Chapter 137 The Warmth of a Stranger
The woman’s warm finger steadily traced four simple letters onto the palm of his hand.
C-A-L-L-E-D.
She had made the call. Butler Hu knew he was still alive and knew where to find him. Help was officially on the way.
Dorian felt a massive wave of relief wash over his chest, loosening the tightness in his lungs. His body was still completely paralyzed, his vision was dark, and his ears were filled with absolute silence. But none of that mattered as much anymore because someone knew he was down here. He just had to hold on a little longer.
He let out a ragged breath, his shoulders relaxing against the cold earth.
Then, a split second later, the peaceful feeling vanished.
He felt a distinct, heavy vibration reverberating through the ground right beneath his head. Multiple sets of footsteps were heading his way, heavy, quick, and deliberate.
The mercenaries had made it down to the river valley.
His body tensed up instantly, his heart slamming against his ribs. He tried to speak, but his throat was raw and damaged from the gas and the river water. No sound came out.
The woman beside him clearly noticed his sudden rigidity. She looked up, her eyes widening in horror as she scanned the edge of the woods.
Three dark figures in tactical gear burst out from between the trees.
Dorian’s mind worked in overdrive.
He couldn’t see the men, and he couldn’t hear their voices, but he could track their movements through the ground. He felt the heavy thuds of their tactical boots and the subtle shift in the air as they fanned out across the clearing.
They were methodically searching the area, looking for his body to make sure he hadn’t survived the plunge off the cliff.
He needed to warn the stranger beside him before they spotted her too.
Dorian forced his mouth open, using every remaining shred of energy to push air past his vocal cords. His voice came out as a weak, barely audible rasp.
"Killers..."
The woman leaned down, staring at his moving lips.
"Killers," he repeated, trying to shape the word as clearly as possible. "They’re here. Looking for me."
She glanced back toward the treeline. The three armed men were steadily sweeping closer, checking the bushes with their rifles raised.
Instead of panicking and running off to save herself, she acted immediately.
She reached down and grabbed him under the arms. Dorian’s body was completely limp and heavy, a dead weight on the muddy grass, but she gritted her teeth and began dragging him backward toward a patch of thick, tall river reeds.
He hated how useless he was. He couldn’t help her pull, his legs dragged hopelessly through the mud, and his arms hung completely limp at his sides.
She dragged him deep into the high grass, laying him down flat on his back before crouching low beside him.
The woman moved with incredible speed and surprising composure.
She leaned over and grabbed the front of his torn jacket and shirt, yanking the soaked fabric straight off his chest. The bite of the icy mountain air hit his bare skin instantly, making him shiver.
She ripped the dark fabric into pieces and tossed it out onto the open mud near the water’s edge, making it look like he had dragged himself out of the river and kept moving down the bank.
Next, she grabbed a thick, fallen tree branch from the ground. She dragged the heavy leaves through the damp grass, stomping down a clear path of broken stalks that led straight toward the rushing river rapids, creating a clean false trail.
Sprinting back to the reeds, she crouched over Dorian, pulling the tall grass together over their heads to hide them from view.
Seconds later, the heavy footsteps stomped right into the small clearing.
The mercenaries stopped near the water, their boots squelching in the mud.
One of them spotted the torn, bloody shirt lying by the shore and pointed at the crushed path leading along the riverbank. Believing Dorian had been swept downstream or was trying to crawl along the water, all three men took the bait and took off running down the river trail.
The woman stayed completely still, her breath shallow and quiet as her heart pounded against her ribs.
Dorian could feel her warmth pressing directly against his chest, her small hand firmly covering his mouth to ensure no involuntary groan escaped his lips.
They stayed frozen like that for several long minutes until the heavy vibrations of the boots completely faded into the distance.
Dorian let out a long, shaky breath through his nose.
She had actually pulled it off. She had outsmarted a team of trained military mercenaries using simple tricks and saved his life.
A deep sense of respect and awe welled up inside him. She wasn’t just brave; she was remarkably quick-witted and sharp under intense pressure.
The woman slowly pulled her hand away from his mouth and sat back on her heels, looking down at his pale face with deep curiosity.
She leaned close to his ear, her warm breath hitting his cheek as she spoke, though he could only guess what she was asking by the gentle shift in her movement.
He knew he couldn’t see her face, he couldn’t hear her voice, and he had no idea who she really was. Under normal circumstances, a man in his position would never trust a complete stranger with his life.
But this woman had just risked her own survival to hide him from men with submachine guns.
He opened his mouth slowly. "I’m..."
Before he could attempt to spell out his name, she gently tapped his shoulder and took his hand, tracing a quick message onto his open palm.
NO NEED.
Dorian blinked into the darkness.
She traced another set of words against his skin. YOU ARE HURT. THAT IS ENOUGH. I WILL STAY UNTIL YOUR PEOPLE COME.
A tight knot of tension in Dorian’s chest finally snapped, replaced by a profound, overwhelming gratitude.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice dry and scratchy.
He felt her hand pat his shoulder gently in response.
"I will repay you for this," Dorian added, forcing the words out with quiet absolute certainty. "Whatever you want. Whatever you need in this life. I will give it to you."
She didn’t write a response to his promise, simply keeping her hand resting lightly on his arm.
As the hours dragged on, the mountain night grew bitterly cold.
The icy wind howled relentlessly through the deep valley, dropping the temperature near freezing. The tall grass around them was heavy with freezing dew, soaking into the ground.
Without his jacket or shirt, Dorian began to shiver violently. His bare skin was exposed to the draft, his body was severely weakened from blood loss, and his deep gunshot wounds were throbbing with intense pain.
Before long, a terrible fever took hold of him.
It started as a dull heat in the center of his chest before spreading rapidly throughout his entire system. His forehead grew scorching hot, his pale skin flushed red, and his jaw locked up as his teeth chattered uncontrollably from the alternating chills.
The woman reached out and pressed her cool palm against his forehead.
She pulled her hand back quickly, realization setting in. She took his trembling fingers and wrote rapidly on his palm.
HIGH FEVER.
Dorian couldn’t even form words to reply. His entire frame was shaking from the violent chills, his eyes were clamped shut, and his breath was coming in ragged, shallow gasps.
The woman watched his deteriorating state with growing worry. She looked at his pale, shivering face, his bare chest goosebumped from the freezing air, and the blood seeping from his bandaged shoulder.
Knowing he wouldn’t survive the night if his core temperature dropped any lower, she made a quiet, decisive choice.
She carefully shifted her position, sliding around until she was sitting directly behind him in the grass.
Reaching out, she wrapped her arms firmly around his bare torso, pulling his back flush against her front. She held him tight, using her own body heat and her heavy coat to cover his exposed chest and shield him from the freezing wind.
Her natural warmth immediately seeped into his frozen skin. Her grip was strong and steady, and her soft, rhythmic breathing brushed against the back of his neck.
Dorian’s entire body went rigid for a moment.
He was a man who lived in a cold, calculating world. He was never held like this, never comforted, and never allowed to show vulnerability. His whole life, he was always the one in control, the one protecting others, and the one carrying the heavy burden alone.
Yet right now, trapped in his own useless body, he couldn’t move, couldn’t push her away, and couldn’t pull back. He had no choice but to rely on the quiet kindness of a woman whose face he couldn’t even see.
Slowly, the tension drained out of his tight muscles. His violent shivering began to subside as her body heat stabilized his frame.
His ragged breathing evened out, and he let his head rest back against her shoulder, his heavy eyelids closing.
And for the first time Dorian Thorne finally felt completely safe.