Page 7 of Blade
It’s the longest conversation we’ve had, and she steals a glimpse from the side, lying face down with her hands drifting in the stream.
“So, you don’t know why I’m here either.”
“Not a clue.”
Her soft chuckle surprises me.
“I would say I’m sorry about that, but I’ve been told not to apologize. But if I was allowed, I would be offering you one now.”
A shadow of a smile is her answer, and she sighs.
“It sucks not knowing who you are.”
“It must.”
Once again, an awkward silence prevails, and I stare at the surrounding view, the only sound coming from the bubbling stream.
“Whatdoyou know?”
My question breaks the silence, and she whispers, “That I was a slave. The woman was Angela Constable, and she is now dead—apparently.”
“You got that right.”
Fury bubbles under the surface as I hiss, “Slave?”
“I’m not sure how I got there to be honest. My memory of before I lived with her is gone. She called me Delilah and said my last name was Grimes. I had no reason to doubt her, but since the hospital, I can’t explain why I’m aware that’s not my real name.”
“So, your memory may be returning.”
“Perhaps. I hope so anyway, because not knowing who I am is scaring the crap out of me.”
I want to comfort her. To make her feel better, but I don’t have the basic understanding of how to achieve that.
She says in her soft voice, “I’m glad she’s dead.”
“Me too.”
She slides her gaze toward me, and her green eyes sparkle as the water reflects in them. A soft smile transforms her face, and my heart shifts a little.
I note the pale blonde hair emerging from her scalp, a direct contrast to the jet-black hair I thought she had grown naturally, and I remark.
“Well, at least we know you’re a blonde, darlin’.”
“I noticed that too.”
She glances down at her hands.
“Can I sit up now? I can’t feel my hands anymore.”
“Sure.”
She smiles with relief and scoots to an upright position, sitting cross-legged beside me. Her unwavering gaze is curious rather than fearful, and she whispers, “I don’t know who you are except for your name—Blade.”
Hearing it spoken with her soft accent is not unwelcome, and I nod. “The Reapers named me, courtesy of the gash in my cheek. Plus the fact I am pretty good with one myself.”
“A blade.”
She doesn’t appear afraid of that skill of mine, and I nod.
