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CHAPTER 2
Marsh stared down at the unconscious woman, his heart thundering in his chest. He’d never expected to be this close to a female, let alone such a delicate, exquisite female. He’d been raised to stay away from humans, brought up on tales of torches and pitchforks and the hatred that burned brighter than the fires they carried.
When he’d first seen her struggling to make her way through his swamp, he’d been shocked, even angry. He’d thought the humans had learned to stay away from the swamp. Not because he’d ever directly harmed one, but because of the… unfortunate events that occurred - the boat engines that died and the fishing lines that were tangled and the rods lost, the occasional shadowy glimpse that was enough to intimidate even the most foolish.
Yet there she was - a tiny little female on her own, struggling through the mud and water and thick mass of vegetation. He’d watched from a distance - simply to make sure she didn’t cause any harm, of course - but he’d had no intention of approaching her. He’d even resisted the urge to go to her when she fell.
But then he’d seen her rise and resume her journey, stumbling across the ground like a bird with a broken wing, and the part of him that was always drawn to help a wounded animal had responded. He’d found himself leaving the shadows, revealing himself fully to a human for the first time in many years. And she hadn’t rejected him. Even though she’d fainted, he thought it was more from exhaustion and pain than from fear.
As he studied her delicate features, her pale face stained both with mud and tears, something stirred within him. A feeling he’d long suppressed - a yearning for acceptance, even for companionship. Not for a mate - he knew that would never happen - but simply the comfort of another person’s presence. He’d been alone for so long.
She didn’t scream when she saw me. That simple fact ignited a spark of hope that perhaps she could see past their differences.
He very carefully reached out and brushed a strand of tangled blonde hair from her face. His fingers lingered against her cheek, reveling in the softness of her skin, the texture so foreign to his own flesh. Greatly daring, he even brushed a thumb across her pretty little mouth. Her lips moved, almost as if she were kissing his thumb and another bolt of longing swept through him. What would it be like to be kissed?
Stop it, he ordered himself. There was no point in dreaming of things that would never occur. The question was what to do now. He couldn’t sit here all night, especially since they were still close to the edge of the swamp, but neither could he leave her unconscious and vulnerable. As his gaze trailed down to the swollen ankle, a thought occurred to him. He could heal her ankle. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d come to the aid of an injured creature.
He didn’t have any healing supplies with him, but he had a refuge not far away. He considered, then discarded the thought that he would be revealing one of his secret places to a human. If necessary, he could always abandon it after she left. The thought of her leaving him alone again made his chest ache but he pushed it away. Instead he took a deep breath, then reached down and picked her up.
Her slender frame felt impossibly fragile in his arms, but he shuddered from the sheer pleasure of actual physical contact with another person. Despite the doubts swirling in his mind like the mists of the swamp, he was grateful that she was here. That she was in his arms. When he cradled her close to his chest, he could feel the faint beating of her heart against his own, a rhythmic cadence that seemed to resonate deep within him. Perhaps he’d finally found someone to help relieve his overwhelming loneliness.
Temporarily, he reminded himself. He would heal her and then he would let her go, just as he did with any of the wild creatures he helped. Some of them choose to remain.
Ignoring the seductive thought, he began to navigate the labyrinth of twisted roots and murky waters that made up his domain, careful not to jostle her as he carried her deeper into the swamp’s embrace. The canopy of gnarled branches overhead filtered the small amount of moonlight that made it through the clouds, but the uncertain light didn’t bother him. He could see well enough, but he extended his other senses as well, vigilant for any potential threat that might lurk nearby. He would never allow any harm to befall his precious burden.
As he moved further into the heart of the swamp, the symphony of nature that had paused momentarily began again. The croaking of frogs, the hoot of an owl, the gentle lapping of water against the banks – all blending into a soothing, familiar melody. Even the woman in his arms seemed to respond to the peaceful sounds, her body relaxing against his.
His gaze kept stealing downwards, and he found himself entranced by the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the delicate flutter of her eyelashes against her pale cheeks. She looked so impossibly delicate. What had driven her into his swamp at night? He didn’t believe she was lost, or at least not simply lost. She’d been running from something - or someone. The thought made his chest tighten and he tucked her closer against him, silently vowing to protect her.
His steps slowed as he neared his temporary shelter in this part of the swamp, a twisted labyrinth of roots and vines around a huge hollow tree that served as a refuge. His mother had brought him here long ago, showing him the hidden place. She always seemed closer to him here, even though more of his memories of her faded with each passing year, replaced by the harsh realities of his lonely life.
As he reluctantly laid the sleeping woman on a bed of moss at the base of the tree, his mind drifted back to those moments of warmth and acceptance he had known as a child. They’d had little contact with others before she died, but his mother’s soothing lullabies, the tender caress of her fingers through the tangled tendrils of his hair, had made it seem unimportant. Her death had been the catalyst that had thrust him into a life of complete isolation, an existence spent hiding in the shadows of the swamp.
His gaze lingered on the woman for a moment, tempted to pull her back into his arms, to hold her while he had the chance. Instead he returned to the hidden entrance, checking once again for any sign of danger, but nothing disturbed the normal nocturnal life of the swamp. When he returned, she was still asleep and after a brief debate with himself, he decided to let her sleep. Tending to her ankle would undoubtedly awaken her and he suspected that the sleep would do her good.
As he settled amidst the gnarled roots next to her, cradled by the hollow trunk, a weary sigh escaped him. Exhaustion not from physical exertion, but from a life of endless solitude. He gently touched her cheek again and then, driven by some impulse he didn’t quite understand, reached for her hand, cradling it carefully within his as she slept.
He was still holding it when she woke.
CHAPTER 3
Rorie woke in stages, her body heavy and unresponsive. For a brief moment, she floated in the comforting emptiness of half-sleep, lulled by the familiar sounds of the night and a clean, herbal scent that drifted past her. Then a sharp ache in her ankle yanked her to full consciousness and her eyes flew open. Where am I? She was no longer on the damp, muddy ground that was the last thing she remembered. Instead she was lying on a soft, thick bed of moss. Darkness still enveloped her but enough moonlight filtered through the clouds and overhanging branches to reveal a glimpse of the strange tree-like structure surrounding her.
“Your ankle needs tending.”
The low, deep voice brought back another memory - the monster. As she cautiously turned her head in the direction of the voice, she realized that her hand was encased in a much, much larger hand. A non-human hand. As she struggled upright, the fear that had overwhelmed her at her first glimpse of him threatened to come rushing back, but it was more muted this time. And when she met those glowing green eyes, it faded even more. She had the same impression of loneliness, even sorrow.
She tried to get a closer look at his face, but it was still mostly obscured by the darkness and the vines that trailed across it. She could just make out a high cheekbone and a sharply angled jaw, the corner of a wide mouth. The vines flowed down over his shoulders - his very wide shoulders. His skin was a mélange of colors ranging from a deep mahogany to a dark mossy green and she realized they were the colors of the swamp. No wonder he’d been able to blend so easily into the tangled mass of vegetation.
His broad chest was bare as well, his musculature very similar to that of a human male, only more powerful. It suddenly occurred to her that he might not be wearing any clothes at all. Her eyes darted down over the laddered muscles of his abdomen to a pair of tattered knee-length pants made from some woven material in muted shades of green. Sure that her cheeks were burning, she quickly snatched her gaze away, then tugged on her hand.
After a brief pause, he slowly released it and sat back, giving her a better view of the rest of his body. Thick boughs of muscle rippled under his skin as he moved with the same fluid grace she’d noticed before.
“Where am I? Where did you bring me?”
Her voice came out low and husky, but at least it wasn’t shaking. He tilted his head slightly, studying her face.
“A little deeper in the swamp. As I said, your ankle needs tending and I have supplies here.”
