Page 36 of King Among the Dead

“A few inches is better than nothing,” Beck said, and twisted around so he could push back the covers and swing his legs over the side of the bed. He did it with bared teeth, and quiet little hisses of pain, stomach sucked in sharply, all the muscles thrown into harsh relief. Braced his hands on the mattress on either side of him afterward, toes hovering just above the carpet. Gathering himself, preparing for the effort.

“Might as well come help me with him while you’re here,” Kay said to Rose, and both of them moved into position, bracketing him.

“I can hear you, you know,” Beck grumbled, tone flat. “And I’m sure I can manage.”

His draped his arms across their shoulders, though, and let them help him upright and across the floor. His arm was a normal temperature, Rose was thrilled to note – she was thrilled by the brush of his skin against hers, too, and hoped he couldn’t feel the way her hand tightened on his wrist.

He was weak, but not in the stumbling, semi-conscious way that he’d been before. In the bathtub, the promised few inches of water steamed. Kay had laid out a towel, a cake of soap, and a washcloth. They walked Beck up to the edge of it, and Rose became aware, again, of the tight, black boxer-briefs…and the fact that he would need to strip them off in order to climb into the tub.

“Um…” she started. It wasn’t that she was afraid for him to take them off – quite the opposite – but she was going to blush a lot, and he would see it, and remark on it, and he would just be there, naked, and…

He breathed a soft laugh. “Thank you, ladies, but I can navigate the rest by myself.”

Rose blushed, furiously, as she detached herself from beneath his arm.

Kay, in typical fashion, said, “Good, ‘cause I ain’t giving you a sponge bath, your lordship.”

Rose held onto his arm another moment, until she was sure that he had his feet firmly planted and wasn’t wavering. He glanced over his shoulder as he hooked a thumb in his waistband, and winked, and it should have been absolutely lewd, but his little smile softened it. As did the sincerity in his voice when he said, “Thank you, Rose. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t get those stitches wet,” Kay admonished.

“So you said moments ago.”

They left him alone, the door firmly shut.

“Quick and we’ll remake the bed while he’s in there,” Kay said. “Nothing like getting clean and climbing back into a dirty sick bed.”

Rose lingered a moment, outside the closed door; listened to the gentle sounds of disturbed water, a hiss, a few deep breaths, and then the displacement as Beck settled in the tub. Her face felt on fire. Her palms itched. She felt like she did when she was in the middle of reading a passionate love scene – only everything was heightened by the knowledge that Beck was real.

“Don’t just stand there,” Kay said, and she went to help.

ELEVEN

Beck showed marked improvement over the next several days. He could navigate his bedroom and bathroom without assistance, and Kay allowed that the bandages could come off, and the stiches allowed some air. He insisted on coming downstairs to eat in the kitchen, a slow process that left him pale and out of breath, but they refused to allow him to cook. He sat on Kay’s usual stool and offered suggestions while Kay and Rose prepared soft, easily-palatable dishes, and tried to keep him from sneaking bites of things he wasn’t yet allowed to eat.

He paced the length of the first floor hallway, building up his strength despite their cautions and admonishments. He would sigh, and thank them, and try to disguise whatever frustrations he felt – and shoot Rose winks when Kay wasn’t looking.

Finally, the stitches came out, and that night at dinner, over a meatless shepherd’s pie that Beck had tried to get them to at least put chicken in, he turned to Rose and said, “I think we should resume our lessons tomorrow.”

She’d smiled instantly; beamed. She’d missed their lessons. But then said, “If you’re sure…”

He waved away her concern. “I’m more than ready; I’m going stir-crazy, and you must want something to contemplate besides matching my socks when they come out of the dryer.”

She went to bed with a lighter, fluttery feeling of happiness in her chest, hopeful and eager.

And woke sometime later to the sound of a loud crash from downstairs.

She startled upright in bed, heart thumping wildly, listening. Maybe it had been a nightmare, a trick of her imagination. But it wasn’t raining tonight, the air outside eerily still, and there was no mistaking the next crash: the sound of the front door splintering open.

She was on her feet before she could acknowledge that she had no idea what she was going to do. Weaponless, clad in a t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, she had no means with which to attack an intruder. But her first thought was for Beck: still healing, still vulnerable, possibly still asleep. She had to warn him; and she’d protect him, too, if it came to that, even if she didn’t know how. She had a visceral urge to put her body between him and whatever threat had entered their home.

She stumbled out into the hall – and into a warm, solid body.

A hand clapped over her mouth before she could scream. A face pressed in close to hers, breath warm across her cheeks, eyes brass and gold in the faint moonlight that spilled from her room. Beck. She recognized his smell; the calluses on his palm against her lips.

“Shh.” He lifted his other hand, and she saw the glint of the knife he held. “Stay here, Rosie.” He pulled his hand away and slipped on silent feet to the head of the stairs.

He stood there a moment, head cocked, listening, his lean form a black silhouette poised for action, hair moving silently as he breathed.

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