The Prophecy

It took Gwen thirty seconds to realize something was wrong. Very wrong. Besides the fog filling her head, it was completely dark. She couldn’t open her eyes.

Those were the thoughts that occurred within the first ten seconds.

In the next ten, she became aware of the fact she was one giant bruise, some areas more severe than others. Those were the wrong seconds.

The very wrong were the last ten.

That was when she felt warmth beneath her cheek, breath upon her head, and large hands spanning her back. Holding her with both tenderness and possession. Sure she was fully conscious but affected by an adverse reaction to her IV, she reached for the nurse’s call button. The arms around her tightened, accompanied by a calming whisper.

It was so reassuring, this touch and sound, that she snuggled deeper into the embrace. Indulging in sensations completely foreign to her, she felt safe and protected.

Then she felt panic. My God, she felt fear.

She pushed away with all her strength, scrambling for the edge of the bed, each move hurting more than the last. Each breath she tried desperately to take wasn’t quite deep enough. Those same large hands covered her shoulders, gentle on top of her thick bandages.

Then everything came back at once.

Losing control of the truck. The mudslide as she plunged into the ocean. The explosion of the airbags. Pushing through the window. Jagged glass tearing her skin. Fighting to swim to shore. Wave after relentless wave. Defeat.

“Who…?” Gwen tried to catch her breath. Her hands moved forward and stopped against his chest. Smooth, warm skin. Hard muscles beneath her palms and fingers. He was a brick wall—an enormous brick wall. Terrified by the sheer size of the giant who sat in front of her on her bed, in her bed, she pushed back.

“Cease.”

That one word, spoken with gentle authority, shocked her. Cease? Who said cease? And who said it like that? A voice so deep, a timbre so rich. It seemed familiar but… “Who”—she took a short breath—“are…” Larger gasps followed.

“Breathe,” he demanded in the same tone. “In… out…” He continued his litany, but Gwen couldn’t seem to follow. “Good God, not again.” It sounded like a curse and a sigh. Then strong lips covered her open mouth. Warm and determined, he stole her breath.

Then he gave it back.

Calm. Steady. Even.

The hands that covered her shoulders moved. One palmed her head, long fingers holding her steady until her breathing matched his own. The other splayed her chest, directly over her heart, as if willing the erratic beat to slow.

It beat the hell out of a paper bag.

He pulled back. But his mouth drew upon her lips, ending his unconventional first aid with what could only be a kiss.