raw performance playing out before my eyes. My body was a puppet, strings pulled by something ancient and powerful, and I was merely the audience. I still felt the echo of t

concrete. He was a mess of cuts and bruises, his breathing shallow and ragged. The scent of his blood wa

ng heat of before but a soothing, golden warmth, began to emanate from me, a soft glow that illuminated his battered face. It pulsed through my fingertips, seeping

ming deeper, more regular. His eyes flickered open, a h

whisper, my voice a rough, unfamiliar

ded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. "Home," he managed, his voice a low rasp. Then, h

e cold air, his head tucked into the curve of my neck. His scent, earthy and masculine, was grounding, familiar somehow, even if

even under the dim alley lights, pulled up. The door was opened by a man in a suit, his features st

ll laboured, but now, with the golden light continuing to emanate softly, the wounds seemed less angry, less raw. I k

eflecting the soft moonlight. The car came to a stop in front of a magnificent house that looked like something out of a maga

ned the massive front door for us and we stepped in. The interiors were breathtaking, even in my state of semi-detachment. Everything

being, a pure wave of energy that pulsed outwards from me. The gold light glowed brighter now, and I felt the connection strengthen and intensify. I mended every cut, every bruise, pushing the healing energies through

ing seemed to drain away, leaving me feeling hollow and weak. The detached feeling faded, replaced by

rt now. He held me easily, his strength no longer diminished. He lifted me as if I weighed nothing, gentl

placing me onto the plush mattress. I tried to say something, my thr

okay. You saved me." He grabbed a soft damp towel from a side table and

s careful and tender. He laid down beside me, his body h

" he said, his voice soft. "I'l

surrounded by his warmth and the promise of safety. A strange, pow