Into the Storm

There she is.

“I can see that,” Liam told his minion, eyes never leaving the raven-haired vision. Perhaps she was real this time. Perhaps she wasn’t. Either way, he was content to stare in rapt attention, mesmerized.

She seemed so at peace, trusting, oblivious. Vulnerable. How could she lean there, counting the newborn stars without a shiver of fear for the nightmares that called the darkness their home?

Beautiful innocence. A touch of breeze toyed with her hair, stirred the white tendrils from her face. He imagined his fingers playing there, remembered feel of the silken strands against his hands as he braided it that morning on Cottage’s steps, with the sun barely cresting the rise of the shops across the way. He remembered the feel of her lips, sweet and yielding against his… remembered her soft weight in his arms as he’d carried her to her brother’s car… remembered the melting look in her eyes as he’d kissed her hand…

The light outlined her like an angel. Like a goddess. Golden, auburn, sweet bird silhouetted in the flame of a phoenix. A woman to protect, to cherish, to have. A woman worth dying for.

The minion smirked—Liam could feel it. It sent an image of itself crossing over, touching her…

“Don’t,” Liam said, his command soft, though if she heard him, it would be the whisper of leaves in the wind.

I could.

He pinned the imp to the shadow of a tree with a glare. “She is not for the likes of you.”

It glared back, incredulous at his harsh tone. Is that so?

“It is.” Liam let his eyes go cold; the imp subsided. Liam released its murky form from the prison of his stare.

And I suppose she’s for the likes of you?

“She will be.” Of all the girls he’d ever courted, Bea had been the toughest of all… but challenges always brought the greatest rewards—and there could be no reward greater than her pale flesh, the soft surrender of her sighs, the inky curtain of her hair veiling their love…

“She will be,” he said again, tasting the promise in the words.

And smiled.