by Dawson, Zoe
In the dream, I had been in a sunlit glen. I wore armor, chain mail, heavy and protective. It felt both constricting and safe at the same time.
I was there for a reason. I was looking for something. My desperation stirred and howled like a wolf gone mad.
Then the rustle of the bushes, a presence that I knew like I knew my own heart, rippled out from the trees and touched me with a shivering sensation that penetrated the armor as if it wasn’t even there.
She emerged, all glitter and sunshine, her hair strands of alabaster that gleamed in the sun that beat down on me. Her sweet, otherworldly, pixie face was so beautiful, so unique I couldn’t look away. The deep blue of her eyes was as vast and limitless as the sky.
My breath hitched. I’d found her. The lifeline I’d been looking for. She was lithe, all grace and beauty. She slipped through the burning sunlight and cool shadows, elusive and secretive until I felt my breath tighten with each graceful step she took.
I could not form words. I pulled the sword from my back, knowing she was a threat to me, but with a wave of her hand, the weight disappeared and the sword vanished.
“You don’t need that here,” she said, her voice musical, winsome and irresistible.
One minute she was too far away, the next we were so close not even air could pass between us. She pushed on my chest, and I tumbled backwards and hit the grass, the fragrance of it overwhelming me.
She tried to straddle me, but I rolled, aching from her touch, as if the armor were nothing more than the hard curve of my bare chest.
No protection.
But no matter where I rolled, she was there, and I was exhausted from the battle inside me.
“Yield to me,” she whispered. Her voiced filled with dreams and a hope so pure and painful it wrenched tears from my eyes.
“I want to touch you,” she demanded. “You can’t stop me.”
“Oh, God,” I trembled and arched into her hips. “You can’t. You can’t do this.”
Her palm slid upward, caressing my thighs, over the bulge beneath the armor that was no armor, my dick aching and full, hard from the weight of her fingers wrapped around me. She moaned with the feel of me in her hands, the intimate heat moving toward a center of fire. Then we were both naked, her glorious shape shimmered in the sun and pressed down on me, encompassing me deep in her body.
“No,” I pleaded. But her hands molded over my chest, the breadth of my shoulders, passed over the flame-hot curve of my muscle and bone. “Don’t touch me. I can’t. Why are you doing this?”
She didn’t answer. Her kiss scored the arch of my throat, her hand pressed over my heart.
“Don’t touch me.” I twisted beneath her and clutched and moaned in desperation. “Please, don’t touch me!”
Her body enveloped me, covering me in hot darkness and passion. I felt her touch on my lips and throat. I tried to look at her and saw nothing but pure light, a creature of radiance, glowing an incandescent blue.
I felt the sharp pain to my heart and looked down at my chest to find a jeweled dagger with the most exquisite purple flowers along the hilt. Her hands tightened on the grip, and with rapture in her eyes, she shoved it deeper, a pressing, violent, sweet sensation. My body exploded with pleasure so intense I cried out, and my release felt so incredible, as though, instead of killing me, the dagger was giving me life.
That’s when the dream ended and I opened my eyes to find her taking something forbidden.
And there was a blue light in her eyes, and my sleepy mind was vulnerable from the emotions the dream had evoked. The pulse of my body was urging me to accept her invitation.
I moved, straddled her like she’d straddled me in my dream. But she didn’t fight me or tell me not to touch her. I wanted her to, but she just looked up at me, like I was the man who could save her.
Like I was a hero.
But I wasn’t.
I wasn’t.
I hadn’t saved anyone.
Not even myself.
But I couldn’t give a fuck right now.
I couldn’t give a flying fuck. And I was suddenly pissed.
I slid my hands into all that glorious ivory mass of hair and kissed her.
I wasn’t gentle. I’d intended to be. But she’d fueled my anger, made me want to crush her close until she recognized me, until she understood she wasn’t kissing some knight with non-existent armor I had thought was real.
I cupped her face in my hands, needing the sensation of her skin, the warmth of her filling all the cold and dark places inside me. I balanced on my knees, hovering above her and feeling the magnetic pull of her hips. My hands looked so big as I shaped her fragile bones, large enough that I could spread my fingers and encompass her jaw.
With a soft moan, I brushed her lips, but the enticement of her drew on me like a vortex, and I sought a deeper, stronger taste, pressing my lips more firmly into hers. Her hands came up to my waist, slipping under the tails of my shirt, and her palms burned on my skin like brands.
“Don’t touch me,” I whispered against her mouth, panting, pleading.
But her hands traveled up my back, and with my open mouth still on hers, I absorbed the sensation greedily.
She pushed at me, and I tumbled, just like I had in my dream, and she straddled me, her pelvis exactly where I needed her. She thrust her hips.
“Oh God,” I whispered without moving. “Oh, god, oh, god…”
She pressed her mouth to mine, not giving me a moment to catch my breath. It was her pixie magic that consumed me, seeped through muscle and bone like enchanted wildfire. My hips bucked with the sheer agony of pleasure that rolled through me like a freight train. My hands gripped her waist, desperate for something to anchor me in my violently twisting world of sensations, like rushing air lovingly filling the vacuum inside me.
She gasped for air, meeting my tongue. My hand tightened on her waist. It slid upward and opened intimately, embracing the full shape of her breast. My thumb closed against my finger, teasing her hard nipple through the soft fabric of her sweater and lacy bra beneath.
Sharp sensation shot through me as her hips reacted, jackknifing into mine for relief. I slipped my hand over her back, pushing her into the grip I had on her nipple, sliding my thumb in a slow, coaxing rotation. Her body shuddered and she moaned, piercing me with her ecstasy.
I kissed her again, hard, tasting sweet excitement as my fingers drew little twitches and a deep arching of her body, innocence driven into untutored lust. My reason was dissolving, and I wanted to take her completely. Right here. Right now. She was driving me crazy, close and yet forbidden. I wanted the tempest and I wanted the calm that came after.
She pressed fully along my taut body, triggering a wave of sensation, an erotic clenching, that knotted every muscle. Her hips moved again, her pelvis grinding against mine.
I made an anguished sound. With another shudder, I rose to meet her frantic movements, the heavy fullness in my dick expanding with each thrust.
I held her hard, one arm crushed across her lower back, my dick pressed hard against the fly of my jeans. My teeth scored her neck and she gasped my name as her body jerked ecstatically against mine.
“Fuucckk!”
My cry was hoarse, the pleasure so intense made me go liquid inside as my orgasm released with a stunning backlash of pleasure that went on and on. A shudder racked me, my hips rocking against her with a rough, frantic motion.
I knew it was a terrible mistake, a terrible miscalculation on my part. My body throbbing with the pleasure she’d given me, I felt as if everything had exploded into chaos, all the work I’d done to make myself numb, she’d destroyed it in a few moments. Pulsating life slammed through me, and in that moment I realized, dear god, I was alive. So alive.
Suddenly her cries touched off something. Things got hazy, and the world shifted into that sick sensation I knew way too well. There were noises that I didn’t want to hear, and I tried to cover my ears, but they weren’t silenced. I turn
ed my head, and Elsa’s eyes stared at me, pleading with me. But I was chained. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t get to her.
“No!” I shouted, and in my delusion, I knocked Alissa to the floor. It was as if the flashback overlaid my eyes and I saw two different realities. I scrambled off the couch, but it felt like the hard ground to me. In my haste, I hit my head on the coffee table, but it was a rifle that connected to my temple. Stinging agony rolled through me. My raw back stung with open wounds from the torture I’d received only hours before. The wind caused spikes of pain through my ruined shirt.
“Elsa! Fuck, no! Stop it you bastards! Leave her alone!”
I pulled and pulled, my wrist a bloody mess, but the chain held me. I wanted to kill them with my bare hands, and it shattered my sense of who I was, the pieces jagged and sharp stabbing through everything I was.
The chain broke and I lunged forward. The man with the scar was my world. My only focus. I hit him like a battering ram, knocking him to his back. My hands went around his throat and squeezed.
I snapped out of the flashback, panting on my hands and knees, the smooth wood floor beneath my palms instead of that bastard’s throat.
I turned to look at Alissa, and her eyes were wide with compassion, her hand over her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears.
“This is why you’re here. Why you’ve isolated yourself out here in the wilderness. Something terrible happened to you, and you can’t control the memories,” she said.
I shut down. Everything she had just awakened went numb, and my heart squeezed over the loss of that bright and beautiful everything. I couldn’t tolerate her pity, and her compassion cut me.
I shoved up off the floor and fled out of the living room and out the back door, slamming it behind me. The cold bit into my overheated skin. Skin that Alissa had just touched and made me totally understand that I wasn’t dead. Not dead like I thought. What did that mean? What could I do?
A cruel wind blew and I looked for it. Drew closer to the dark abyss as my demons laughed and danced and urged me on.
I took a step. I was tired, exhausted, broken and bleeding out inside. There was nothing left. Nothing. I looked at the cliff again, thought of hurling myself off it, knew my stomach would drop in the free fall to my real death. The snow was still coming down. I was so damned tired.
Then her eyes flashed in my mind, the beauty of her smile, the smell of her, and the feel of her hands on my skin. Taking care of her and her ankle had rekindled that need in me to help, to do the job I’d studied so hard to master, to find myself somewhere among the scattered pieces. But she’d been wrong. Dead wrong. I hadn’t come to isolate myself. I hadn’t come to heal. I hadn’t come to work things out. I’d come here to die like I should have died on the Ivory Coast of Africa. But why hadn’t I done it? What was holding me back? If I did it the pain and guilt would finally, finally be gone.
Cold air blew across my wet jeans and shame burned in me for my inability to even hold on to my own convictions. I hadn’t come in my jeans like that since I was a teenager. But it had been so long, and I wanted her too much.
The slow slide of moisture from my temple slipped down the side of my cheek and I ignored it, and the throbbing.
I took a step forward and I heard the door open behind me. “Dakota.”
I didn’t turn around.
“Dakota.”
She pulled me backwards, her voice like a siren, tantalizing, promising such riches, if only I would accept, drawing me back from the edge while my demons howled their fury.
I turned and she offered her hand to me. It was a simple gesture. But I felt paralyzed until I met the summer blue of her eyes. And in the cold, damp night, with my anguish raw, her warmth infused me. But I still couldn’t move. She kept her earnest gaze on me, her lips parted a little, and I wanted to kiss her even now. Her breathtaking eyes, so solemn, full of compassion. I felt a gushing rush, a surge of protectiveness and resentment. Why didn’t she just let me go?
She didn’t know anything about the way I was, or the dangerous state I was in—trapped in a maelstrom of anger and terror and lust. But her bravery in the face of my breakdown and erratic behavior warranted at least some kind of response. I raised my hand, reached out, and she moved to clasp it.
She dragged me into the house and to my room and into the bathroom. I just stood there like an idiot. She left me, and I wanted to sink down and disappear.
She came back with fresh clothes, turned on the shower. With a soft sigh, she wet a washcloth and gently wiped the blood off my face.
She brushed her fingertips against my jaw to get my attention. “Dakota. Take a warm shower. I brought some clean clothes. Then we’ll have dinner. I’m sure you’ll make something wonderful. Okay?”
I stirred and looked down at her. She was a miracle I wanted to deserve. “Thank you,” I said softly and she left, closing the door behind her.
I got in the shower, letting the warm water relax everything, heat my skin, release that hard ball of pain in the pit of my stomach. Some of what I had experienced with Alissa came pouring back, and it hurt like blood rushing back to a numb limb.
I wanted that. I wanted her. I didn’t know how to find myself to give to her. I couldn’t see how to put myself back to the way I was before the blood, before the death, before failure and the breaking of my vow.
She’d loosened something inside me by giving me all that she had given me, being so open and trusting. Her compassion made me wonder, made a tiny bit of hope grow in me. It was so, so fragile.
Covering my eyes, I sank down and cupped my face with both of my hands, my hope and despair mingling with the blood from my gash and the warm water from the shower.
#
When I came out to the kitchen, she rose from the table. Our eyes met and she smiled. “You look better. Are you better?” she said it quietly, without a trace of pity or condescension. Then she frowned and limped over to me. “You’re still bleeding. Sit down. Where is your amazing case?”
“Over there.”
She made her way to it, bent over, and rummaged around inside. Finding what she wanted, she limped back to me.
“Is it okay to touch you?”
I closed my eyes and nodded. I couldn’t think of anything in this world that I wanted more.
Her fingers were warm as she stroked my temple, brushing away my damp hair. I kept my eyes closed so I could focus on every nuance of her closeness. It was hard not to stiffen up. I was so rusty at this. The long day had taken a pretty big toll, and I was dead on my feet, so I felt the panic more than I showed.
I sensed her move and couldn’t stop the faint groan I made when she placed her mouth against my temple. The kiss was gentle, almost sweet, and I felt my heart catch a little when she wove her fingers into my hair and held my head to apply the bandage.
“I could have done that myself, you know,” I said.
“You could probably slay dragons bareback. But, I wanted to do it for you. You’re so tired. Emotionally ragged, as would be expected of someone who had gone through what you’ve gone through.”
“Alissa…”
“It’s my turn to help you. Let me, please.”
Those words sounded so good like an answered prayer. I hadn’t ever sought help. After I had been rescued, the nightmares and the flashbacks had driven me out of my home to this place that had become my prison.
“Thank you for what you did on the deck,” I said. “What happened in the living room…I’m…I’m sorry for that.”
“Actually, I’m sorry I woke you up, but I’m not sorry that I kissed you like that. I’m not sorry I touched you. I’m not sorry about what happened. I’ve never known passion like that, Dakota. Never. I’ve never felt more alive than I have here in this cabin with you. The way you look at me…I can’t describe it. It’s so…real. So, I hope the hell you’re talking about the flashback and not what we shared.”
“That should have been a mistake.”
“But, it was
n’t.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“That’s not true. I know you carve beautifully, part of my fascination with your hands. I know that you’d risk your life to save a total stranger on the edge of a cliff. I know that a woman’s tears affect you so profoundly that you’d risk your life again. This time for a silly backpack, without even asking what meaning it has, only knowing that it has meaning. And, I know that you are a wonderful healer, with a sometimes-grumpy bedside manner.” She took a deep breath. “And, I know that you are an amazing kisser.”
I turned to look at her and she smiled at me. Maybe I didn’t have to find all the pieces. Maybe she was rebuilding me with her delicate hands, reshaping me, finding the heart of me within all that shattered mess. Giving it back to me, uncovering the beat and strength I once knew. It was like she was bringing me back to life. Giving me the courage to live again instead of this cold, numb limbo I’d wrapped myself in for six months. Dared I hope that much? My heart contracted. With this woman in my life, I could slay dragons. Could I find the courage to do that? Could I seek help from a professional? Get my life back?
Ending my life. That was the coward’s way out, and admitting that to myself was a wakeup call that I did need help. Seeking it, going home. Those would be tough things to do, but finally telling someone about what happened? That would be the hardest part of all.
When I didn’t respond, she cupped my face and kissed me softly. I couldn’t remain still with her mouth on mine. I kissed her back with all the emotion I had swirling in my chest.
“See?” she said. “Amazing.” She pulled out one of the chairs and sat down facing me. “Have you talked to anyone about what happened to you?”
I shook my head. “Never. I just ran away.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s too awful to talk about. Maybe I wasn’t ready.”
“Do you think you’re ready now?”
“Maybe.”
Her face grew really serious. “I know what it’s like to be lost like that, Dakota. There was a very dark time in my life when I took an ugly path because of my isolation.” She reached out and snagged my wrist and turned it over. “So many scars,” she whispered as she traced the rough skin there. “What happened here?”
