Ignited (Ignited Series, #1) Chapters 1-8

Chapter 8

The only thing worse than walking blindly through the woods at night was walking blindly through the woods at night, while trying to keep up with Nathan. The man was a machine. And me? Well, not so much. I hated the woods under normal circumstances. My throbbing ankle, the mind-numbing cold, and the fact that we were being hunted by guys trying to kill us only made it worse. I would be a wreck if not for Nathan. I would also be very lost.

From what I knew about him, the man had no limits. He appeared out of thin air and saved my life like it was the sole purpose of his existence, took out a whole bunch of bad guys single-handedly, drove like a stunt driver, and told direction by the stars. He made the impossible look easy. After all I have seen, and all that I knew, I didn't understand why we were walking through the woods. It seemed like such a regression from what I knew he was capable of.

"Yo, Nathan, is it just me or does it seem like we're walking up a lot?"

Shouldn't we have been walking down the mountain, toward the road, toward civilization?

"That's because we are walking up."

Of course. "And why is that?"

"We're going out of the way for a little bit. Until things settle down."

"We're hiding out in the mountains?"

"Yes." He sounded much more confident about the idea than I was, but who was I to question him? We walked west, or that was what he said when I asked. He wasn't in a particularly talkative mood, so I didn't press for details. West and up. That was the most information I had gotten all night.

We walked for hours, with me struggling to keep up with him. Finally, he stopped, dropped the sac on the ground, and waited for me to catch up.

"You're limping," he observed.

"I twisted my ankle." I shrugged like it was no big deal, even though it was killing me.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't realize it would have mattered," I returned heatedly.

Nathan shot me a stormy look that rivaled the one I gave him. He sat on the ground against a tree and motioned for me to do the same. I sat across from him and he pulled my foot into his lap, exposing it to the chilly night air. By contrast, his fingers felt like fire on my skin as he poked and prodded my ankle. I jumped when he touched a sore spot.

He glanced up at me. "That hurt?"

I rolled my eyes. "A little."

He pushed another spot. "How about here?"

"Not as bad."

He tested the stability, or so he said. In my opinion, he only made it feel worse. When he finished, he declared it a sprain, and didn't seem to think anything was broken.

"We'll rest here for a few minutes," he said, leaning his head against the tree.

I scooted to the tree next to his and did the same. I closed my eyes and, for a moment, thought I could have fallen asleep, sitting up. It must have been really late.

"Hey, can you tell the time from the stars, too?" I opened one eye and turned to him when he didn't answer. "You don't like to talk much, do you?"

"No."

"No, you don't like to talk much or no, you can't tell the time from the stars?"