Elder Elden
“What exactly are you trying to confirm?” I asked, looking down at her face.
Jessica held the heirloom tight against the front of her wet dress with both hands.
She did not answer me right away.
She stood on the sand, her dark eyes moving over my cheeks and my mouth, measuring my words like a trader at a market.
“My father taught me how to tell if someone is really who they claim to be,” she said, taking a small step back toward the river bank.
I lifted my left shoulder and leaned my weight against the cold wall behind me.
“And what exactly did he teach you?”
She kept her mouth shut, refusing to give me a straight answer.
She turned her body around, her wet shoes scraping against the smooth grey stones on the cavern floor, and walked straight toward the edge of the flowing river.
I stayed where I was, playing the quiet prisoner, watching her back as she reached down into the shallow water near the shore.
She reached her arm into the water and pulled out the small metal dagger she had dropped earlier when The force of my chains threw her in.
Water dripped from the dark leather handle as she turned around and walked straight back to my side.
“Give me your hand,” she said, holding the small weapon in her right fingers while pointing at my chest.
I looked down at the short iron blade in her hand, then brought my eyes back up to her face.
“My hand?”
“Yes,” she said, stepping right up to my left side until her wet shoulder almost touched my arm.
“Your left hand. The one that is not attached to the iron chain.”
I lifted my unchained left hand and held it out in front of her chest, keeping my palm facing upward.
“Hold still,” she said, lifting the weapon above my open palm.
Before I could ask what she was planning to do, she brought the blade down and drew the sharp edge across the skin of my left palm.
A thin line opened up on my hand.
A drop of blood appeared on the surface of my skin.
But before she could move the metal heirloom under my hand to catch it, my natural body strength kicked in.
The skin on my palm pulled itself back together again in less than two seconds.
The line disappeared, leaving my palm smooth and dry.
Jessica froze on the sand.
Her eyes grew wide as she stared at my hand, looking at the spot where the cut had been a moment ago.
She looked up at my face, her mouth hanging open slightly.
I gave her a quiet, calm grin, keeping my eyes fixed on hers.
She pulled her lips into a tight line and frowned, her dark eyebrows coming together over her nose.
“Stop moving your magic around,” she muttered.
“I am not moving anything,” I told her softly.
“My body does that on its own.”
“Hold it still this time,” she ordered, raising the blade higher.
She brought the edge down across my palm a second time, cutting deeper into the skin.
The line opened up, but the moment the iron blade left my palm, the skin knit back together instantly.
Not a single drop of blood fell from my hand.
She blinked twice in disbelief.
She lifted the dagger and cut my skin a third time.
Then a fifth time, pressing the edge hard against my palm until her own knuckles turned white.
Every single time her blade sliced across my palm, my skin closed up the exact second the metal moved away.
I stood there and watched her growing frustration with quiet amusement.
She looked ridiculous standing, huffing and puffing while she attacked my hand with a tiny knife.
Yet at the same time, there was something endearing about the way she set her jaw and refused to give up.
Part of me wanted to reach out, take the dagger out of her small fingers, and pull her wet body right against my chest just to see how her face would change.
But I stayed right where I was, leaning against the stone wall, letting her work through her own confusion.
Finally, Jessica threw her hands up into the air, the dagger shaking in her right fist while water dripped from her sleeve onto the floor.
“How am I supposed to get any of your blood if your skin will not stay open long enough for me to do anything?” she shouted, her voice bouncing loudly off the stone ceiling.
I let a real smile show on my face this time.
“That is exactly why I suggested we kiss earlier.”
She turned her head and glared at me with hot eyes.
“Stop making jokes.”
“I am not making jokes,” I said, keeping my voice steady and plain.
“I knew your blade would not work on my left arm. My natural body strength is too fast for a small knife.”
She lowered her arm to her side, her shoulders dropping as she stared down at the dark grey stones between her shoes.
Her voice lost its loud anger, dropping into a quiet whisper that barely reached my ears.
“If only my sister had healing like yours,” she whispered, her fingers tightening around the dagger handle.
“If only Josephine could heal her own skin like that, she would still be alive today.”
Something hot moved deep inside my chest when those words left her mouth.
I did not expect her to speak about a dead sister with such raw pain in her voice.
For a short second, my mind softened, wanting to reach out and comfort her.
But I caught myself quickly, pushing the emotion down into the dark corners of my mind, keeping my pretender mask firmly in place.
She lifted her head and looked back into my eyes, trying to pull her tough face back into position.
“Stop playing around with me, Elder elden.”
“I am not playing around, call me Elden drop the elder” I replied.
I looked down at the weapon in her hand, then pointed a finger at her chest.
“What if you cut both of us at the exact same time?”
Her eyes went wide.
“What?”
“You make a small cut on your own palm, then make a cut on mine,” I explained, step by step.
“Your blood will spill into my hand while the line is open. If you move fast enough, you might be able to pull a drop of my blood out before my skin closes up.”
Jessica shook her head side to side, her wet dark hair slapping against her cheeks.
“What? You want me to cut my own skin with a knife?”
“It only takes a tiny scratch,” I said.
“No,” she said, pulling her left hand back and pressing it against her stomach.
I stood there and studied her face carefully under the dim light of the cavern.
There was something strange about this girl.
She worked so hard to look tough, rude, and fearless, talking back to a five-hundred-year-old Lycan like I was a normal boy from her village.
She wanted me to believe she was a hard warrior who could handle anything.
But every now and then, the mask slipped, and I caught a glimpse of the truth underneath.
She was scared.
She was in real pain over her sister’s death.
She was alone in a dark cave, cold, soaked in water, and terrified that I might hurt her.
I let out a slow breath through my nose.
“Fine.”
I held my unchained left hand out in front of her again.
“Cut me one more time.”
She looked at my open palm with deep mistrust in her eyes.
“Why would it work now if it failed five times already?”
“I will hold my arm completely still,” I told her, pointing down at the metal heirloom resting against her front.
“Bring the metal piece right under my palm before you make the cut. Whatever drops fall out before my skin closes will land on the metal instead of falling onto the sand.”
Jessica stopped and stared at my left hand for two seconds.
Then her eyes moved over to my right arm, where the heavy iron chain was still locked around my wrist.
“Wait,” she said, pointing the tip of her dagger at my right arm.
I lifted my right eyebrow.
“What?”
“You told me earlier that iron chain suppresses your strength and locks your wolf power away,” she said, taking a step toward my right side.
“It does,” I answered.
“So the skin on your right arm should not heal fast,” she said, her eyes lighting up as the thought took root in her mind.
“The suppression magic in that metal is holding your body strength down on that side of your body.”
I looked down at the thick iron ring wrapping my right wrist.
“That is possible.”
Jessica took two fast steps toward my right side, then suddenly stopped two feet away, her feet sliding on the sand.
Her face turned pale as she looked at the dark iron link anchored to the stone wall.
“What is wrong now?” I asked her.
“Something strange happened when my bare hands touched that metal earlier,” she whispered, holding her breath while her eyes stayed locked on the chain.
“My touch made your magic wake up inside your chest.”
“What if the exact same thing happens if you touch it again?” I asked her, leaning my head to the side.
She shook her head side to side fast.
“I won’t touch your iron chain.”
A small laugh almost escaped my throat, but I kept my face plain.
“Then be careful where you put your fingers.”
Jessica moved slowly toward my right arm, her movements careful and deliberate.
She bent her knees, dropping her body low so she could reach my right forearm without letting her hands or clothes come into contact with the iron ring on my wrist.