Page 19 of Little Mate

6

GABRIELLA

The warmth of a hand settles on my face, its thumb tracing across the apple of my right cheek, and I lean into it with my eyes closed. This touch is familiar to me, and so is the scent of the owner; a delicious essence of earth, spice, and a hint of citrus that tickles my senses and brings a small smile to my face no matter how hard I try to fight it.

“You’re late,” I say with a hint of chiding, tilting my face in his direction, and yet I don't see him. My eyelids remain as they are, punishing him for leaving me to bear the wilderness alone. “Did you lose your way?”

“I'm never too far behind, Gabriella.” The hunger simmering in his velvet tone sends a shiver down my spine, and I feel it as if it were a caress across my sensitive flesh. It heats, pulls from deep within my chest a small kittenish sound. One I’ve never made before. “You just don't see it that way yet.”

“What does that mean?” At my question, he kneels in front of me underneath a tall willow tree. I’m not familiar with this one, but it calls to my nature, and I couldn’t stop the temptation to feel the earth that it grows in. My fingers are embedded into the dirt, the blades of grass tickling my wrist, and yet since he appeared, all I sense is him.

The cries for attention of those souls needing help cease.

The sorrow and concern of my family disappears.

This stranger gives me peace.

His strong legs stop mere inches from mine, and I open my green eyes to take in the dark pants covering his skin. How thick the muscles of his thighs are, large and strong, and then I trail higher over his narrow waist while ignoring the bulge that gives a harsh jerk under my heated stare. This man is rugged—a heavy sense of power radiates off him while covering me in a blanket of comfort that I won’t question.

Who is he?

“You’ll know soon enough.” It’s a purr, a low vibration that moves the very dirt that I now fist. “We will meet, Gabriella.”

“When?”

“The signs are already there. Follow them.” I try to look up at his answer, but as my stare traverses his six-pack, I’m met with beautiful dark markings that cause me to pause. They tattoo his flesh with intricate feathers that seem to wrap around him from behind, like dark prince’s wings, and end just below his ribs. Then, there are the symbols across his pecs and down his sternum that I don’t quite understand yet—they’re very ancient—but I want to. Can’t stop myself from reaching out, fingers dirty with the soft soil of the earth and I rub the one close to his belly button from right to left.

My movement is slow, almost reverent, and I revel in the way he shivers for me.

“Will you tell me about these?” I can’t look away from each piece. How the ancient markings create a cohesive design that tells a story, the history of a stranger I need to know. All of him. Every last secret. “Who are you?”

The warmth on my face disappears then, the touch I crave close, but just out of my reach. “You already know.”

“How can that be?” I’m leaning toward him, yet when I attempt to look up at his face, the world turns black. My sight is gone, yet he remains. Before I can complain, his breath is on my lips, and instinctively, I lick them. His essence. “What’s happening to me?”

“You can’t fight fate, Gabriella.”

I awake with a start, my heart beating wildly inside my chest, while my hands clench tight. The dirt between my fingers suffers my distress, the sudden heaviness in my chest. “What the hell was that?” Or better yet, who?

“Gabby?” Isabella calls out not far from me, and my eyes snap up in her direction. Her expression is wary but understanding. “We need to go, sister.”

“I need a moment.” Voice hoarse, I close my eyes and try to find my center, but it evades me. Instead, anxiety slams into my chest with the vengeance of a beast, stealing the very breath from my lungs. “This dream I had…it’s—”

“You saw him?”

“How do you know it’s a him?”

“Because I’ve had a similar dream; the sign I’ve been waiting for and who I must seek.”

“Isa, no more riddles or half-truths. What’s happening?”

“That was our mother’s dying gift, Gabby. She’s pointing us in the direction we must travel and allows us a chance to go there in our dreams. To see what we can’t during waking hours.”

It dawns on me then and my skin turns ice-cold, a gasp lodging itself in my throat. “King Astor? Why would she send me to a murderer?”

“Because you can’t fight fate.”

I ignore the pang in my chest at those words, the same ones she’s been preaching and the man in my dream crooned. They continue to make an appearance. Mocking me. “He’ll imprison me.”

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