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So I lay there, staring at the ceiling, pretending the night could last forever.
Until, finally, sleep came and took me away.
“There you are. Youdisappeared in a hurry the last time.” The voice was deep and ironic. I would have known it anywhere.
My eyes popped open. “You again. I thought it was just a dream last time.”
“So did I.”
“I wanted to see Kaye. Not you. Kaye.” But it was a lie.
The last thing I had thought about before falling asleep, I remembered, was not my brother Kaye. It was the look in Draven’s eyes as he had cupped my face in his hands and tilted my lips up to his own.
Thatwas what I had been thinking of as I had drifted off into sleep.
Not Kaye, but a kiss. Anything but a simple one.
While I may not have wanted to see Draven with my conscious mind, I hadneededto see him. I needed him right now, most desperately. More than I could ever admit, even to myself.
I pushed myself up onto my elbows.
I was lying on a bench, looking up at a tree. Dappled sunlight streamed through. It seemed to be about midday. Wherever this was.
Draven was standing across from me, his arms folded over his chest. He was dressed more simply than he had been the last time, clad in a long-sleeved, black tunic that was tucked in at his waist with a narrow, silver belt. Slim-fitting trousers of deepest charcoal tailored to his lithe muscular form were tucked into knee-high, black leather boots. Small leaves of embossed silver were stamped onto the cuffs of the boots.
His sleek, black hair had been gathered into a small, oval-shaped knot at the back of his neck, as if he were a sailor.
Or a pirate.
I found I rather liked it.
He looked wicked. Well, more wicked than usual.
I tried to suppress the stirrings I was feeling at seeing him and knowing that, in some strange way, this was real.
And then the memory of what was all-too-real came flooding back, and I was choking with horror, leaning forward on the bench, my body hunching over with the pain of the recollection.
In an instant, Draven was beside me, crouching on the ground, his hands on my shoulders, rock-solid and strong.
“Morgan, what is it?” His voice was sharp and filled with concern.
I struggled to breath, unable to reassure him. I managed to lift my head slightly, looking at him as I gasped.
His face darkened. Did he know what I was about to say? Had he seen that a death was written in my eyes?
“Breathe easy. Slowly.”
Rising to his feet, he settled his large frame onto the bench beside me. With a deliberate motion, he extended one of his legs along the bench's seat, creating a space for me to fit in. Gently, he reached out his arm and coaxed me into that inviting gap between his legs where I found myself cradled within his embrace.
Nestled against his chest, I felt his warmth and strength enveloping me. A sanctuary amid the storm.
In that moment, cocooned within his protective hold, I realized I was in the arms of the man who was not just my husband but also my refuge.
My breathing slowed as it attuned itself to his. Gradually, I felt my body beginning to relax.
I exhaled and inhaled, willing myself to calm.
Finally, I got the word out. “Merlin.”
