Finding Gabriel

by Rachel L. Demeter

  Gabriel sat up and eased to the edge of the mattress. Relief bloomed in his body as both of his feet grazed the floorboards. It was quite a liberating moment. With an unsteady breath, he rose from the bed and stood upright for the first time in nearly a week. He felt rather drunk and unsteady on his feet – as if he were a baby fawn taking its first steps into the world. Oliver loyally stood beside his heels and gazed up at him with those contemplative, strangely human eyes. Gabriel sighed and awarded the dog with a quick pat before treading forward.

  He peered out the window and gazed into Paris’s streets. The fog-covered glass mirrored his ghostly, bandaged reflection. Breathing heavily and clenching both fists, Gabriel wrestled to see past himself and observe the empty alleyway. It was overcast, the sun halfway hidden by a blanket of low-hanging clouds. The district was small and its buildings equally so. Nearly built on top of one another, countless homes crowded the walkway, their walls splintered, battered, and windswept. Clotheslines and ropes of lanterns webbed the buildings as one. From what he could make out, the streets appeared to be poorly tended and crawling with filth.

  Rocky on his feet, Gabriel crossed the length of the room with tentative steps. A moderately sized wooden tub lined one of the walls. Standing before the chipped vanity, he examined his ghastly reflection for the first time. Though the linen bandage obstructed the view of his wound, Gabriel was disgusted by the man staring back at him. Vivid bruising and dried blood encrusted the bandages. Below the linen, on the left side of his face, the exposed flesh was grossly discolored and welted – a likely result from attempting to scramble out of the Seine’s depths. Yellowish bruising and half-healed punctures encircled the bandage’s perimeter. Blood pooled through the material in a morbid ring and darkened the linen to a brown hue. He could feel that several of his back teeth were missing, leaving cavernous holes in their wake. And his eyes … they were rimmed with shadows and strangely vacant. They resembled two open wounds beneath a pair of tightly knit brows.

  Although he couldn’t view the actual disfigurement, he’d seen far more than enough. Half his face was distorted beyond recognition – and he looked worse than a dead man. He was a damned stranger to himself. Pulse racing, he lolled away from his reflection and examined the vanity’s chipped countertop. Various trinkets were scattered across the nicked surface – including a small hand mirror. Gabriel grabbed hold of the wooden neck and lifted it to his face.

  Ariah’s words from days earlier echoed in his mind: “Well, I’m sorry to say, monsieur, but I don’t have the luxury of a hand mirror … as you might have gathered.” A knot gathered in his chest as he realized she’d protected him.

  Indeed. Ariah Larochelle had protected him from himself.

  Sudden, choked laughter exploded from his mouth. The deformity must be truly inconceivable, he thought in dull amusement. Then, exhaling a rigid breath, Gabriel lowered the hand mirror and continued his investigation.

  His satchel hung over the arm of a scarred chair. Several miniature portraits were arranged across the countertop’s worn surface in a single-file line. Two of them appeared quite old and spoke of considerable fortune; their frames were gilded and craftsmanship superior. Where did she acquire such items? And who were the people? They consisted of dual portraits – surely a man and wife. Gabriel assumed they were Ariah’s parents – a revelation that confirmed she did indeed come from a decent bloodline. The lady was a charming blonde with soft eyes and an even softer smile; her husband bore curly auburn hair, a thoughtful grin, and unparalleled refinement.

  The third miniature, however, was much plainer and more recently acquired. It boasted a rather handsome young gentleman dressed in military garb. Gabriel collected the third portrait from the countertop and examined it closely. His vision was still strained, and he was forced to lift it centimeters from his face.

  Mon Dieu.

  The air gushed from his lungs. His fingers grew numb and ice-cold. The portrait fell from his grasp and tumbled onto the vanity with a resounding crash. He chanced another look at the thing – inwardly hoping what he’d seen had been an illusion. Perhaps a trick of his deluded senses.

  Alas, it was not.

  A dent marred the frame and a fine hairline crack ominously spread across the man’s handsome features. Oliver approached Gabriel with a low whine, his hind leg skidding against the floorboards. Gabriel ignored the dog and battled to control his breathing. Staring down at the portrait, he grasped onto the vanity’s edge to better support his body weight. Sudden heartache flooded his body in a fierce storm. He glanced into the mirror and saw past his reflection – past the bandages, past the bruised, weathered features and insipid stare. Instead of looking at himself, he saw sapphire eyes staring back at him. And they pierced his very soul.

  Indeed, his thoughts traveled to the child who was only a room away … an innocent child who’d been left fatherless. In many ways, Emmaline and Ariah were living on borrowed time and hope. And in a flash of brutal realization, the misfortunes of Gabriel’s own life began to pale. The pain eased from his wound, fading into a dull ache.

  He recognized that face.

  Gabriel had known that soldier for many years.

  Jacques Larochelle was dead.

  •

  Muted footfall and erratic banging anchored Ariah’s attention. Arching her brow, she thoughtfully closed her book and laid it aside. Was Gabriel finally out of bed and walking about? And if so, should she check on him? The footsteps sounded clumsy and remarkably loud. Ariah wasn’t surprised by that fact – though she worried for the man’s safety. What if he grew dizzy and fell? Perhaps he’d overexert himself; he was a very proud individual with little regard to his own humanity or limits. Nor would he care if he exerted himself to the point of death. He’d made that point pristinely clear several days earlier.

  “Do it. Go on. Finish what I started.”

  At first, she’d barely heard those words, so consumed she’d been by her own inner turmoil.

  After a moment of contemplation, she decided not to check on him; she’d left a chamber pot and a pitcher of water inside the room for his convenience and didn’t wish to intrude. He’d made it abundantly clear that he desired solitude. He considered her an unwanted presence – and Ariah could respect that. In less than a week, he’d ventured into the depths of hell and back. As one might expect, he was bitter, drained, and angry with the world at large. In many ways, the soldier reminded Ariah of a wounded, cornered beast. She suspected he needed time to lick his wounds and gather his thoughts.

  She should have never inquired about Lisette. At the mention of the name, his pain had been tangible. And she ought to have remembered his words from nearly a week ago: “My family is dead.” During his hours of darkness, he’d whispered Lisette with incredible love and devotion. Those raw emotions had called out to her, stirring something deep inside her heart. And alongside Ariah’s newfound empathy dawned a revelation: they were both equally broken.

  She winced, recalling her elaborate reaction to his outburst. Surely he must think me a madwoman. And in many ways she was. She’d acted without rational thought, guided purely by instinct and self-preservation …

  More footfall resounded from the back rooms.

  Ariah sighed, cradled her chin, and observed her daughter. Emmaline didn’t seem to mind the disturbance. Spread across the floorboards and contentedly playing with her dolls, she was quite oblivious to the ruckus. As usual, she’d resigned to a world of make-believe. Flushed with cheer, she chattered incoherently and infused her dolls with life.

  A jarring crash resonated through the house.

  Eyes wide, Emmaline lowered her rag doll and twisted toward the sound. “Maman? What was that noise? I’m frightened!”

  Ariah sprang to her feet. Her heart banged against her rib cage, threatening to burst from her chest. “I … I don’t know. But I want you to stay here. Understand?”

  Sitting cross-legged, Emmaline set her dolls aside, nodded, and watched as he
r mother vanished into the bedchamber.

  •

  Ariah’s heart fairly stopped at the sight lurking before her. Gabriel was hunched over the vanity, staring down at one of the miniatures. He remained mute and motionless, his back curved into a powerful and menacing arch. Even through the material of his greatcoat, she saw that his arms were as muscular as the rest of him. Folding both limbs over her chest, she took a tentative step forward and summoned her courage. The long raven forelock curtained his bandage and obstructed his face from view.

  He was absorbed in unwavering thought. Ariah had the feeling he hadn’t noticed her entrance. Deciding it best to leave him alone, she spun on her heels and proceeded to exit.

  “Stay.”

  Obeying, she froze dead in her tracks and slowly turned toward him. Indeed, he spoke with complete authority – as if he was used to giving commands. And having them obeyed without question.

  A new strength fortified the word – one she hadn’t heard before. “Ariah …” His tone was a rich, sultry baritone. Husky, robust, demanding. It crawled underneath Ariah’s skin in a resonating caress and set her imagination ablaze. The words were slightly muffled from the injury to his mouth, though such a thing didn’t detract from the force of his vocals. On the contrary, the raspy accent stroked her skin, making the fine hairs on her arms stand fully erect.

  The urge to both flee and swoon overcame her.

  So she did nothing at all.

  Standing a few paces away from the colonel, she waited in suspenseful anticipation. There was something different about him this morning … something she couldn’t place her finger on, something that both saddened and intrigued her greatly. This was not the resentful and embittered man from mere days ago. A new energy radiated from his body, as palpable as the very air they shared. It was a subtle change, but a change nonetheless.

  Oliver waddled over, greeting her with an enthusiastic lick and a low whine. Ariah ignored the mutt, unable to tear her eyes from Gabriel’s ominous form.

  He finally raised his head in an agonizingly slow motion. The forelock slid away, framing dark brows and even darker eyes. Gleaming with the force of a dagger, his gaze sharpened as he examined her from head to toe. Mon Dieu, she felt everywhere those penetrating eyes touched. Her heart quickened at the restless perusal. Needing escape, she glanced downward and fidgeted with her wedding band.

  “Glad to see you up and about. You are feeling better, I reckon?” she asked after a tedious silence.

  “Well,” he scoffed, “I dare say I’m not feeling worse.” His tone softened almost to a whisper. The words were a gentle caress. Quite suddenly, Ariah ached to hear him speak again.

  But another silence pressed between them. She and Gabriel briefly held each other’s gaze. Then he scrubbed a hand over his bandage and straightened his posture.

  She cleared her throat, patted Oliver on the head, and shuffled closer to the vanity. Gabriel stood a meter away now, intimately close and towering high above her body.

  A dark cloud seemed to hover overhead. He glanced at the miniatures once more, visibly battling some mysterious tangle of emotions. Then he captured her gaze – but said nothing.

  Ariah came into step beside him and glanced at their mirrored reflections. Gabriel loomed over her, dark and silent. Narrow hips gave way to a pair of broad, well-muscled shoulders. Ariah’s gaze crept down the length of his body with a mixture of fascination and tingling wariness. She saw past the bandages and bruising with surprising ease. For the first time, intricate details called out to her and roused her senses.

  His features were strong and decisively formed. He was far too masculine to be called beautiful. She’d never seen him stand before now. And his presence dominated the room. He was impossibly tall, dwarfing her own body in comparison. Indeed, she barely reached the middle of his chest. Despite his large size and strength, he possessed a sleek elegance she’d never witnessed in a man before. The beginnings of a beard shadowed what was visible of his jawline and darkened his overall appearance. The military coat was loose and half-unbuttoned, exposing the sculpted column of his neck. A dense mat of hair peeked out from the collar and decorated the muscled contours of his chest. She noticed that he’d lost a sufficient amount of weight over the last week. Regardless, the man was nothing less than an engine of strength and authority.

  Early stirrings of fear bloomed within her breast, consuming her from the inside out. She swallowed, rocked on her heels, then hastily cleared her throat. “I … I wanted to apologize about before … when I asked you about that name. It certainly wasn’t my intention to tear open old wounds.”

  Gabriel shrugged his massive shoulders and glanced down at her. “You were curious about the strange man beneath your roof. I can hardly blame you.” The steady drawl of his words sent chills up and down Ariah’s spine. She vainly attempted to force them away and waited for him to continue. Ever at war, her mind and body battled conflicting emotions. Indeed. Everything about this man fascinated her senses, rekindled old fears, and tugged at her imagination. “And besides … I had been probing your past. I suppose such an inquiry is only fair.”

  Ariah nodded and turned away from those burning eyes. She inhaled an unsteady breath while her heart clattered against her ribs. Seeking some form of distraction, she eyed Jacques’s miniature and collected it from the countertop. “The bravest, most noble man I have ever known.”

  A brief silence hung in the air. “I don’t doubt it.”

  Stunned by the sincerity in his voice, Ariah’s lips gave way to a small smile. “Emmaline adores him. Which is strange, since she hasn’t seen him for nearly three years. Some evenings, she’ll wait in the drawing room and stare out the window as if he might return at any moment. And hopefully, he shall …” Her fingers slid across the cracked frame as she abandoned herself to distant thought. Guilt welled in Ariah’s gut – and she cursed away the blistering attraction she felt for Gabriel. It was wrong – and in so many ways. “You and Jacques might have very well crossed paths,” she continued, gesturing toward the medals that shone on his greatcoat.

  “I am so sorry.”

  “Sorry?” She lowered the miniature, returning it to its home on the vanity. “Whatever for?”

  He paused and shook his head. For several moments, he seemed to search for the right words. When they at last came, his tone dropped several octaves, as if conveying a painful secret. His voice was deep and sultry, flavored with a mild whiskey tone. It oozed through her body – she felt almost drunk from those hypnotic refrains.

  “Just … I was looking at the portrait and dropped it. Naturally, I’ll provide finances for a new frame.”

  Sudden laughter burst from her lips. “Oh, come now, monsieur. Don’t be ridiculous. You really think a frame is so important to me?”

  The very air shifted in the room.

  Without warning, he took a step behind her and aligned their two bodies. They were impossibly close. Intimately close. Mon Dieu. Ariah was struck dumb by the man’s unusual grace and sleekness. Panther-like. Smooth. Formidable. It was something you hardly encountered in a person his size.

  Her breath caught in her chest. Fear closed around her throat, preventing any words from surfacing. Her hands flew forward and gripped the edge of the counter. Each breath rattled inside her breast while her nails dug into the wood. Then her five senses heightened and took on a life of their own. She drank in the smooth feel of the wood beneath her fingertips, the low rasp of Gabriel’s voice, the wavering shafts of sunlight beyond the window, the soft creak of the panels as she adjusted her posture … the delicious heat of his body pressed against her own.

  All darkness and torn emotion, he hovered behind her like a secretive shadow.

  She was frightened. Extremely frightened. There was no denying the truth any longer. The past had resurrected at full force. Her fear wasn’t logical, she knew – he showed no intention of harming her. And yet her pulse quickened, making the vein in her neck stir to life.

>   “Tell me.” Gabriel’s breath misted against her nape in an airy tease. Her spine tingled at the sensation and grew impossibly stiff. He edged nearer still, the deep lull of his voice seducing her trust. “What exactly is important to you, Ariah Larochelle?”

  Massaging her entire form, the words resonated from his chest in a rumbling bass. An intimate blend of desire and genuine curiosity empowered them. Eyes never parting from their shared reflection, he lifted his hand and traced the curve of her cheek. She stiffened more, if that were even possible, readying herself for the pain that was sure to come. Instead, those large hands tentatively brushed her curls aside and exposed her neck.

  “Family,” she at last stuttered, simultaneously fighting to catch her breath. He studied her with his piercing gaze, those rich eyes never wavering. His stare heated her insides and seemed to sparkle like a velvet, star-filled sky. “Emmaline. My daughter. I … I care for nothing more.”

  His face dropped several centimeters until the linen bandage ground against her curls. He turned into her hair and audibly inhaled the aroma. Calloused, weathered hands massaged her throat; they delicately flittered across her neck as his fingers joined together in the form of a steeple. Then he cupped her chin within the cradle of his palm and lifted her face. In response, the dagger grated against her thigh and mocked her courage. Their eyes mingled in the reflection in an enticing swirl of sapphire and mahogany. His fingers were impossibly long and surging with strength. They caressed her with intoxicating, calculated strokes. Her neck fell limp within his grasp, and a sharp exhale of air fled her lips.

  “And yet you brought me here … into your home … beneath the roof of your family – the thing you care about most.”

  She nodded, far too scared to move, too lost within his mesmerizing touch to attempt an escape. Mon Dieu, he could snap her neck if he so much as pleased. Yet there was a certain tenderness in both his touch and voice, a gentleness she hadn’t felt in his presence before this moment. She wondered what had inspired this change – and what its implications were.