” she said. “And our task master is called Wyatt.”
Stiles smiled as he took her hand and allowed her to pull him to his feet. “Nice to meet you, Dylan,” he said.
Chapter 20
They stopped for the night in a long, low field that Wyatt told them was once a place called a farm. Stiles started a fire with Dylan’s dwindling supply of matches while Wyatt went in search of some sort of protein for their evening meal. Dylan sipped slowly from a bottle of water as she watched Stiles move around on his haunches.
“What was the name of the city where you lived?”
“Collins,” he said.
“Where was it?”
He pointed to his left. “West of here.”
Dylan took another, slow sip of her water. “Didn’t you say east before?”
Stiles stopped moving, holding his hand just over the lazily smoking wood. “Did I?” he asked before he bent to blow on the sparks beginning to glow there.
“Yes, I think so.”
The fire burst into life. Stiles stood and walked over to Dylan, settling on the ground beside her. “I guess you caught me,” he said.
“At what?”
He looked down at his hands, running them slowly over the rough fabric of his pants. “I’m not really from a city.”
“Then where did you come from?”
He glanced at her. “My people never settled in one community or another. We always just wandered the lands, living off of what was left of the land and what we could find in the ruins.”
“Where are your people now?”
“Mostly dead,” he said as he again ran his hands over his pants. “It is a hard life, living out here without the safety of a community to guard us.”
Dylan took one last swallow from the water bottle before handing it to Stiles. “Why did you lie?”
He took a long drink before he answered. “Because your friend, Wyatt, doesn’t look like the kind of guy who would be too kind to a wanderer.”
Dylan thought of Wyatt’s resistance when she suggested Stiles travel with them. “If he knew you can defend yourself, he might have been a little more open to the idea.”
“I doubt it,” he said. He glanced at Dylan. “Men like Wyatt do not like the idea of competition in their immediate circle. They like to be the dominant one.”
She shook her head. “Not Wyatt. He just wants to survive.”
“He wants you,” Stiles said quietly.
“What do you mean?”
He glanced at her, his gray eyes softening as he studied her face. “You’ll figure it out, soon,” he said, touching her hand lightly. “But you should know he is not the only man out there. He’s not the only one who could make you happy.”
Dylan frowned, confused by the intensity of Stiles’ words. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, but Stiles had pulled away from her and busied himself piling the dry wood beside the fire as Wyatt came into view a few dozen yards away.
Dylan climbed to her feet and walked out to meet Wyatt. She slipped one of the rabbits from his hand. “I don’t know how you find them so quickly,” she said.
“Disappointed I’ve come back too soon?” he asked.
She glanced at him. “Why would I be?”
His gaze moved to Stiles, but he didn’t say anything.
“He’s not as useless as you think,” Dylan told him. “He built that fire in less time than it would have taken me.”
“Have you
She had done it dozens of times since.
This was the first time she had done it to another person.
Stiles grunted, but he didn’t move, didn’t ask her to stop. Within seconds the healing wound had disappeared. But then she realized it wasn’t the first he had ever suffered. There were gnarled scars all along his back, his skin twisted and tied into knots that marked the places of former wounds.
She bit her lip as she slowly pulled his shirt back over his skin.
“I’m sorry about your family,” she said.
He glanced at her. “Yeah, me, too,” he said.
“We should go,” Wyatt called to them.
Dylan stood and held her hand out to Stiles. “I’m Dylan,” she said. “And our task master is called Wyatt.”
Stiles smiled as he took her hand and allowed her to pull him to his feet. “Nice to meet you, Dylan,” he said.
Chapter 20
They stopped for the night in a long, low field that Wyatt told them was once a place called a farm. Stiles started a fire with Dylan’s dwindling supply of matches while Wyatt went in search of some sort of protein for their evening meal. Dylan sipped slowly from a bottle of water as she watched Stiles move around on his haunches.
“What was the name of the city where you lived?”
“Collins,” he said.
“Where was it?”
He pointed to his left. “West of here.”
Dylan took another, slow sip of her water. “Didn’t you say east before?”
Stiles stopped moving, holding his hand just over the lazily smoking wood. “Did I?” he asked before he bent to blow on the sparks beginning to glow there.
“Yes, I think so.”
The fire burst into life. Stiles stood and walked over to Dylan, settling on the ground beside her. “I guess you caught me,” he said.
“At what?”
He looked down at his hands, running them slowly over the rough fabric of his pants. “I’m not really from a city.”
“Then where did you come from?”
He glanced at her. “My people never settled in one community or another. We always just wandered the lands, living off of what was left of the land and what we could find in the ruins.”
“Where are your people now?”
“Mostly dead,” he said as he again ran his hands over his pants. “It is a hard life, living out here without the safety of a community to guard us.”
Dylan took one last swallow from the water bottle before handing it to Stiles. “Why did you lie?”
He took a long drink before he answered. “Because your friend, Wyatt, doesn’t look like the kind of guy who would be too kind to a wanderer.”
Dylan thought of Wyatt’s resistance when she suggested Stiles travel with them. “If he knew you can defend yourself, he might have been a little more open to the idea.”
“I doubt it,” he said. He glanced at Dylan. “Men like Wyatt do not like the idea of competition in their immediate circle. They like to be the dominant one.”
She shook her head. “Not Wyatt. He just wants to survive.”
“He wants you,” Stiles said quietly.
“What do you mean?”
He glanced at her, his gray eyes softening as he studied her face. “You’ll figure it out, soon,” he said, touching her hand lightly. “But you should know he is not the only man out there. He’s not the only one who could make you happy.”
Dylan frowned, confused by the intensity of Stiles’ words. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, but Stiles had pulled away from her and busied himself piling the dry wood beside the fire as Wyatt came into view a few dozen yards away.
Dylan climbed to her feet and walked out to meet Wyatt. She slipped one of the rabbits from his hand. “I don’t know how you find them so quickly,” she said.
“Disappointed I’ve come back too soon?” he asked.
She glanced at him. “Why would I be?”
His gaze moved to Stiles, but he didn’t say anything.
“He’s not as useless as you think,” Dylan told him. “He built that fire in less time than it would have taken me.”
“Have you
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