I place a soothing hand on his bare chest. At my touch, the horseman flinches, as though he expects a hit to come. My throat tightens at that. I know the feeling all too well.

“You’re safe,” I whisper.

The horseman’s gaze snaps to me. His face is still swollen and bruised but I think—I think beneath all those injuries he has a beautiful face.

Why are you thinking about his face?

He tries to move his arm—I think to push me away—but there’s not enough arm to move.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I vow, my voice resolute. I hadn’t fully committed to helping this man before, but now, seeing him hurting and frightened, I won’t leave him.

“Are you thirsty?” I ask.

He studies me, those green eyes almost as piercing as the markings on his chest. He doesn’t respond.

He must be thirsty. He hasn’t drank anything all day. I unhook the canteen I carry at my side and move it to his lips.

The horseman gives me one hell of a distrustful look.

I raise an eyebrow. Does he think I poisoned the water? As if I’d go to that much trouble.

Just to prove to him that the water is fine, I bring the canteen to my lips and take a swallow. I lower it from my mouth and bring it to his.

He gives his head a shake.

“You must be thirsty,” I insist.

“I’m fine,” he whispers, his voice low and hoarse.

“Suit yourself,” I say, setting my canteen aside.

“Why?” he grits out.

Why are you helping me? he means.

“It’s what any decent person would do.”

He lets out a disbelieving huff, like there’s no such thing as a decent person.

The two of us sit in silence. I want to ask him all sorts of questions now that he’s awake, but I bite them back. He’s in pretty rough condition.

Just as the thought crosses my mind, he makes a low noise, his chest rising and falling faster and faster.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m whispering.

I hear his teeth gnash together and the high pitched sound of a bottled up scream.

Oh. Duh, Ana. The man is in major pain.

Without much forethought, I reach out and run my fingers through his hair. My father used to do this to soothe me when I was sick.

Another pained sound slips out of his mouth, and I withdraw my hand, thinking that maybe this isn’t so calming after all. But then the horseman leans his head towards my hand, seeking out my touch.

Feeling brave, I scoot closer, until his head is nearly in my lap. Then I resume running my fingers through his hair. The action seems to soothe the horseman. As I watch, his eyes flutter closed and his breathing evens out.

“What happened to you?” I murmur.

He doesn’t answer, and I don’t expect him to.

What are you doing, Ana? Of all the mistakes I’ve made, this may be my worst one yet.

Problem is, I don’t regret it, even though I should.

I most definitely should.

I wake up in the middle of the night to distant shouting. I push myself up, blinking around me. Last I remember I was running my fingers through the horseman’s hair. But then I’d gotten tired and laid down …

I rub my eyes and stifle a yawn. It’s still dark out and—

“… got away! … motherfucker … away!”

That wakes me up quickly.

The horseman is still lying next to me. The green glow from his markings illuminates his face; his eyes are open. He’s already aware of them.

I glance out the window, straining to hear what’s going on.

“… all the men … dead …”

I glance down at the horseman. If I heard that correctly, then this man murdered people before I stumbled across him. A shiver runs through me.

The horseman meets my gaze. I wish he didn’t look so damn vulnerable.

It must’ve been in self-defense, I tell myself. I saw his wounds with my own eyes. I’d probably kill whoever did that to me too.

“You’re safe,” I repeat, my heart beating madly. I’m not going to give him up now.

The room we’re in is illuminated in the horseman’s soft green light, and unfortunately for us, this house is not so far from the main road. Eventually, those men are going to notice the light coming from this place—if they haven’t already.

Making a quick decision, I pull off my shirt and throw it over the horseman’s chest. The fabric mutes the glow almost completely, making the room too dark to see.

The two of us sit in the darkness, listening.

“… can track him … can’t be far …”

I feel myself go cold all over.

“… pointless … rain … tracks … morning …”

Maybe the rain washed away all evidence that I dragged the horseman here. Maybe we got lucky.

I think of how little luck I’ve had in my life. Best not to assume it will suddenly save the day now.

The voices move off, and they don’t come back. Whatever they decided, it doesn’t lead them back our way.

Maybe we’re okay—for now.

After that, I can’t sleep, too afraid of those people finding us.

My gaze creeps back to the horseman’s dark form. I can’t get that first image of him out of my head. He was so mutilated … the thought still takes my breath away. It doesn’t help that every so often I hear a gasp of pain in the darkness. I can no longer tell if he’s sleeping or not. I go back to stroking his hair, and the action seems to calm him.

As the night wears on, the chilly air pricks at my bare skin. I don’t dare take my shirt back from the horseman, even though I’m freezing. I begin to shiver, my teeth clicking together.

“You’re cold.” His husky voice seems as though it’s pulled from the darkness itself. It makes my skin prick, though not in an unpleasant way.

“I’m okay.”

I’m in such deep trouble it’s not even funny. If I don’t get caught in the crosshairs of those men who are looking for the horseman, men who might not mind hurting a teenage girl, then my Aunt Maria is going to disown me.

I can hear her shrill voice even now. Thought you could spend the night with some boy, you little idiot? Well, if you think you’re old enough for sex, then you’re old enough to live on your own.

And that would be that.

Or maybe she’ll just beat the living shit out of me.

Not all my shivering is from the cold.

“Lay next to me.”

The horseman’s voice drags me from my thoughts.

I stare at where I think his eyes are as his words coil low in my belly. I can tell he doesn’t mean to make the offer sexual, but between that rough voice and the fact that our torsos are both bare, my mind can’t help going there.

I’ve never laid next to a man who I wasn’t related to.

“You’re hurt,” I say. “I don’t want to jostle—”

“If you were worried about jostling my injuries, you wouldn’t have dragged me damn close to the point of death.”

To be honest, I think I dragged him past the point of death, but apparently he can live through that too.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” I say. “I was trying to help you.”