Through the Darkness: Of Love and Loss Series Book One

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Everett lashed out against the new vanilla and rose-scented menace but ended up with his hands caught in a soft yet uncompromising grasp. However, unlike before, they were hands belonging to a female, which gave him pause.

Neither one of the manhandling goons had had a gentle touch. He doubted they even knew what the word meant. Had the battle-ax they called Nurse Winters returned, determined to bring him to heel? No, her harsh tone proved she didn't have a soft bone in her body, and she'd smelled of disinfectant.

Growling low in frustration, he tried to pull free. But this new menace held him tighter instead of letting go.

He opened his mouth to let loose a volley of profanity, hoping to frighten her away. However, she chose that moment to release his left hand before he got out a single syllable. He grunted in approval.

Now, if only she would let go of his right; the damn thing hurt like hell. "Release me," he snapped, tugging ineffectually against her surprisingly firm grasp.

"Do you promise to calm down, Captain?" The woman asked. Her voice was breathless and slightly trembling, but he found it oddly pleasant-sounding—unlike Nurse Winters.

He had excellent reason to be upset, something she should be aware of just by looking at him. "If you even dare restrain me, I swear I'll—"

"You'll what, Captain?"

Everett struggled to think of a threat he could carry out in his current condition but came up empty. The damn woman had called his bluff and won.

Fire coursed through his veins and consumed every nerve, sinew, and muscle. The agonizing pain only grew worse the more he struggled. Sweat trickled down his brow, stinging the raw, burned skin before soaking into the damp bandages covering his eyes.

The torment he'd endured for the past three weeks since being wounded reached new heights, thanks in large part to the clumsiness of Stew and Doyle. The stupid idiots had dropped him not once but twice while transferring him from the ambulance stretcher to the hospital gurney.

And they dared to wonder why he didn't want them to touch him.

Then rabid Nurse Winters had exploded on the scene and escalated it beyond what anyone would willingly endure.

He used to pride himself on his easy-going, slow-to-anger manner—the direct opposite of his hateful father. For as long as he could remember, he'd striven to be someone more inclined to be a peacekeeper in any confrontation.

But things had changed. Hell, he'd be the first to admit he had changed, and lying there simmering with rage, pain, and utter despair, Everett saw himself becoming far too much like his father.

He wanted to weep.

Muscles spasmed, and bones ached with such incredible sharpness it stole his breath, further increasing his misery.

Everett ground his teeth against a wave of agony. A strangled groan tore free of his throat despite his best attempt to bite it back.

Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes and burned the raw and overly sensitive flesh surrounding them. But ripping the damn bandages off would only make the constant pain even more intolerable. He'd learned that lesson well after trying it last week.

He just needed a little relief instead of wanting to crawl out of his skin every second. Unfortunately, however, the morphine didn't work despite the doctor's assurances that his current dosage couldn't be any higher.

But something had to change before the torment drove him insane, or he took matters into his own—

Suddenly, a cool and calming hand settled on the side of his face. It moved slowly and gently up from his cheek, over the dampened bandaging covering his eyes, to finally rest on the bare skin of his forehead.

How long had it been since someone had touched him out of compassion instead of anger? Everett couldn't remember.

There was something maternal to the tender way she stroked his brow. It soothed the incessant ache raging through his every muscle, bone, and sinew.

Too exhausted to continue fighting, his entire body relaxed with one giant exhale and succumbed to her gentle ministrations.

She smoothed the wet strands of hair off his sweaty brow, released her hold on his casted arm, and leaned forward.

A click of a metal latch followed the soft creak of hinges. Then suddenly, crisp spring air smelling of apple blossoms rushed into the room. It caressed his dampened brow and miraculously eased his heated torment.

"I'd better let you rest now," she said quietly. "Are you hungry?"

"No," He groaned, unable to stop his lips from curling in disgust.

Food was the last thing he wanted at the moment. A needle filled with a triple dose of morphine—or enough to down an elephant—would be more to his liking. But, sadly, no one had been willing to grant his wish thus far.

"That's probably a good thing," she murmured, her tone full of wry humor. "Agatha's in the kitchen today... she's a sweet woman, but even the hospital cat won't eat her cooking."

Everett grunted his response, surprised to find himself resisting the urge to smile.

"Is having the window open helping at all?" She paused, resting her hand lightly upon his forehead once more. "You seem a little more relaxed now." Her fingers threaded through his hair, and her thumb brushed back and forth across his forehead. "I wish I could do more for you."

He sighed, surprised to find her touch, coupled with the cool breeze, had become enough for now.

Silence passed before she removed her hand from his skin and stood, leaving him oddly bereft of her touch.

"I should go. You need to sleep." She left his bedside. A curious tap tap tap marked her progress across the room and away from him.

"Will you be back?" He asked, hoping she hadn't heard the panic in his voice. Unless it would make her stay.

Normally, he would never have stooped to guilting someone into doing anything they didn't want to do. But this mystery woman remained the first and only person able to soothe his torment, so he was willing to do whatever proved necessary.

She hesitated before saying, "I really shouldn't... Nurse Winters doesn't like me to interfere."

"But you're here now."

"I shouldn't be."

He grunted, and the left corner of his mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile. "So that's a yes?"

She choked on a giggle, punctuated by the tap tap tap of her walking further away. "We'll see."

That sounded like a 'yes' to him. His lips bent into a small smile—the first one in over two and a half weeks. Then, confident she'd return, he relaxed against the pathetic square tuft of cotton batting meant for a pillow and his mattress and drifted off to sleep, wondering if that tap tap tap meant the mysterious woman had a wooden leg.