Taylor -
Okay, I totally love this story!
You've got some really good elements going here - possible love interest (duh, not blind!), some sort of family trouble, paranormal powers... Girl, you hit them all!
THIS is gonna be a great story!
- Kendra
CHAPTER TWO
Ember pulled me down and held me against him, shielding my body from the chunks of glass and drywall that flew through the air. My ears rang. Ember pushed me away and I nearly panicked. Then he took my face in his hands. His lips moved frantically, but I couldn't hear his words. The floor beneath us shook. Another blast, and Ember's arms wrapped tightly around me again. Belatedly I covered my ears. What was happening?
As the dust settled, I peered through Ember's embrace and saw four men enter the house through a gaping hole in the wall.
"Go, go, go!" Ember shouted, pushing me away roughly.
I scrambled clumsily down the hall, heading into the nearest room. I closed the door and huddled in a corner. The tiled wall behind me was cold. I shook and pressed my hands over my ears. Muffled shouts were all I heard. Terror consumed every logical thought I had. I closed my eyes, and one thought stood out in my mind. Ember would protect me. He saved me once and he'd save me again. He wouldn't let me die.
I heard a loud thud, then a scream. Was it Ember? Had the men captured him? Were they coming for me next? I opened my eyes and stood on trembling legs. I was in a bathroom. There was a small window above the tub, and I contemplated climbing out, but the sound of agonized grunts kept me grounded. I couldn't hear the other men anymore. The painful sounds must've been coming from Ember. He was hurt and I wouldn’t abandon him. I knew what that was like. I took a deep breath, opened the door and walked into the hall.
A few feet away was a horrible sight. Ember's hand was impaled by a blade. His blood streamed down the cream colored wall. Only the handle of the knife was visible. My stomach twisted and flipped with nausea as I looked at him, unable to react to the horrific sight. Without looking at me, he removed his other hand from a bleeding wound on his side and gripped the knife's handle. Slowly, seemingly without effort, he pulled the weapon from the wall, out of his hand, and dropped it to the ground. He fell forward, onto his knees, catching himself with his hands. His ragged breathing brought me back to my senses and I threw his arm over my shoulder and helped him stand up.
"Walk!" I ordered.
He stumbled, nearly falling to his knees again.
"Come on, Ember." I said, softening my voice. "Please."
He moved with me and I half carried him into the bathroom. I eased him to the floor and closed the door. I crouched in front of him, panicking at the sight of the blood that dripped to the floor. My mind flashed back to last night, when I'd seen his palm heal after he'd cut it to save me. But that wound didn't bleed as much as these. Maybe excessive bleeding slowed his speedy healing process. I didn't know, and trying to make sense of it would just waste more time. I couldn't let him die. I took off the sweatshirt he'd given me, lifted his jacket, and pressed the cloth to his side. He grunted softly, sucking in his breath.
"Keep the pressure on it." I said, taking his good hand and placing it over the shirt.
I didn’t know why, but I trusted him. Felt comfortable with him.
"I'm Skyla." I said, keeping my hand on his.
He smiled weakly.
"Nice to meet you." he breathed.
I blushed stupidly at the warmth of his voice, so soft and sweet. Then, I remembered his other hand, the one that had beenpinned to the wall by the knife. I found a bundle of bandages under the bathroom sink. After I wrapped it, using my teeth to cut the roll, I saw that his side wasn't bleeding anymore. I took the bloody sweatshirt away. Through the slit in his shirt, I saw that the wound was healed, closed by pale scar tissue.
"Incredible," I whispered.
Ember rose to his feet, no longer weak, and removed his jacket. He bent down and threw it over my bare shoulders. I gratefully slipped my arms into its sleeves and watched him as he stepped past me and turned on the faucet. Slowly, he stripped his hand of the bandages and washed away the blood, revealing another healed scar.
"We have to move." he said, holding out his hand.
I took it, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine. Feeling his old and new scars. I walked with him, struggling to comprehend what I thought was real and process what I was now witnessing with my own two eyes.
