Page 35 of Golden Burn

Once all the introductions have been made, Omandi gestures to the cars and says, “Let’s get you all comfortable, eh?”

I’m ushered into the backseat. As I’m buckling up my seat belt, the door to my right opens and a heavy body slides in. Odin makes himself comfortable next to me.

It throws me off balance, seeing him with them with sunglasses on. It’s a reminder of what he was wearing when I first met him in the clinic, and how quickly I was intrigued and infatuated with his presence. Eager to know him even before he had said a word.

I shoo the thoughts from my mind.

“Do you own the retreat here?” I ask. The space is infinitely smaller with him so close to me. The gap between us is virtually non-existent.

“Not this one,” he replies as he clips his seat belt.

Martise hops into the driver’s seat. “It belongs to my family,” she says. “But Mr. Bolt has been instrumental to its success.”

“Oh?”

Odin remains motionless, but Martise takes no notice. Or maybe she is used to his aloof behavior. I watch in the rearview mirror as her face lights up. “Yes. My father moved to Liverpool when he was young and eventually opened his own restaurant in a building he rented from Mr. Bolt’s father, Allistair. Odin and I were around the same age and used to play together whenever Allistair came for dinner.” My attention flicks between the two of them, wondering if there is more to that story than is being let on. Maybe more to their relationship beyond being similar ages. Martise continues, “My father’s brother owned the retreat you will be staying at, and I always knew I would one day take over from him. Unfortunately, that day came too soon, as my uncle passed away before I had finished my studies and earned enough to move to Zambia. By then, Odin had split from Allistair and built his own company. He heard from my father what had happened and offered to keep the retreat running until I was ready. Ever since, he has been a generous benefactor and a wonderful friend.”

I have to admit, it’s not what I expected to hear. And I’m uncomfortable with how quickly it changes my perspective of Odin. I shouldn’t feel anything but blind resentment toward the man. But to know he has kindness underneath his metal exterior makes my stomach queasy.

He showed kindness when he didn’t kill that boy.

That was not kindness, that was basic human decency.

Nodding, I peer out the window and watch as Martise maneuvers the car onto a dirt road, bordered by dense but low standing trees. I’m half hoping a wild animal will come stampeding out and greet me.

My cheek tingles, alerting me to Odin’s gaze on the side of my face. It’s different from when Ford was watching me on the plane. It’s sizzling and heavy. Assessing. I can almost hear the gears in his head turning, turning.His increased interest in me is completely unwanted. But I can’t ignore the buzz that hums underneath my clothes as he watches me.

Maybe I was wrong to consider myself the helpless prey in this circumstance. Because Odin’s assessment of me is similar to that of an animal at the top of the food chain confronting a lower creature holding its ground and fighting back. Unnerved and unable to process the sight quickly enough.

I guess we’ll see.

“To the right is the Luangwa River, which is one of the four major rivers in Zambia,” Martise explains, pointing out the window. I’m on the left side of the car and haven’t got the best view. Odin leans his shoulders back against the headrest to give me better access. I don’t say anything. I don’t know how to categorize the gesture.

I tentatively place my hands on the middle seat and reach forward to get a better look. The river forest that borders it is startling green, lush and capable of hiding animals from human eyes. Beyond it I see the twinkle of the water, the muddy coloring. “A bloat of hippos were cruising up the river when I left to come and get you. They are very active this time of the year.”

“Really?” I lean a little more, keeping my mouth closed as Odin’s scent tries to find access to me.

The car hits a pothole and throws me off balance. I pitch forward, my hands reaching to catch myself on the closest thing available. And in this instance, it’s Odin’s thighs. My palms flatten against the muscle under his suit pants, my fingers dig in further to steady myself. It’s like grabbing a… a… Well, it’s like squeezing a chunk of warm, strong muscle.

Reeling back, I flatten against the door, an apology on the tip of my tongue. Odin looks at his thigh, then up to me. His stiff expressionevaporates all my previous musings. He is once again the predator and I’m a defenseless lamb.

I guess we’ll see which one comes out on top.

14

Odin

‘Sick to My Stomach’- merci, mercy

Martise drops us off at our lodgings—a large open style cabin with cream linen drapes, wooden accents and a direct view of the Luangwa River—allowing us time to get settled.

I’ve been here several times, so the environment is nothing new, but Harriet’s eyes twinkle with delight as she takes in the space. There’s a large bed with mosquito drapes hanging from above, a sitting area with plush white chairs, a free-standing tub with circular wooden side tables meant to hold books and drinks. The verandah has a private pool, tan colored lounge chairs and another area with a dining set for two. The cabin is south of the main camp, nestled into the trees to give it a secluded but immersive feel.

Coming here on my own when Martise first took over used to give me time to relax, to try to savor what little humanity I had left, even with the blood forever staining my hands. Now, looking at the view, standingbeside Harriet, it all feels too intimate… too romantic. The bar cart in the corner near the bed calls my name.

“I thought you said we weren’t sharing a room,” Harriet says, her tone flat.

“I lied.” I shrug and sip from the glass. Harriet purses her lips in annoyance. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not that happy about it either. But it’s for your protection.”

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