by Tena Stetler
Against the advice of his superiors, he chose an indefinite sabbatical in the Colorado Rockies. Their rugged strength and majestic beauty allowed him the serenity to pick up the pieces, face his own fears, and contemplate the future. If there was one.
Perhaps I should’ve remained among the warrior angels and used the facilities above to heal physically and repair what is left of my damaged soul. He shook his head, slowly taking in the bounty of nature around him. No, I made the right decision. Leaning back in his chair, he relaxed and watched the dancing flames consume the logs until glowing embers were all that remained in the fire ring.
Caden stood and stretched his arms above his head, letting out a jaw-popping yawn as he walked over to the five-gallon bucket of water. He tossed the water on the embers and trod up the steps to his home and fell into bed. Tossing and turning, dreams kept him awake for most of the night.
Sunrise brought an orange glow spreading over the top of Independence Pass, bathing the valley in warm golden shards of sunlight. Caden stood on the ridge, wings spread, brushing the breeze and absorbing the sun’s warmth. Feels better than yesterday. Finally, I’m gaining some strength back. Carefully, he tucked his wings in and started down the trail. It was time to move on to Maroon Bells and the lake to enjoy summer in the Rocky Mountains.
****
She lay naked, battered, and beaten several yards off the trail. Her long, straight black hair fanned around her head, tangled with twigs and bits of grass. Caden moved silently toward her, stopped, and picked up a Bureau of Indian Affairs ID just a few yards from where she lay. He stuffed it in his pocket while watching the surrounding area for signs of her attackers. Kneeling down at her side, he saw scratches and bruises on her high-sculpted cheekbones, and her full lips had a shading of blue around them. He placed his hand lightly on her chest, felt a weak heartbeat, and sensed a brave soul unwilling to give up. God, this is the last thing I need.
Summoning medical help here was futile. The altitude at 12,092 feet combined with rocky terrain made it difficult for most rescue vehicles. They’d be too late to save her. He slid his hands under her body. At his touch, a scene unfolded in his mind of snarling wolves, the valiant fight she waged against a male until she was too weak to defend herself any longer, then blackness. Anger surged through him as he carried her along the rocky path to the fifth wheel trailer he called home.
He settled her gently on the bed, retrieved a sponge, a washcloth, and small tub of warm water from the bathroom, and began gently cleansing the deep gashes inflicted by canine teeth along with several long deep rows of claw marks. Turning her over carefully, he swore, wincing as he wrung out the sponge, exchanging it for the soft washcloth. It appeared she’d been dragged a long distance over rough terrain, leaving small rocks and gravel embedded in her back. She’d lost a large amount of blood, and her backside was a raw, bleeding mess. Without his intervention, she wouldn’t survive.
Still healing himself, he wasn’t sure if he had the strength to heal her on his own, or at what cost to him, but there was no other choice. He finished cleaning her wounds and shrugged out of his shirt and jeans, slid his warm muscular body next to her frigid one, then wrapped his arms around her, lifting her gently. Finally, he wrapped his wings around both of them. His dark hair fell across his forehead, and a subtle silver light enveloped them as the sun rose high in the sky.
When he awoke, the full moon was drifting across the star-strewn western sky. As he lay staring out the bedroom window, he considered the situation. Above the jagged mountain peaks, streaks of pink and orange mingled in the dusky-blue sky. Dawn had arrived. Somehow, they’d both survived the night. Her breathing was regular, her body warm and relaxed against him. She was still unconscious.
Slowly, he opened his wings and carefully slid away from her. A bright patchwork quilt lay folded at the bottom of the bed. He drew the quilt over her, stood, stretching his arms above his head, then leaned over and placed his palms flat on the floor, willing his stiff muscles to relax.
After several minutes, he straightened, rolling his shoulders and tucking his wings gingerly into his back while pulling on a pair of jeans. Wearily, he dropped into a chair next to the bed to wait. He picked up her Bureau of Indian Affairs ID from the nightstand, turning it over repeatedly, considering the possibilities. Leaning back in the chair, his body relaxed, but his stomach rumbled loudly. He pushed up out of the chair.
Warm sunlight streamed through the kitchen window as Caden stirred a pot of oatmeal on the three-burner stove. A low moan came from the bedroom and he breathed a sigh of relief. She was coming around, finally. He flipped off the burner, poured the oatmeal into two bowls, grabbed a couple of spoons, and silently ascended the three stairs. He shouldered the curtain aside that separated the bedroom from the bath and living areas of his trailer. Huge chocolate-brown eyes wide with terror watched him enter and move slowly to the side of the bed. Using his powers of persuasion, he created an aura of calm around her.
“Don’t be afraid. You’re safe here,” he murmured. “You’ve slept a long time. Hungry? I’ve a warm bowl of oatmeal ready. It’ll put you right, I guarantee.” Smiling he eased himself down on the foot of the bed and put one bowl on the floor beside him. The other bowl and spoon he extended toward her.
Warily, she watched him, carefully licking her swollen, cracked lips. Slowly, she reached for the small bowl. He slid up the bed, placing it in her hand, his hand supporting hers.
“Can you sit up a bit?” He wanted to slide his hands under her, but watching the fear in her eyes made him reconsider.
She nodded, pushing herself up with a groan, still keeping her eyes on his as she reached for the spoon.
Caden picked up the bowl from the floor and scooped a spoonful into his mouth, savoring the warm oatmeal sprinkled with brown sugar and cinnamon. He swallowed the bite and glanced sideways at his patient. She hadn’t touched the food yet. “Eat. I’ll get you a glass of water and be right back. Oh, by the way, I’m Caden, and you are?” He gave her a friendly smile and held up one finger, then disappeared around the corner.
When he returned with a bottle of water, she blinked at him as if to clear bleary vision while she studied him. After several minutes, in a hoarse, scratchy voice, she blurted. “I’m Mystic…Mystic Rayne.” Her bronze cheeks pinked when she glanced down at her naked body. Grimacing, she yanked up the quilt to cover herself. He caught the bowl of oatmeal as it careened off the bed before it hit the floor and offered it to her. A quiet moan slipped from her lips as she eased back on the bed, then reached for the bowl.
Wincing, he watched the pained expression cross her face. He moved to the closet, took out a well-worn flannel shirt, and gently tossed it to her. Returning to the bed, he picked up his oatmeal bowl. “Be right back, then we can talk. Okay?”
Not waiting for an answer, he popped another spoonful of lukewarm oatmeal in his mouth and left the room. Frowning, he cradled the bowl in his hand and padded down the stairs into the kitchen. He shoved the bowl in the microwave for a minute, then took it out and grabbed another bottle of water from the fridge and returned to the bedroom. He twisted the cap from one bottle and set it on the nightstand next to her.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes met hers for a brief moment. He took a swig of his water and shifted his gaze out the window, hoping the lack of direct eye contact would make her feel more comfortable.
He listened to the metal spoon scrape the ceramic bowl as she ate. When the sounds stopped, he ventured a look in her direction. She was watching him intently, taking a sip from the water bottle.
“Feel like a little conversation?” he asked gently, shifting his body farther onto the bed. He spooned up another bite, this one hotter than hell. He sucked in a breath.
She shook her head slowly and leaned against the pillows.
“Don’t want to talk? I understand, but there are a few questions that need answered to assure our safety in the short term.” He gave her his best devastat
ingly charming smile as he tucked the blanket around her legs, noting the shirt he’d offered her still lay on the bed. “Who did this to you? Will someone come looking for you, possibly to make sure you’re dead or finish the job?”
“I don’t know,” she murmured. A single tear rolled down her cheek. Sighing deeply, she turned her face away from him and stared out the window. After a few minutes, she closed her eyes.
“Okay.” He patted her leg, took her empty bowl, and stood. “Get some rest. I’ll be back in a little while.”
A word about the author…
Tena Stetler is a paranormal romance and cozy mystery author with an over-active imagination. She wrote her first vampire romance as a ’tween, to the chagrin of her mother and the delight of her friends. Her books tell tales of magical kick-ass women and mystical alpha males that dare to love them.
With the Rocky Mountains outside her window, Tena sits at her computer surrounded by a wide array of paranormal creatures telling her their tales. Colorado is her home, shared with her husband of many moons, a brilliant Chow Chow, a spoiled parrot, and a forty-year-old box turtle.
Any evening, you can find her curled up in front of a crackling fire with a good book, a mug of hot chocolate, and a big bowl of popcorn.
http://www.tenastetler.com
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