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“Shh,” Seren said, while he rocked her like a baby. She cried until snot ran freely. Then she dragged her arm under her nose, pulled herself together, and pushed away.
She climbed off his lap and discovered her jeans and floral blouse were gone, replaced with a pair of yoga pants and an athletic top with a built-in sports bra. A sick dread filled her stomach. Who had stripped and changed her? Violating her body chilled her to the bone.
She fisted the top and shoved the material in his face. “Who did this! Who changed my clothes!”
“A guardian angel.”
Huh? What?“You let some random angel strip me!”
He stood, his powerful body towered over her. She should be intimidated, but all she felt was anger. “Not some random angel. A guardian angel. Female. I requested her aid, and she assisted. It only took a second of time. You were never unclothed.”
Somewhat appeased, she said, “If that’s the case, why didn’t you do it?”
His gaze roamed her face in a tangible caress. It was too potent. She had to look away at the vintage dresser and armoire she was sure came from the nineteen twenties.
“Come,” he ordered, and he led the way out of the bedroom and beyond.
She followed, looking around at the rustic kitchen, stone fireplace, and sturdy living room furniture. The place was small yet clean and cozy.
He went to the kitchen, but she kept going through the cottage to the front door. Seren didn’t stop her when she opened the door and walked out on to the porch.
Tall trees with thick, twisting moss-covered trunks and sturdy branches full of leaves surrounded the cottage. No driveway. No road. A cool breeze swept through the forest, bringing with it the scent of pine, and nuts, and earth. Not a palm tree in sight. This was not Florida.
She had no memory of moving from Jacksonville to here.
A sharp pivot brought her back into the house and faced Seren with a coffee pot, breakfast bar, and a French press between them. “Where am I?”
“Olympic National Park in Washington State.”
On the other side of the country. “W-Why?”
“The East Coast wasn’t safe.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “The entire East Coast?”
Seren nodded.
Eden wasn’t buying it. “We’re talking Georgia, North and South Carolina, New York, New Jersey, Delaw—”
“I know all the states on the Eastern Seaboard, and no, they weren’t safe. Not after what happened to Harriet.”
Her withering reply died on her lips. “I-I.” It hurt to even say her name. “Harry. We left her like that. Discarded, broken. I have to go back and bury her properly. Give her the funeral she deserves.”
“That’s unnecessary.”
Agone’s voice whipped her around. He was in jeans, work boots, and a tee shirt straining over corded muscles and brick abs. Even in his human form, he filled the doorway.
“What do you mean?”
“While Seren took care of you. I took care of Harry. Come and I’ll show you.” Agone held out his hand.
With no hesitation, she took it. His strength and warmth buoyed her as he led her down the porch, between the towering trees, to a small clearing in the woods where she found a freshly dug grave with a simple headstone.
Harriet Green. She was loved and will be missed.
“If this isn’t to your liking, I can change it to your preference. Even move it, if that’s your wish,” Agone offered.
“No.” She shook her head and wiped her eyes. “Harry... She ran away from home as a teen. Never went back. Never wanted to reconnect with her abusive father. I wouldn’t know how to contact him.” She looked at the idyllic scene and knew Harry would love it.
