Chapter 8 Elara's POV
Pain was the first thing I felt when I woke up.
Everything hurt my head throbbed with a dull, constant ache. My ribs burned with each breath I took. My face felt swollen and tender, and when I tried to open my eyes, only one of them would cooperate fully.
I was lying on something soft. Not a bed, but softer than the ground. A blanket, maybe. The air smelled musty and damp, like old wood and earth.
Where was I?
I forced my working eye to focus on wooden walls. A small space gaps in the boards where dim light filtered through. This was a shack. An old, abandoned shack by the looks of it.
How did I get here?
I tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. Pain shot through my entire body and I gasped, falling back down.
"Don't move too much."
I froze, the voice came from somewhere to my left. A man's voice, deep and calm.
Slowly, carefully, I turned my head. A man sat on an old crate a few feet away from me, watching me. He looked to be in his thirties, maybe older.
Dark hair, sharp features, a scar running along his jawline. His clothes were worn but clean, and his eyes were studying me with an intensity that made me uncomfortable.
"Who are you?" I tried to ask, but my voice came out as a croak. My throat was so dry.
The man reached beside him and picked up a metal cup. He stood and walked over, kneeling beside me. "Water, drink slowly."
He helped me lift my head just enough to take small sips. The water was cold and tasted slightly metallic, but I didn't care. It soothed my burning throat.
"Not too much at once." He said, pulling the cup away after a few sips. "You will make yourself sick."
I wanted to argue, to demand more water, but I knew he was right. My stomach already felt queasy.
"Who are you?" I asked again, my voice a bit stronger now.
"My name is Damian," he said. He set the cup down and sat back on his heels, still watching me.
"I found you in the forest yesterday and you were badly hurt."
Yesterday? How long had I been unconscious?
"What happened to me?" I asked.
Damian's expression didn't change. "I was hoping you could tell me that. You were beaten left in the rain. I thought you were dead when I first saw you."
The word triggered something; it was like a flash of memory. Pain, fists, boots, fear.
I tried to remember more, tried to piece together what happened, but everything was foggy. There were images, feelings, but nothing clear, nothing that made sense.
"I don't remember.” I whispered.
"Nothing at all?" Damian asked.
I closed my eyes and tried again. I tried to push past the fog in my mind. There had to be something. Where was I from? How did I end up in that forest?
Nothing came.
Panic started to rise in my chest. "I can't remember anything. Why can't I remember?"
"You took several blows to the head," Damian said matter-of-factly. "It's possible you have some memory loss. It might be temporary."
Temporary that was good that meant the memories would come back eventually.
But what if they didn't?
"What's your name?" Damian asked.
My name was basic and everyone knew their own name.
I searched my blank mind desperately, and finally, something surfaced. One word, one piece of myself that the darkness hadn't taken.
"Elara." I said.
"My name is Elara."
"Elara.” Damian repeated, as if testing how it sounded. "Do you know your last name?"
I tried, I really tried but there was nothing there, it was just emptiness.
"No." I admitted, and my voice broke slightly. "I just know Elara."
Damian nodded slowly; he didn't look surprised or particularly concerned. "That's a start. The rest might come back with time."
I wanted to believe him. I had to believe him. The alternative that I would never remember who I was, where I came from, what happened to me was too terrifying to consider.
"Your wounds need attention.” Damian said, standing up. "I did what I could yesterday, but we should clean them again."
He walked to the corner of the shack and returned with a small bag. From it, he pulled out strips of cloth and a bottle of something that looked like water but smelled sharp and medicinal.
"This will hurt.” He warned.
I nodded pain I could handle. It was the not knowing that was unbearable.
Damian worked efficiently and carefully. He cleaned the cuts on my face first, and he was right it hurt. The liquid burned against my raw skin and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out.
"You had a nasty gash on your forehead," he said. "I stitched it while you were unconscious. The stitches are crude, but they will hold."
I reached up instinctively to touch it, but he caught my hand.
"Don't," He said firmly. "You'll risk infection."
I lowered my hand.
He moved on to check my ribs, pressing gently against my sides. I winced when he touched the left side.
"Bruised, maybe cracked," He said. "But not broken, you are lucky."
Luckily I didn't feel lucky. I felt broken and lost and scared.
"Why did you help me?" I asked as he wrapped clean cloth around my ribs.
Damian paused for a moment, then continued his work. "Because you needed help."
"Most people would have just left me there."
"I'm not most people.” He said simply.
There was something in his tone that made me think there was more to the story, but I didn't have the energy to push. Besides, I was grateful. Whatever his reasons, he'd saved my life.
"Do you know what happened to me?" I asked quietly. "Did you see anything?"
"No. By the time I found you, whoever did this was long gone. But based on your injuries, I'd say it was more than one person. Multiple attackers."
That made sense the flashes I remembered there had been several people surrounding me. Hurting me.
But why? Why would anyone do this to me?
"Rest." Damian said, finishing with the bandages. "You're safe here for now."
Safe the word should have been comforting, but something about it felt wrong. Like nowhere was truly safe.
I was about to close my eyes when I heard it.
A howl was long and haunting, cutting through the quiet forest. Then another and another. Wolves were close too close.
Damian's entire body tensed. He stood quickly and moved to the gap in the wall, peering out into the forest.
"What is it?" I asked, fear creeping into my voice.
He didn't answer right away. Another howl rang out, even closer than before.
"Stay quiet." Damian said, his voice low and sharp. "And don't move."
The howls continued, growing louder, and I realized with growing dread that they were getting closer to the shack.
They were hunting.
And we were their prey.