3. Cassian

Icatch the raven-haired goddess before she collapses onto the ground, scooping her up in my arms and holding her against my chest. She's trembling, though I'm not sure if it's from cold, fear, or exhaustion. Probably a mix of all three.

As I stare down at the woman cradled in my arms, I wonder who she is, where she came from, and what brought her to the point of hiding out in a construction site in the middle of the fucking mountains. The more I think about the danger she put herself in, the more upset I become, though not at her; at whoever or whatever sent her running.

I begin the short hike from the worksite to my cabin, holding the most precious woman I"ve ever seen against my chest, hoping to infuse some of my warmth into her shivering body. I only saw her sky-blue eyes for a second before she closed them and began apologizing profusely, but the look swimming in their depths will haunt me for the rest of my life.

She was terrified. No, more than that. Something deeper. A kind of pain and fear I've tried to keep locked away since leaving home at sixteen. Once again, I wonder how she ended up here, and more importantly, who the fuck I need to murder for forcing her to put her life in danger.

I know I"m getting way ahead of myself. This woman needs medical attention, a hot shower, a good meal, and a good night"s rest. Then, she"ll be on her way. My stomach flips over at the thought of letting her go, and my chest grows inexplicably tight as if a vice is squeezing the life out of me.

Adjusting the fragile cargo in my arms, I manage to get the door of my cabin open without jostling her too much. A soft whimper falls from her lips, her brow furrowing as if warding off a nightmare.

If I had a heart, it would be breaking right about now.

Focusing back on the task at hand, I carefully lay the mysterious woman on my couch, making sure to cushion her head with a pillow so she doesn't wake up with a sore neck. Lord knows she'll already have aches and pains from sleeping on a concrete floor multiple nights in a row, and I don't want to add neck pain to that list.

I take a moment to look her over, examining the wounds and bruises she's gathered over the last few days. When I kneel down to get a better view of one particularly nasty-looking cut on her upper arm, I see something that has a strange mix of rage and overwhelming sorrow churning in my gut. It's been a long damn time since I've felt anything at all, let alone two strong emotions at the same time.

The scars littering her skin are much older than the cuts and scrapes dealt out by the forest and living out in the wilderness. These are deeper, and though they're faded, I can only imagine the kind of torture she went through to receive them in the first place.

Taking a deep breath, I manage to break the spell this unconscious woman cast over me long enough to run to the bathroom and grab the field medic kit I always have on hand. I can do pretty much anything except for surgery and amputation, though if push comes to shove, I know I'd figure out a way to do those things as well. Thankfully, I don't need to worry about that right now.

As I come back to the living room and kneel down in front of the couch, I realize I've somehow missed her in the twenty seconds I've been gone. Preposterous, I know. This woman has gotten me all riled up, but I'm sure the feeling will pass.

Even as I think the words, I know they're not true. Deep down in my core, I know she's going to change me forever. She already has.

I get to work cleaning up the relatively shallow cuts, placing bandages over some of the larger ones to protect against infection. Next, I grab a washcloth and dampen it with warm water before gently wiping the tear-streaked dirt from her cheeks, revealing creamy, porcelain skin.

Without thinking, I reach out and brush a few strands of hair back, tucking them behind her ear so I can get a better look at my house guest. Never thought I'd have another living soul in my cabin, let alone a woman. A scared, desperate, vulnerable woman who likely wants nothing to do with me. I can't blame her. I don"t want to be around myself either, but I don't have much of a choice.

I find myself brushing the pad of my thumb across her cheek, then lower, tracing her jawline and down the side of her neck. Almost everywhere I look, I see angry marks and scars etched into her skin. Again, I wonder what the fuck this woman has been through. I'll have to be gentle with her, even if I have no idea how to do that. I can already tell this woman is going to bring out things in me I didn't know I was capable of.

Not wanting to be a creep, I withdraw my hand and take a few steps back, putting some distance between us. I don't want to crowd her space or loom over her with my massive frame. She's already scared half to death. It might kill me if she woke up afraid of me, too.

After a few minutes of staring silently at the woman who is changing everything without even knowing it, I decide to put some soup on the stove to heat up. She'll no doubt be hungry when she wakes up.

Right as I'm turning the burner to simmer temp for the soup, my phone rings. I quickly snatch it out of my pocket, answering it just so I can silence the ringer. I don't want to startle the woman with a loud noise. I get the sense she appreciates peace and quiet, though I have no way of knowing that for sure. Maybe I'm just projecting how my traumatic childhood affected me. After sixteen years of chaos, all I wanted was to find a safe, quiet place to heal. Instead, I found the military, which helped in other ways. Now I have the chance to build the safe haven I never had growing up.

"Hello?" the voice on the other end of the line says. I recognize Elliot's voice, and while this is the worst time to talk, I know if he's calling, it's something serious.

"Hey," I answer, trying to keep my voice low as I head out to the back porch to take the call. I look over my shoulder one last time at the scared sleeping beauty on my couch, then head outside.

"Fucking physical therapy for three months," he starts, launching into a tirade about how he's sick of all the medical bullshit and he's ready to be done so he can join us up on the mountain. He needs to heal and find peace more than any of us, but Elliot is as stubborn as a fuckin' mule.

"Is there a place you can go for your physical therapy out here? That way you don't have to wait another several months."

My friend is silent, then grunts after a moment before clearing his throat. "I suppose that's an idea I hadn't thought about," he admits. Not much makes me smile these days, but his response elicits a smirk.

"Glad I could help," I say, chuckling to myself when Elliot grumbles under his breath.

We say our goodbyes and I shove my phone back in my pocket, taking a deep, cleansing breath. My concerns about Elliot are already fading into the background as thoughts of the woman passed out on my couch begin to consume me once more.

Whoever the hell she is, she found a shelter right here with me. I'll protect her from every goddamn thing this cruel world has thrown her way, and then maybe she'll consider staying here. With me.

Fucking crazy is what I am. I know it. I hear it in my obsessive thoughts over a woman who fainted before we could even properly introduce ourselves. Still, I'm drawn to her, my feet moving almost without my permission, carrying me toward my mystery woman.

I take a seat in the chair across from the couch but immediately decide that"s not close enough. Instead, I find myself sitting on the floor with my back propped up against the couch. I count her breaths and sync up my breathing with hers, wanting to be connected to her in some way.

Jesus, if this is how I'm acting when she's not even conscious, I'm almost afraid to see how obsessive I'll be when she wakes up. I guess time will tell.