At one point, her boot slid on a moss-slicked stone.
That’s when her unexpected guide twisted, moving with lightning speed to catch her before she hit the granite.
In the proximity of his arms once more, her breath hitched.
Beneath the thin linen of his leather tunic, his skin began to pulse with a rhythmic luminescence.
His glowing glyphs, which had entranced her from the moment she met him, crawled across his forearms like molten gold, casting a spectral light against the dim forest floor.
She stared at the symbols, her mind fracturing with silent, frantic questions.
The utter gravitas of his presence appeared to warp the air around him, a heavy, tectonic power radiating from his core.
Who was this man who seemed to carry the potency of the sun in his veins?
The sheer scale of his aura made it seem as if it were carved from the foundations of a forgotten spell-working world.
She opened her mouth to speak, to demand the truth of his identity, but her energy waned. The darkness at the edge of her vision surged.
With a twist of his lush lips, he lifted her without ceremony, arms closing around her as if she weighed nothing.
Her perception narrowed again.
She found herself staring into his eyes, close enough to see the wild storms shift within them.
Her heart, traitor that it was, kicked hard.
When it settled, the pull of sleep dragged at the edges of her unconsciousness. She couldn’t hold on any longer.
She had to trust him.
Shehadnootherchoice.
His mouth twitched, the barest acknowledgment, as if he caught the thought.
He touched her forehead with two fingers.
Her body slumped, eyes shuttered, and darkness took her at once.
Sheba surfaced, blinking, into a canopy of canvas and filtered light, her breath hitching as awareness stitched itself back into place.
The air carried the distinct odor of rubber gloves, tubing, and sterile dressings.
A clear IV line tugged at her wrist, fluid trickling through the drip.
She shifted her head, which lay in a mound of pillows. Her gaze drifted to her legs extended on the hover bed that held her body in suspension.
Beyond the bed railing, a holo display of sensors tracked her pulse and respiration.
A medic was peering at them, recording the results on a slate in their hands.
The woman met her gaze with calm precision.
Her dark hair was drawn back into a neat tie.
Her skin was a light gold, and her brown eyes were piercing and keen; her stance balanced between authority and care.
‘Welcome, Nurse Munene, to the Lattaya Medical Center,’ she said. ‘My name is Dr. Linh Arakawa. I’m one of your new colleagues. You’ve sustained a significant head impact, but your recovery curve is exceptional. Your vitals are stabilizing, and I should discharge you within hours.’
