I bring my knee up, take out my nine from my ankle holster, and turn the safety off. There isn‟t a lot of room in the small wedge I have put us in, but there is enough space to stretch out my legs if I sit upright, which is fine with me. The only direction I have to maintain is in front of me; the collapsed building behind me safeguards my ass and flanks.
Through the night I watch and protect Seek as he heals, and I can‟t tear my eyes away from him. He is absolutely beautiful. His profile is chiseled strength, relaxed in sleep. Masculine lips, softened in repose. He has the type of body that many men go to the gym and work like hell to obtain, all sleek muscles and brawn, but I know he got this way through years of military training and hard work. He wears a dark army green long-sleeve shirt and dark fatigue pants. There is a rip at his rib cage, and I wonder if it was caused by a grazing bullet. I can‟t help running my fingers over the short brush of his hair, liking the tickling sensation on my palm.
Here he is, finally, in front of me. No longer a dream, no longer a yearning; I take a ragged breath. My lungs feel like they‟ve never taken a deep breath before. It is so hard to articulate my emotions at this moment. I want to gush, but despite the blonde hair, I‟m not a gushing kind of girl. I feel like I have waited my whole life for this very moment and am afraid to blink in case it‟s just another dream. I am a bit overwhelmed, expecting at any moment to wake and discover that I am once again back in my tent, sleeping somewhere on the side of the road, finding out all of this was another damn premonition guiding me. I am so sick and tired of always searching, but now that it‟s possible my search is over, I am finding it difficult to even blink in fear that Seek will disappear.
But I suppose it was inevitable that my eyes would close. All I really remember is one moment I feel the heavy, almost painful droop of my eyelids, and the next moment I feel a blade sliding over my throat and a deep, raspy voice demanding, “Who the hell are you?”
Available at: http://www.loose-id.com/Kismet.aspx
Beth D. Carter