Page 8 of Azrael

Rain streaked past us as we moved through the abandoned streets.I kept to the back roads where traffic was always sparse, avoiding the main drags where cops might pull us over.

As we rode, I felt Zara gradually relax against me, her grip loosening just enough to be comfortable without becoming dangerous.It was strange having someone on the back of my bike.I usually rode alone -- it was safer that way.Fewer complications, fewer liabilities.But there was something about Zara that had made me break my own rules.

Maybe it was the way she’d stood in that alley, bloody but unbowed.Maybe it was the mention of her missing mother.Or maybe I was just getting soft in my old age.Whatever the reason, she was here now, her breath warm against my shoulder blade even through my wet shirt.

After a few minutes of riding, I called over the engine noise, “Are you injured anywhere else?”

I felt her shift behind me.“I’m okay,” she replied, her voice close to my ear.“Just some scrapes and bruises.Nothing broken.”

There was a catch in her voice that told me she was downplaying her pain, but I didn’t push it.She was conscious and alert, and that would have to do until we reached somewhere safer.

We turned onto a narrow street that wound through the industrial district, flanked by shuttered warehouses and chain-link fences.The streetlights were fewer here, pools of orange light separated by stretches of near darkness.Zara’s hold on me tightened as we passed through one of these dark patches.

“Where are we going?”she asked, her lips close to my ear to be heard over the engine and the rain.

“Somewhere safe,” I answered, not ready to tell her exactly where until I was sure of her intentions.She was still a stranger, no matter how compelling her story.

She fell silent after that, her face pressed against my back as we rode.I could feel her shivering despite my jacket, and I pushed the bike a little faster, eager to get her someplace warm and dry.

The city gradually gave way to the outskirts, buildings becoming more sparse, the darkness between streetlights growing longer.Zara’s gaze remained fixed on the passing darkness -- I could feel her head turn occasionally as she took in our surroundings.She wasn’t just along for the ride.She was paying attention, memorizing the route.Smart girl.

We passed beneath a highway overpass, the sound of the engine amplified by the concrete above us, then emerged onto a stretch of road that ran parallel to an abandoned railway.The rain had tapered to a misty drizzle, but the night had grown colder, the wind cutting through my wet shirt like tiny knives.

I felt Zara’s body tense as we approached a crossroads.Her hand moved from my waist to my shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I need to stop for a minute,” she said, her voice strained.

I slowed and pulled onto the shoulder, bringing the bike to a halt beneath the shelter of a massive oak tree that hung over the road.The engine ticked as it cooled, the only sound besides the drip of water from leaves overhead.

Zara dismounted awkwardly, wincing as her feet hit the ground.I followed, keeping a hand on her elbow to steady her.

“What’s wrong?”I asked, scanning her for signs of hidden injuries.

She flexed her left arm, the one with the makeshift bandage.“It’s starting to throb.And I’m a little dizzy.”

Under the diffused moonlight breaking through the clouds, I could see that the bandana around her arm was soaked through with blood.Too much blood for a superficial wound.

“Let me see,” I said, already reaching for the knot.

She offered her arm without protest, another sign that she was feeling worse than she let on.I unwrapped the bandana carefully, revealing the gash beneath.It was deeper than I’d initially thought, the edges clean but wide, showing the pale glimpse of fat tissue beneath the skin.

“This needs stitches,” I said firmly.“And probably antibiotics.Those alley rats who attacked you might have had all kinds of shit on their knives.”

Zara shook her head.“No hospitals.I told you.”

“We have someone at the club who can take care of it,” I said.“He’s got medical training.”

She looked into my eyes, searching for something -- trustworthiness, maybe, or deception.Whatever she was looking for, she must have found it, because she nodded slowly.“Okay.”

I wrapped her arm again, tighter this time, using a clean section of the bandana.“We’re not far now.Can you hang on for another ten minutes?”

“I’ve been hanging on for several days,” she said with a grim smile.“Another ten minutes won’t kill me.”

I helped her back onto the bike, noting how she sagged against me as soon as we were settled.Her arms encircled my waist again, but there was less strength in them now.Blood loss and shock were taking their toll.

The engine roared back to life, and I guided the bike back onto the road, pushing the speed higher than was strictly safe on the wet pavement.Zara’s head rested between my shoulder blades, her breath warm but increasingly shallow against my back.

“Stay with me,” I murmured, though I knew she couldn’t hear me over the wind and engine.“Almost there.”

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