Page 3 of Saving Love

With my plan in mind, I nod to myself, attempting to shore up the energy and courage to sneak out of here. Carefully, quietly, and as stealthily as possible, I fold up the tarp so I can take it with me. I peek my head out of the open space where a door will one day go, looking to my left and to my right before taking a fortifying breath.

Now or never…

I make a mad dash outside, running straight toward the treeline. Out of nowhere, I crash into something, startling myself and letting out a muffled shriek as the tarp falls to the ground. My eyes slam closed and I wince, preparing myself to be eaten by a wolf or mauled by a bear. Instead, warm, rough hands circle around my upper arms, steadying me from falling backward.

I open one eye, shocked to see a tall, bearded man with a piercing green gaze.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my muscles trembling as he holds me up. “I’m sor-r-r-y,” I stutter out, my breath growing ragged as my vision tunnels. “I’m sorry,” I repeat over and over, the panic suffocating me with each word.

“I’ve got you,” is the last thing I hear before my world fades to black.

3

CASSIAN

Icatch the raven-haired goddess before she collapses onto the ground, scooping her up in my arms and holding her against my chest. She’s trembling, though I’m not sure if it’s from cold, fear, or exhaustion. Probably a mix of all three.

As I stare down at the woman cradled in my arms, I wonder who she is, where she came from, and what brought her to the point of hiding out in a construction site in the middle of the fucking mountains. The more I think about the danger she put herself in, the more upset I become, though not at her; at whoever or whatever sent her running.

I begin the short hike from the worksite to my cabin, holding the most precious woman I've ever seen against my chest, hoping to infuse some of my warmth into her shivering body. I only saw her sky-blue eyes for a second before she closed them and began apologizing profusely, but the look swimming in their depths will haunt me for the rest of my life.

She was terrified. No, more than that. Something deeper. A kind of pain and fear I’ve tried to keep locked away since leaving home at sixteen. Once again, I wonder how she ended up here, and more importantly, who the fuck I need to murder for forcing her to put her life in danger.

I know I'm getting way ahead of myself. This woman needs medical attention, a hot shower, a good meal, and a good night's rest. Then, she'll be on her way. My stomach flips over at the thought of letting her go, and my chest grows inexplicably tight as if a vice is squeezing the life out of me.

Adjusting the fragile cargo in my arms, I manage to get the door of my cabin open without jostling her too much. A soft whimper falls from her lips, her brow furrowing as if warding off a nightmare.

If I had a heart, it would be breaking right about now.

Focusing back on the task at hand, I carefully lay the mysterious woman on my couch, making sure to cushion her head with a pillow so she doesn’t wake up with a sore neck. Lord knows she’ll already have aches and pains from sleeping on a concrete floor multiple nights in a row, and I don’t want to add neck pain to that list.

I take a moment to look her over, examining the wounds and bruises she’s gathered over the last few days. When I kneel down to get a better view of one particularly nasty-looking cut on her upper arm, I see something that has a strange mix of rage and overwhelming sorrow churning in my gut. It’s been a long damn time since I’ve felt anything at all, let alone two strong emotions at the same time.

The scars littering her skin are much older than the cuts and scrapes dealt out by the forest and living out in the wilderness. These are deeper, and though they’re faded, I can only imagine the kind of torture she went through to receive them in the first place.

Taking a deep breath, I manage to break the spell this unconscious woman cast over me long enough to run to the bathroom and grab the field medic kit I always have on hand. I can do pretty much anything except for surgery and amputation, though if push comes to shove, I know I’d figure out a way to do those things as well. Thankfully, I don’t need to worry about that right now.

As I come back to the living room and kneel down in front of the couch, I realize I’ve somehow missed her in the twenty seconds I’ve been gone. Preposterous, I know. This woman has gotten me all riled up, but I’m sure the feeling will pass.

Even as I think the words, I know they’re not true. Deep down in my core, I know she’s going to change me forever. She already has.

I get to work cleaning up the relatively shallow cuts, placing bandages over some of the larger ones to protect against infection. Next, I grab a washcloth and dampen it with warm water before gently wiping the tear-streaked dirt from her cheeks, revealing creamy, porcelain skin.

Without thinking, I reach out and brush a few strands of hair back, tucking them behind her ear so I can get a better look at my house guest. Never thought I’d have another living soul in my cabin, let alone a woman. A scared, desperate, vulnerable woman who likely wants nothing to do with me. I can’t blame her. I don't want to be around myself either, but I don’t have much of a choice.

I find myself brushing the pad of my thumb across her cheek, then lower, tracing her jawline and down the side of her neck. Almost everywhere I look, I see angry marks and scars etched into her skin. Again, I wonder what the fuck this woman has been through. I’ll have to be gentle with her, even if I have no idea how to do that. I can already tell this woman is going to bring out things in me I didn’t know I was capable of.

Not wanting to be a creep, I withdraw my hand and take a few steps back, putting some distance between us. I don’t want to crowd her space or loom over her with my massive frame. She’s already scared half to death. It might kill me if she woke up afraid of me, too.

After a few minutes of staring silently at the woman who is changing everything without even knowing it, I decide to put some soup on the stove to heat up. She’ll no doubt be hungry when she wakes up.

Right as I’m turning the burner to simmer temp for the soup, my phone rings. I quickly snatch it out of my pocket, answering it just so I can silence the ringer. I don’t want to startle the woman with a loud noise. I get the sense she appreciates peace and quiet, though I have no way of knowing that for sure. Maybe I’m just projecting how my traumatic childhood affected me. After sixteen years of chaos, all I wanted was to find a safe, quiet place to heal. Instead, I found the military, which helped in other ways. Now I have the chance to build the safe haven I never had growing up.

“Hello?” the voice on the other end of the line says. I recognize Elliot’s voice, and while this is the worst time to talk, I know if he’s calling, it’s something serious.

“Hey,” I answer, trying to keep my voice low as I head out to the back porch to take the call. I look over my shoulder one last time at the scared sleeping beauty on my couch, then head outside.

“Fucking physical therapy for three months,” he starts, launching into a tirade about how he’s sick of all the medical bullshit and he’s ready to be done so he can join us up on the mountain. He needs to heal and find peace more than any of us, but Elliot is as stubborn as a fuckin’ mule.

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