massive body. Transfixed by the sight, she unconsciously reached forward and traced one of the raised scars. The flesh twisted along his beating heart, coarse and ragged, like some eternal, windswept mountain range.
Swallowing, she unfastened the last several clasps and loosened the bloodstained greatcoat. Now that he had room to breathe, a mutual sense of relief surged through her own body.
She reached for the end table and seized hold of a rag. Then she dipped it into the basin and wiped away the sweat. His heartbeat thundered beneath her fingertips as he fought for life.
“Stay with me, monsieur.”
“Lisette …”
There was that name again. Lisette.
Who was she? His wife? His lover? A beloved mistress?
And what would Lisette think of him now?
Her heart ached at that last inquiry. Exhaling a weary sigh, she laid the rag across his forehead and absorbed some of the sweltering heat. His expression softened while a choked groan tore from chapped, blistered lips.
“I’m here with you. And I refuse to leave your side.”
As she watched the soldier gradually sink into sleep, Doctor Mongeau’s words from only hours before echoed in her mind: I’m afraid the exit wound does not lie.
•
Gabriel was neither awake nor asleep.
The darkness engulfed him. He was suffocating beneath its incalculable weight. And how tempting it was to succumb to that beckoning night … to allow the surrounding blackness to spirit him away forever. But within the abyss shone a faint ray of light.
No, not a light – a rather comforting warmth called out to him with equal reserve, beckoning him from the hands of a dark, eternal void.
It was an angel.
Gabriel had always laughed in the face of God – and yet he ached to believe.
Mesmerized and entranced, he focused on the divine spectacle that seemed to float above him. And what an immaculate spectacle it was. Appearing as no more than a halo within the limitless night, a crown of golden curls cushioned a porcelain complexion. A pale, oceanic gaze peered down at him. Curious emotion inflamed those enchanting eyes … an emotion he couldn’t begin to fathom. And lips, painted a devilish red, clashed against her china-doll face.
Gabriel withered in agony while the darkness fought for his soul. God’s teeth, how he ached for this night to end.
A gentle touch stroked his brow. “Shh, please … you mustn’t exert yourself, monsieur. All shall soon be well.” The words were soft and full of promise, each one spoken like a lullaby. And then she sang – and Gabriel swore he’d never heard a sweeter, more soothing sound.
“ The gentle breath of winter sings,
It cools my brow and furls my wings.
And when the dusk at last descends,
I shall keep my hope, steel my heart,
for never will thy love depart.
Now you are come all my grief has gone,
Let us forget those nights that never dawned.”
Warmth radiated around him, sheathing his body within a tender cocoon. His limbs relaxed of their own accord as he succumbed to the beckoning light.
His angel was much closer now. Heated exhales drifted across his battered features in fleeting caresses. Sweet scents flooded his nostrils and overwhelmed his senses … rosewater and nectar. A delicate hand rose into vision and rested across his forehead. The soft, supple flesh of her palm felt wondrously cool against his skin. He shuddered and leaned into the tentative caress.
“You are still very feverish.” The angel’s voice quavered with uncertainty. “Don’t worry, monsieur – and do not lose hope. I am here with you.”
He attempted to speak – but his voice emerged as nothing more than a choked groan. A moment later, a damp chill came over his forehead. A sigh of relief escaped him as the sweltering heat gradually faded away.
And then the darkness descended once more.
•
He was supposed to be dead.
Instead, he was very much alive. Very much alive and suffering from excruciating pain.
Gabriel’s consciousness had lapsed
Swallowing, she unfastened the last several clasps and loosened the bloodstained greatcoat. Now that he had room to breathe, a mutual sense of relief surged through her own body.
She reached for the end table and seized hold of a rag. Then she dipped it into the basin and wiped away the sweat. His heartbeat thundered beneath her fingertips as he fought for life.
“Stay with me, monsieur.”
“Lisette …”
There was that name again. Lisette.
Who was she? His wife? His lover? A beloved mistress?
And what would Lisette think of him now?
Her heart ached at that last inquiry. Exhaling a weary sigh, she laid the rag across his forehead and absorbed some of the sweltering heat. His expression softened while a choked groan tore from chapped, blistered lips.
“I’m here with you. And I refuse to leave your side.”
As she watched the soldier gradually sink into sleep, Doctor Mongeau’s words from only hours before echoed in her mind: I’m afraid the exit wound does not lie.
•
Gabriel was neither awake nor asleep.
The darkness engulfed him. He was suffocating beneath its incalculable weight. And how tempting it was to succumb to that beckoning night … to allow the surrounding blackness to spirit him away forever. But within the abyss shone a faint ray of light.
No, not a light – a rather comforting warmth called out to him with equal reserve, beckoning him from the hands of a dark, eternal void.
It was an angel.
Gabriel had always laughed in the face of God – and yet he ached to believe.
Mesmerized and entranced, he focused on the divine spectacle that seemed to float above him. And what an immaculate spectacle it was. Appearing as no more than a halo within the limitless night, a crown of golden curls cushioned a porcelain complexion. A pale, oceanic gaze peered down at him. Curious emotion inflamed those enchanting eyes … an emotion he couldn’t begin to fathom. And lips, painted a devilish red, clashed against her china-doll face.
Gabriel withered in agony while the darkness fought for his soul. God’s teeth, how he ached for this night to end.
A gentle touch stroked his brow. “Shh, please … you mustn’t exert yourself, monsieur. All shall soon be well.” The words were soft and full of promise, each one spoken like a lullaby. And then she sang – and Gabriel swore he’d never heard a sweeter, more soothing sound.
“ The gentle breath of winter sings,
It cools my brow and furls my wings.
And when the dusk at last descends,
I shall keep my hope, steel my heart,
for never will thy love depart.
Now you are come all my grief has gone,
Let us forget those nights that never dawned.”
Warmth radiated around him, sheathing his body within a tender cocoon. His limbs relaxed of their own accord as he succumbed to the beckoning light.
His angel was much closer now. Heated exhales drifted across his battered features in fleeting caresses. Sweet scents flooded his nostrils and overwhelmed his senses … rosewater and nectar. A delicate hand rose into vision and rested across his forehead. The soft, supple flesh of her palm felt wondrously cool against his skin. He shuddered and leaned into the tentative caress.
“You are still very feverish.” The angel’s voice quavered with uncertainty. “Don’t worry, monsieur – and do not lose hope. I am here with you.”
He attempted to speak – but his voice emerged as nothing more than a choked groan. A moment later, a damp chill came over his forehead. A sigh of relief escaped him as the sweltering heat gradually faded away.
And then the darkness descended once more.
•
He was supposed to be dead.
Instead, he was very much alive. Very much alive and suffering from excruciating pain.
Gabriel’s consciousness had lapsed
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