Crimson Eyes ~ Sequel to: The Valkyrie, An Obi-Wan Story (completed)

Chapter 45: Reckoning

I waited for a sound. Maybe the clicking of a weapon or the automated voice of the Mandalorian, something that would tell me that they'd found us. Fear was blossoming in my heart but the sheer determination to stay with him overpowered everything else. I would fight for him, protect him with everything I had. I would die before I'd let anyone even get near him.

With our foreheads positioned against each other his breathing was about the only thing I could hear. My hands still clamped onto his face, my thumbs resting against his pulse point where I could feel his heartbeat. I could feel his force signature but it had weakened. It was but a droplet compared to the vast ocean he usually felt like.

The footsteps advanced, making him whimper softly in protest. "I'm staying." I whispered and placed a soft kiss against his forehead.

What I hadn't expected was the sound of a door opening. It ripped me from the deep concentration I'd resided in. My head shot straight in the direction of the sound, seeing a young woman glancing through the crack towards us. It was the door of a basement, a small stair connected to the alley leading down towards it. Her eyes were widened with fear and her mouth set in a thin line but still she beckoned us closer with a slight motion of her finger.

Thank you, Odin. Relief filled me as I darted for Obi Wan's arm, wrapping it around my shoulder and lifting him off the floor within a heartbeat. He let out soft sounds of protest but his eyes remained closed. Still, he walked with me, his feet shuffling over the floor.

"C'mon, we're almost there." I whispered as we descended the stairs towards the warm light that shone through the door opening. When we were near the woman opened the door further, revealing a dinner room. Candlelight cast the wooden furniture in a warm glow and the multiple plates that rested on the table told me that a family lived there.

We stepped inside, me clinging onto his arm to keep him upright, my eyes darting around for a good place to place him. The woman urged us forward, closing the door the moment we stepped inside and led us towards the living room where she pulled back the carpet to reveal a secret door a level down. "Who are you?" I asked, voice shaking. I hadn't seen anyone else here yet.

She shook her head and said something in a language I didn't understand as she opened the trapdoor. It revealed a dark chamber underneath with a workbench on the far end. "Do you have any medical supplies?" I lowered Obi Wan, helping his legs into the tiny room as I glanced at the woman. "Bandage, knife, alcohol?"

She again muttered something I couldn't make out and darted off towards the kitchen. "Bloody hell." I cursed as I gripped Obi Wan under his shoulders to lower him. He groaned and sputtered but at least he was awake, still. When his feet touched the ground he wavered, almost falling over but his hand shot out and kept him upright against the workbench.

"Lie down." I ordered as I jumped in after him, already taking off the armoured gloves. He strained to reach for the edge of the table and then slipped, almost falling forward had I not darted towards him and caught him. His weight leaned against my already aching arm, his usually fresh scent now muddy and irony.

"All right, slowly." Gripping his shoulders tightly I managed to lower him onto the table. He didn't even let out a sound as he moved. The only indignation I had of his pain was the way his face contorted and his breath hitched.

The moment he lay down my hands shot towards his tunic and tore it apart, unwrapping my makeshift bandage from around the wound only to reveal the blood still slipping out along the edges. His skin was matted with dried blood, cold to the touch.

I glanced back up at Obi Wan and for a moment our eyes connected. There, I saw that he knew how bad the situation was. It made me swallow the lump in my throat and quickly divert my gaze, for I knew I wouldn't be able to hide my rising panic. It was the last thing he could use.