War Machines

4

     Something soft was lying against my cheek. I could feel warmth and see an orange glow through my closed eyelids but it was pain that woke me. Deep, aching pain, my body letting me know that it had been subjected to insult and was now in the process of healing. I blinked open my eyes and focused on the hunched-over figure of Ezekiel the Pilgrim.

     I'd never seen him without his armor. His arms were tightly muscled without being bulky. He wore a shirt made of thin, silk-like material that looked a bit like an undershirt, with large openings in the back and buttons that fastened it at his waist, allowing it to wrap around him without impeding his wings. It clung to him, emphasizing tight muscles across his broad chest and slender waist. His legs were crossed at the ankle, booted feet tucked under the stool where he sat. His wings, uncovered, were folded across his back. The leathery skin that covered them was dark enough that I could see it where it continued on to cover his back through the thin material of his shirt. It spread from partway over his shoulders to the small of his back and out to where his ribs curled around his sides. His back was also unnaturally muscled, displaying the extra musculature required for flight. Even from here, I could see the damage to his wings. They'd been extended when the bomb went off, completely exposed to the worst of the burning heat. The tender membranes looked inflamed, with what appeared to be large blisters present over nearly all of the visible surface on the underside of his wings. But if they pained him, Zeke gave no sign. His face was solemn in concentration as he focused on his task. He looked slightly on the rugged side, with faint stubble and tousled dark hair. I'd never seen his hands without the gloves that covered his arms to the elbow, but now I could see the long, sharp claws and scaly skin that traveled partway up his wrists. His wings were bat-like, but his hands were not. They looked like an odd hybrid between human hands and a bird's feet. The talon-like fingers carefully manipulated a pair of tools. He peered through a magnifying glass held over his work on a metal holder as he worked on delicate components. His eyebrows were furled in concentration. He chewed his lower lip, which exposed one of the vampire-like fangs he usually kept hidden when he smiled for the cameras.

     I'd never cared much for Zeke. I didn't trust him, and he obviously wasn't human. But here, in this unguarded moment when he didn't know I was watching him? For the first time, I understood why so many women swooned over him. Despite his wings, hands, fangs, and glowing eyes, the Pilgrim was a very handsome, well-built man. Against my better judgment, I let myself admire. Then reality came crashing down. What was I doing? I was checking out the bastard who had just kidnapped me!

     I sat up with a gasp, ignoring the pain in my abdomen, and looked frantically around. All around me were stone walls. It looked like I was in some kind of a cave. A fire burned in one corner, the natural fireplace slanting toward the cave to reflect heat into the space while shunting the smoke up through a dark opening in the ceiling. It kept the cave toasty warm and provided a bit of light. The other light in the room was some sort of orange glowing globe that hovered near the ceiling. I was lying on a raised ledge against one wall. Beneath me was what appeared to be a mattress made of canvas stuffed with straw. When I sat up, the furs I'd been covered with fell away from my body, revealing my bare, bandaged torso. Except for my standard-issue tighty whities, I was, I realized in dismay, nude. I quickly snatched the furs up to cover myself. "Zeke?" I called. "What the hell? Where am I?"

     "Ah, you are awake." Zeke put his project aside and rose. He walked over and sat on the ledge where I'd been resting. Then he reached for me.

     "Don't touch me!" I yelled, drawing away and raising the furs like a shield. "Just tell me what's going on. Where the hell have you taken me?"

     "This is my home," he told me. He'd drawn his hand back and had raised them both in supplication. "I mean you no harm. I only wanted to check your temperature, as you appear to be flushed."