Page 10 of Beneath the Mountain Sky
I open my mouth, and a straw slips slightly into it.
Water.
Yes, that would be good.
So thirsty.
I take a short pull from it.
Cool liquid coats my desert-dry throat.
God, does that taste good…
Killian’s hand slides away from my face, and he pulls the straw back. “Not too much.” Feet shuffling again. Murmured voices I can’t quite make out. “Willow? Can you open your eyes?”
His voice wavers.
Unsure.
Unsteady.
Not at all the way he usually sounds.
That alone is enough to get me to make another attempt to see what’s wrong, what has him so upset.
I finally manage to get my lids to lift, and Killian’s face is right there, illuminated by something behind me in the relative darkness of the room.
Thick, long blond hair falls over his temples and to his shoulders, disheveled and unkempt. Rough and rugged.
Just like the man.
A muscle in his clenched jaw tics while he examines me.
Those icy eyes sweep over my face, narrowing with concern. Taking in every minute detail, as if he hasn’t looked at me every single day for the last five years and known me my entire life before that.
Almost like he’s seeing me for the first time.
Heavy lines at the corners of his eyes and dark smudges beneath them make him look somehow older. Exhausted. Almost…haunted. “Willow?”
“Hi…”
The corners of his lips twitch slightly, melting away a bit of the tension from his features. “Hi.”
He releases a long exhale that sounds like he’s been holding his breath for days and cups my cheek again, slowly grazing his thumb across it. Goosebumps break out across my skin at the soft touch coming from such a strong man, clearly filled with so much tension.
I shiver slightly, every part of me aching or stinging or screaming out in some other way.
His brow immediately furrows, distress darkening that azure gaze. “The doctor’s going to be here soon.”
Doctor?
It takes a moment for my foggy brain, still tinged with that warm, welcoming darkness, to process his words.
Oh, the beeping…
That’s why the sound is so familiar.
I peek over my shoulder at the machines lined up behind my hospital bed, monitoring my vital signs. An IV line runs to my left hand, which explains the tug on it when I moved. But nothing explains why I’m here, or why the hell it feels like my entire body is revolting against me.
