Once A Servant, Now A Legend

Chapter Five (Part 1)

The hotel room was dim, washed in the amber glow of a bedside lamp. 

Outside, rain tapped against the windowpane, a steady rhythm that matched the faint, uneven breathing of the unconscious woman on the bed. 

Jeff stood beside her, sleeves rolled up, hands steady despite the weight pressing against his chest. 

Her pulse was still erratic, her skin flushed with dangerous heat. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. “The toxins are spreading faster than I thought.”

He had no medical equipment, no antidote, just instinct and a lifetime of control. 

His mind flashed through fragments of training long buried, survival techniques he had once learned from a mentor who saved lives in war zones. 

There was one method left. Primitive, painful, but it might work.

Jeff took out a small pocketknife from his bag, sterilized it over a lighter, and pressed it lightly against her arm. 

The blade trembled for half a second, then he made the cut. Dark blood welled up instantly, running in thin streams over her skin. 

He repeated the process on her shoulder and collarbone, careful, precise, his movements carrying the strange gentleness of a man performing something sacred. 

Her body tensed, breath catching. A soft, broken sound escaped her lips. “Hang in there,” he whispered. “I know it hurts… but you’ll live.” 

He wiped the blood with gauze, pressing gently until the trembling in her body began to fade. 

Slowly, her breathing steadied. Her fevered flush softened to something calmer. 

Jeff sat back in the chair beside the bed, exhaustion catching up with him. His knuckles were stained red. 

For a moment, he simply looked at her, at the fragile life he had pulled back from the edge. 

She was beautiful, but not in the way Genevieve had been, polished, untouchable. 

This woman’s beauty was human, full of quiet strength even in weakness. 

Strands of hair clung to her cheek; he brushed them away gently. “Rest,” he murmured. “You’re safe now.” 

He leaned back, closing his eyes, listening to the rain and the steady rhythm of her breathing. For the first time in days, Jeff Benson felt a fragile kind of peace.

Morning light slipped through the curtains. The storm had passed. The woman stirred beneath the sheets, her lashes fluttering. 

Her head ached, and her throat felt dry as sand. When her vision cleared, the first thing she saw was the ceiling of an unfamiliar hotel room, then, her body. 

She gasped, bolting upright. Her sleeves had been rolled up; faint crimson traces marked her arms and shoulders. 

Panic surged through her veins. She clutched the blanket to her chest, eyes wide with horror. “What… what happened?” she whispered. 

Her memory came rushing back in flashes, the men, the knives, the pain, the darkness swallowing her whole, and now, this. Her breath caught, eyes burning with tears. “No… it can’t be.”

Before she could think further, the door clicked open. Jeff stepped inside, holding a glass of water. 

His expression was calm, almost unreadable, until he saw the terror on her face. “Hey,” he said quietly. “You’re awake.” 

He didn’t get to finish. A vase flew across the room, shattering against the wall inches from his head. “Stay away from me!” she screamed, voice hoarse with panic. “You… you bastard! What did you do to me?! You monster!” 

Jeff’s reflexes saved him from the second throw, a pillow this time, then the bedside lamp. 

He ducked, barely suppressing a sigh. “Stop,” he said firmly, but not unkindly. 

“You’ll hurt yourself.” “Don’t come any closer!” Tears streaked down her face. “If you touch me, I’ll kill you!”

Jeff exhaled slowly, setting the glass down. “You think I hurt you?” 

“What else am I supposed to think?” Her voice cracked. “I wake up in a hotel bed, covered in blood, my clothes changed, what else could you have done?!” 

Jeff pinched the bridge of his nose, patience thinning but his tone steady. “Listen carefully. Last night, you were attacked in the cemetery. Three men tried to.” 

He stopped himself. “You remember that much, don’t you?” 

Her eyes flickered, uncertain. “I… I remember screaming… and someone shouting… then nothing.” 

“That someone was me,” he said simply. 

She froze, finally looking at him properly. The memory clicked, the man’s voice, cutting through the dark; the figure standing between her and the blades. 

“You!” she breathed. Jeff nodded. “You fainted after I chased them off. You’d been drugged. I couldn’t take you to a hospital without risking your life, the toxin was already spreading. So I used a field detox method. Bloodletting.” 

Her lips parted, her expression torn between disbelief and confusion. “Bloodletting?” 

He pointed to her arms gently. “Those marks aren’t what you think they are. They’re from the cuts I made to draw out the poison.”

The words hung in the air. Slowly, her trembling eased. Shame flickered across her face as realization began to sink in. “I…” She swallowed hard. “I thought.” 

Jeff lifted a hand, silencing her gently. “You thought wrong. And I don’t blame you.” 

Just then, a knock came at the door. Jeff turned toward it. “Come in.” 

The door opened, and two men entered, a middle-aged doctor carrying a leather case, and Ray, Jeff’s assistant. 

Both bowed respectfully. “Sir,” Ray greeted. “We came as soon as you called.” 

Jeff nodded toward the woman. “Check her condition.” 

The doctor approached carefully. The woman hesitated but eventually extended her wrist. 

His fingers rested lightly on her pulse for a few seconds before he nodded approvingly. “Her vitals are steady,” he said. “The toxins have been mostly expelled. You handled it well, Mr. Benson. She only needs rest and to keep the wounds clean.” 

Jeff inclined his head. “Good.” 

Ray bowed again before the two quietly left, closing the door behind them. Silence settled once more. 

The woman, still clutching the blanket, watched him with wide eyes. “They… called you Mr. Benson?” 

He met her gaze briefly, then turned toward the minibar, pouring himself a small glass of whiskey. The liquid glowed gold under the light. 

“Jeff Benson,” he said simply. “And you don’t need to thank me.” 

She blinked. “I wasn’t.” 

He cut her off gently. “I know. But you were about to.” He took a slow sip, the burn grounding him. “You were drugged. I couldn’t leave you there. That’s all there is to it.”

She bit her lip, guilt rising in her chest. “I… I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean to.”