My heart pounds. My legs turn to rubber beneath me, and my body crumples under the inescapable pull of gravity. I wait for the hard impact with the stone floor but find myself lifted instead.
“Moira?” A deep voice tugs at the edge of awareness. “Come back to me. Let me in.” While confident, there’s an aggressive edge to his voice. Layered on top of that is a sprinkle of concern and fear.
“Griff, put her on the ground. Zoe, lay out those blankets.” Another deep voice, this one reminding me of rocks breaking beneath a glacier, pierces through the fog of my awareness, but not deep enough to pull me from the grasp of my overwhelming fear.
“What’s wrong with her?” Light and lilting, I know that voice. “Is that a trigger?”
“That is a psychologic break brought on by a trigger. Do you know what happened before she lost it?”
“The two of you were walking on the ledge outside the cave. I was worried, but then I knew it could only be one of two people. Moira freaked out, but after you announced yourselves, I didn’t think anything of it until she dragged me to the back of the cave.”
“We need to know why she triggered.” One of the male voices states. They’re both deep, but that one is more familiar. Intimate even.
My brain processes these pieces of information slowly. Sweaty and breathless, my entire body twitches. Adrenaline floods my system, firing off all my senses and putting them on high alert.
I grab at the nearest thing and stop.
A masculine essence floods my senses. I take another breath, drawing that potent aroma deep into my lungs. I hate men, but something inside me craves that smell and the amazing man to whom it belongs.
The fog surrounding my thoughts lifts, and I pull in a calming breath. I take another breath, drawing more of that scent inside of me. Damaged and traumatized, I’m normally closed off to the foul scents of my abusers, but this is different. He smells different. Dominant masculinity, aggressive protection, and overwhelming concern; it’s a potent concoction, and I’m hooked.
My glazed eyes focus on the face of a Guardian.
My Guardian.
My hands rest on his biceps, and beneath my fingers, thick, corded muscles stretch the skin taut. My fingers trace the dips and valleys of those muscles; every inch honed to perfection by a job that demands excellence in all things.
Griff is a study in masculine beauty.
Before my lungs give out completely, I fight the shadows creeping in and focus on his face. Aside from the churning in my gut and the pounding of my heart, his face entrances me.
That sense of dread falls back beneath those violet eyes. With the fading sunlight, his face is cast in shadow, but I sense his concern and the bristling tension girding his frame. His eyes focus on mine with the same burning intensity as the setting sun.
“Moira.” His voice demands an answer, but I’m too far gone. With fear clouding my thoughts, I struggle to piece together what I’m seeing.
As for how I feel, the very atmosphere vibrates with a buzzing electricity, cracking with white-hot energy. That current sweeps across my skin, sinks into my heart, and stands the fine hairs on my arms on end.
He brushes the backs of his knuckles against my cheek as his chiseled lips bow into a gentle smile. Our gazes lock, and licks of heat race up and down my body.
I feel him everywhere, curling warmth sinking into me. In the depths of his gaze, concern, worry, and the deepest love, shift and simmer. It’s enough to know I’m safe in his arms, that he cares about me with the entirety of his soul.
My arms wrap around his neck, and I pull myself up until I can lean my head against his chest.
“Griff?”
“Glad to have you back, little minx. You had me worried.”
A sigh escapes me as the heat of his body envelopes me. I’m strung out like I’m at the wrong end of a bad trip. It’s a level of exhaustion that hurts. Every muscle in my body wants to surrender, and a great desire for sleep overcomes me.
“I’m tired.”
“I know.” He cradles me in his arms and looks up. “We need to get her out of here.”
“Agreed.”
My head lolls to the side as my strength flees. I snap it back, desperate to hold onto consciousness, but it’s too much.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“For failing at life.”
“Sweet Moira, you are the strongest woman I know.” Griff