Free Wilde's Fire (Darkness Falls #1) by Krystal Wade

in the morning. I will not take you away from the safety of this base without you having knowledge of some basic self-defense techniques.”
    I nod.
    Arland disappears behind the heavy, wooden door.
    What am I supposed to do here? This world may be where I came from, but it doesn’t feel like my own. Somehow, I’m supposed to fight Darkness for these people, and I’ve never so much as punched a person. I miss Brit. If she were here, I’m sure she would love the opportunity to save the world. Scratch that; I’m glad she isn’t here. I hope she’s at home, safe in her own bed.
    Picturing home for a moment, I wonder what Brit told our parents. Sure, Mom probably wasn’t shocked, but what are Gary and Mr. Tanner doing right now? The thought of Mr. Tanner brings me back to Brad’s comment about marrying me. I could have been Mrs. Kate Tanner. The thought causes me to choke. The way I felt so comfortable in his arms that evening in the tent: was it because of how familiar we are with each other, or because there is something more?
    I no longer want to think about anything—not about Brad, not about Brit, and not about Arland. The flickering candle next to the bed illuminates roots poking through the ceiling. I count them until my thoughts slow and my breathing becomes heavy. After fifty-two, I begin drifting to sleep.

he smell of eggs drifts into my dreams. Hunger gnaws at my stomach. Opening my eyes, I stretch my arms, muscles sore and stiff. There’s no way I could have been sleeping more than an hour.
    Someone has left a tray of food and some clean clothes next to the bed. I grab the tray, pick at the eggs and potatoes, but wait to get dressed. My skin is dirty. There would be no point in putting on clean clothes. I climb from the bed, grab the burning candle from the table, and then walk from the room to check out the other two doors in the hall. No one else I’ve seen is as dirty as I am; there must be a shower or something somewhere.
    The door at the end of the hall is locked, but the one across from Brad’s opens into the most peculiar of bathrooms. The floor on the right side of the room has a stone enclosure built over a natural spring. Water flows in and out of the basin, probably making it the cleanest bath anyone could ever sit in.
    The sound of the spring flowing is consistent, tranquil. The candle in my hand flickers in the holder. I set it down, and then slip off my borrowed nightgown, allowing it to fall to the floor around my ankles. I walk up the stone stairs to the opening of the enclosure, and then step into it with caution.
    The water temperature is perfect. Submerging myself, I allow the warmth to refresh my tired skin. My eyes close, and I float on top of the spring. I don’t think about Brad, or home, or anything else for as long as it takes for my fingers and toes to prune.
    Next to the enclosure, sitting on a large rock, is a bar of soap. I grab it, rub the soap all over my skin, and through my hair. The smell of summer lilacs drifts through the bathroom, along with the steam.
    The bath is so comforting, I have to force myself to climb out. Reaching the bottom step, I find someone has replaced my nightgown with the clean clothes I forgot to bring from the bedroom—and a towel. The fresh linens are folded and laying on an old oak counter next to the door. My senses must be relaxed; I never observed anyone come into the room.
    For fear someone else might come in while I’m not decent, I rush to dress. The pants are tight and brown. The leather boots lace up to my knees and are a perfect fit. I slip a long-sleeved, white linen tunic over my head—the shirt hangs down to my thighs—and cinch a wide, brown belt around my waist. My hair is still dripping wet. I towel it dry, run my fingers through to comb the tangles, pulling out a ton of russet strands.
    When my hair dries, I leave the bathroom and peek into Brad’s room. Shay shakes her head. I look from her to Brad; there hasn’t been any