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I could smell antiseptic, a fire burning nearby, and something else, something that tingled my senses and tried to pull on my memories. I could sense anguish in the air, a heavy cloak of worry. From my mate. I couldn’t make out any words, but I could hear him speaking, the deep, low sound of his voice a comfort I found in this painful, confusing time.
I wanted to say his name. I wanted to ask him what was wrong. I wanted to ask him if everything worked out… why I hurt so much.
I heard more of his low rumble of words, his deep, soothing voice speaking in his native tongue. And although I hadn’t spent more than a moment in time with him so long ago, I’d be able to recognize his voice anywhere.
I couldn’t understand him, his Gaelic words soft, the inflection gentle, as if he was telling me everything would be okay.
“Odhran,” I finally said, forcing that one word past my too-dry lips and raw throat. A second later, I felt something press against my lips, then cool liquid slid into my mouth and down my throat.
“Easy, lass,” he crooned when I swallowed too much and coughed. I felt the heavy weight of his hand rest against my cheek. I opened my mouth to speak, but he hummed low. “Just rest. Just heal. I will no’ let anything hurt ye.”
I took another sip of water, coughed again, water slipping out the corner of my mouth. He was there instantly, drying it up. I wanted to open my eyes fully, to see him, but they felt so heavy. Too heavy. My entire body did, as if a lead blanket covered me. I would have been panicking if I wasn’t too weak and tired.
He started speaking in Gaelic again, and it was those words, that deep rumble from my mate, that had me drifting back to sleep.
When I woke up again, I had the strange sense that a long time had passed. I remembered bits and pieces, things that felt like a dream, not quite reality. But maybe they were. I opened my eyes, and it took long moments for my vision to adjust and clear.
I stared up at a ceiling, the rustic construction of it showing whitewashed beams that ran parallel to the floor. The coloring of the beams reminded me of the driftwood I used to collect at the beach for my father.
I didn’t move right away, just took note of my surroundings, of my body.
I licked my dry lips, swallowed against my parched throat, and felt as if my side was on fire, as if somebody had taken a knife and sliced me open.
I shifted on the bed slightly and instantly hissed out as the searing pain encompassed me. I froze and closed my eyes, just breathing through it. I’d dealt with pain plenty of times. I could handle this.
I was in a bed, one that was soft. The blankets smelled faintly of lavender, but it was the artificial kind. I sifted through the rest of the scents and picked up the one that had me squeezing my eyes shut with a pang of homesickness.
Saudade.
I smelled salt water.
A lock of my hair hung over my shoulder, and I turned my head toward it and inhaled deeply. The strands smelled like the ocean. Gods, it had been so long since I smelled the sea.
When I opened my eyes, I realized I was smiling. And crying. I looked around the room as much as I could without moving my body and feeling that pain again.
The room was darkened by the night, a swatch of moonlight peeking out from between the partially closed curtains. There was a dresser to one side and a door right beside that. Across from that was another door.
Memories of what happened—escaping the facility, Odhran and I running, and then the point when we broke free, when I glanced at the entrance only to see D standing there with a gun pointed right at me. It all played through my mind like a reel.
There had been pain. And then there was nothing.
One of the doors opened, and I looked over to watch Odhran coming in with a glass of water in his hand. He froze when he saw me, his nostrils flaring and his free hand going to his chest. Right over his heart.
“Don’t move, darlin’.”
My pulse picked up at the sound of his voice so clear, his Scottish accent thickly laced through the words.
He came over to me and set the glass of water on the little table beside the bed. “Ye’re wounded verra badly, Larkin.” His big body was shrouded in shadows, but the scent of the sea mixed with his wild aroma hung around him. It was the most glorious fragrance I’d ever taken into my body.
He gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking softly from his substantial weight. And when he took my hand in his, I felt my throat tighten for reasons other than thirst.
“Is this real?” I asked. “I’m not dreaming?” I blinked back my tears, because I was afraid this was all a fantasy, one of the many dreams I had when I’d first been captured.
I remembered waking up, gasping out, clutching at the air, crying out for Odhran, my family… for freedom.
Odhran lifted a hand and gently smoothed his fingers over my forehead, pushing the locks away along the side of my face. “Aye, sweetheart. It’s real, and ye’re safe.”
I found myself leaning into his touch, and although the room was dark, my vision still hazy from the pain, I could see the way his lips curled as he smiled.
