The Angel of the Lighthouse Read Free

woke suddenly. Even in sleep, she was striking. Her hair pooled around her like a halo, gleaming against the white pillow. He sat on his hands in order to resist the urge to touch and count every freckle that was scattered across her face. She lay still and quiet, her breathing deep and even.
    He leaned back in his chair, and waited, as patient as a stone.
     
    ***
     
    Skye Metcalfe woke up, feeling as if she had been drinking the night before. Her head and her body ached in tandem, fuzz scratching at her eyes as she slowly blinked. Her mouth was dry, and she tapped her tongue against the roof of her mouth in an attempt to generate some moisture.
    She wasn’t sure how or even why she might have been drinking, since the last memories that she had were of her flying her little plane. She stretched gingerly, and realised that the bed felt subtly different from what she was used to. It was harder, the pillows fluffier, the coverlet softer. There was a musky scent on the pillow – she turned her head into it, breathing deeply. It was a smell she’d never come across before, but she already knew that she adored it. It reminded her of home, of comfort, of safety. As if she was recalling something from her childhood. Cat-like, she rubbed her cheek against the pillow, before wincing at the incautious motion.
    “Take it easy.” A rich, deep voice spoke. The honeyed tones rolled over her comfortingly, and she involuntarily closed her eyes. She opened them again to find a strange figure leaning over her. He was silhouetted by the sun, a golden halo created around his head; all that she could make out of him was that he was tall and broad.
    Confusion gripped her and she tried to move, only subsiding when her body complained, feeling bruised and tender. The figure knelt beside the bed, resting one hand on the covers with a calming motion.
    “Take it easy,” he repeated gently.
    Skye stared at him as his features came into focus. He looked like a statue come to life with his sculpted features, deep blue eyes and raven black hair. His eyes were filled with warmth and concern, and Skye found herself relaxing. Whoever this man was, it was obvious that he meant her no harm.
    She ran opening sentences through her head, strangely wanting to make a good first impression on this man, whoever he was. She mustered up a smile, and his face crinkled in response. He moved his hand from the cover to rest on the back of her hand, and the warmth of his skin seeped into her like a soothing balm.
    “How you’re feeling?” he asked.
    Skye opened her mouth to reply, but choked suddenly on a throat gone thick and dry. The man winced, reaching over to hand her a glass of water. The condensation beading on the side of it triggered an almost paralysing thirst in her, and she reached for the glass. She was alarmed to note that her hands were shaking a little.
    He gravely handed her the water, before gently assisting her to sit upright. His hands were large and capable. She could feel how warm they were, even through her clothes. Distracted by the cool water, she felt almost no pain as she was moved. The water soothed her throat, washing away the dryness and fuzziness that plagued her. She experimentally cleared her throat.
    “Better,” she said, and wished that her voice didn’t sound quote so hoarse. She took another mouthful of water, and swished it around her cheeks.
    “Are you in pain?”
    “A little,” she admitted. He frowned, and she felt a touch guilty for bringing that expression to his face. As if he had read her mind, he placed his hand over hers again, comforting her.
    “Just thinking about painkillers, and the best time to give them to you. You’ve been out for a while. I don’t want to overdose you.”
    His words raised a pressing question for Skye. “Not meaning to sound clichéd, but where am I?” She asked.
    “What do you remember?” he countered.
    “I feel like I’ve been out drinking, but the last thing I remember clearly