A Howl In The Night by Lorelei Sutton (life books to read .txt) 📕

I follow the line of the connecting arm with my eyes, noting the delicate wrist that followed, along with the lean, strong muscles. Definitely masculine.

A strange musk dances towards my nose, and sensuously plays with my senses before leaving me defenseless.  A scent I know all too well… or do I? The memories are frayed at the edges, seemingly ruined beyond repair.

I wonder out of curiosity why I am not freaking out right now at the strange apparition of a hand just when I needed one most. Instantly I realize that it must be because my mind has not yet caught up to my overwhelmed senses, mostly because of the fogginess that has settled over my thoughts like a blanket. A little laugh escapes me, a strange, throaty laugh. It was not mine. Or was it…

My eyes reach the man’s body, and I can tell already that he is very attractive. His muscles are not gigantic, but I never desired anything like that in a man, anyway. I like the skinnier, well-balanced men. Of course… not that I care.

It takes me a while to remember his face, my eyes crawling over every part of him. It is like wine for the eyes, so intoxicating and beautiful. But eventually I cannot resist the lure of his smile, a smile I know he is wearing for some strange reason, and reluctantly lift my gaze.

His eyes are like emeralds, sparkling with amusement. His hair is like the ocean, blue as the sea. But I do not dwell on either of those features long.

 That one smile instantly brings my mind up to speed.

Subconsciously at the sight of that smile I back away, further into the puddle. He looks so familiar, as if I have known him for a long while. Maybe even forever. I squirm with discomfiture as I notice the amusement that is prevalent at the corners of his too-wide smile. He is laughing at me. This much I can tell.

It seems strange, because as the chuckles are escaping his mouth, I do not hear the pearly sound. What a beautiful sound it must be, I muse, a beautiful laugh to match a beautiful man.

He says some words to me, words that flit by my head without a second glance. I frown and stiffen slightly at the way the reverberations seem to escape me, dancing out of my grasp with ease.

The familiar man stops laughing as he stares down at me, his hand still outstretched. It must be awkward for him to hold out his hand so long. I should probably take it and save him the trouble of keeping it in the air.

But instead, I stiffen even further, leaning into the puddle. He frowns and takes a step forward, his foot splashing into the water. My heart beats faster as he lifts his other foot and puts it down in the puddle so that they are both soaked.

I instinctively recoil as he crouches down by my side. Muttering something I can’t understand under his breath, he reaches with both arms towards me. A squeal escapes me. A squeal that I cannot hear.

A new wave of understanding washes over me. I am deaf. I must be.

This revelation shocks me. How can I just discover something like this? What has happened to my memories? Am I going crazy?

What is my name?

The question chills me to the bone. I realize… that I don’t know the answer.

The man seems to be forming a word on his lips, a word I cannot hear but can somehow see with the way he is exaggerating it. He seems to be saying the word “please”.

My lip juts out obstinately and I cross my arms against my chest in response. He looks at me and starts to laugh. I can imagine it, the beautiful sounds echoing in my heart. I wish I could experience it for myself.

He hesitantly brings his hands out again after a long, contented silence. With a guarded expression, I allow him to sweep his hands under me. Before I know it, he has pulled me into his arms, picking me up as he steps out of the puddle.

In his comforting embrace, I forget everything.

Except, of course, the pain, which comes like a thief in the night to steal away my happiness. Tears well up in the corner of my eye as it launches an assault against me again.

The man mumbles something that looks like “What’s wrong?”. Subconsciously I clutch at his arm until my aged knuckles turn stark white. He starts walking over to the pond as his eyes scour mine. I gesture to my stomach wildly, hoping he will get the message. Surprisingly, his nose wrinkles in response.

“Time… of the month?” I think he asks, over-exaggerating ever word so I can understand. Color rushes to my cheeks. I am as red as a tomato. Furiously I shake my head.

“S…sorry,” he says slowly, finally looking up. The pond is beautiful and glassy, beckoning to me with its icy fingers. As if he read my mind, he steps into the pond with me. The coldness embraces my skin as he practically dumps me in the water.

I cannot prevent a laugh as the water touches my skin, suddenly overjoyed for no reason at all. The pain retreats again, temporarily, as his smile makes everything just a little bit brighter.

“You… remind… me,” He struggles to say, “of... a… girl.”

A girl! Impatience clouds my mind. What kind of girl? A great friend? A lover?

I try to banish these rebellious things from my mind. These thoughts are only causing trouble for everyone.

He must see the question in my eyes, for he continues on slowly. “She… was… c-covered… in… mud… too.”

I have nothing to say. Nothing I wouldn’t want to say. Only meager feelings of jealousy are left in my heart. I want to say that I desire to keep my guardian angel all to myself. But I can’t.

For that is what he must be. My angel, sent down from Heaven to protect me.

The thought brings a small smile to my lips, which leads to a wider smile on the handsome man’s face. He reaches out, dips his hand in the water, and rubs against my cheek with one, rough thumb. And the strangest thing is, I really want him to do it again. For the moment to never end.

And he does, bringing his other thumb to my other cheek, rubbing his hands against my skin. It burns. It burns like nothing I have ever experienced before.

It takes me a second to realize that he is trying to wash the dirt and grime off of me. A carefully veiled excitement begins to occur in my mind. I want to see how far this goes. The real question is, how far is he willing to go?

Obviously not very far, because within moments his warm arms are around me again, and he is lifting me out of the water. His embrace is so warm, so comforting. I could stay like this forever.

But it doesn’t, and he lays me back beside the tall oak trees. I look at the ground, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

When I look back up, he is ready. “Do… you… believe… in… true… love?”

Interesting question.

I go with the safe answer. “Yes.” It feels weird to know the word passed my mouth even though I was unable to hear it.

“I… don’t.” He gritted his teeth, messing with the bottom of his shirt. His mouth may say one thing, but his eyes tell a different story. I find myself intrigued. Has someone already taught this man what true love is?

A shiver ripples through my body as a blast of cold air brushes against me. He notices instantly, and takes his shirt off. He has a tank top of some kind underneath, but I am still instantly affected. My breathing grows hitched, betraying my interest too the all-too-observant man.

“Take… this…use… it.” He says, and then goes to examine the berry bush. Plucking one berry from the bush, he shows it to me. “Did… you… eat…”

I nod hastily. As he does this, the pain returns once more. I feel myself slumping in agony.

Within a flash, he is by my side. “Just… be… careful… do… not…” He begins, then angrily mutters under his breath. I blink, and when my eyes flutter open, he is gone.

What the crap?

But within a second he is back, carrying a small knapsack. My heart practically sighs in relief at his reappearance, now that I know he hasn’t abandoned me.

He fiddles with the drawstrings, opening the bag and silently handing me a bottle of water. I take it eagerly and screw the cap open. He turns his attention away from my animalistic display, lifting a notepad out of the sack. A pen shortly follows.

I pause in my frenzied gulps as he begins to write. Watching him, I notice he has beautiful handwriting. Just like the rest of him. To be expected I guess. Surely a man like him cannot be this perfect. He must have some fault.

Ah, I remind myself carefully, but he is a guardian angel. He was sent for me.

You don’t really believe that, do you?

“Here.” He hands me the notepad, upon which is written the words “HOW TO TREAT YOUR ILLNESS”. Below it is instructions in taking some sort of pill. What is this nonsense?

He smiles at my confusion, and then opens the knapsack again. Carefully he draws out a bottle of pills. “It’s… for… the… berries.”

I frown and reach for the notepad. “How do you have something like this in your knapsack?” I write. He reads and answers my question before I finish my next sentence. “We... prepare… for… everything.” He grins at me and my heart does a funny leap. What is wrong with me?

“Ok,” I say awkwardly, still feeling strange about the sounds leaving my mouth. It seems like I remember a time when this strange lack of hearing was not an issue.

He starts to write in the notepad again. It doesn’t take him very long.

“I have to go. You will be in danger if I take you with me or stay with you any longer. The soldiers are after me. Please understand. I wish I could help more than I already have. Just please, pay attention to the instructions. I really hope I could have talked with you longer.” I read underneath his shoulder, the words upside down. He glances at me and shoves over the note, standing up in the process. The notepad falls from his grasp onto my lap.

He stops as if to pick it up, and then decides not to. He starts to turn away from me, and I strangely feel sad. “You… keep… it.” The man looks over his shoulder with that wonderful grin of his.

“Have… everything.” He throws the knapsack over his shoulder, and then disappears almost immediately. I can sense the footsteps once more.

Good bye.

An eerie calm settles over me. I feel perfectly at peace with the world, satisfied with all it has offered me. Heaven did send me my own guardian angel, after all.

I finger the notepad tentatively. What do I want to write? How will I like to fill these pages before the pain comes back?

Images flash in my head, images that are all blurry. No, that just will not do. I cannot make a picture out of blurry. It simply isn’t possible.

Leafing through the few sketches in the front of the pad for inspiration, I stop on the portrait of a young, pretty girl. For some reason it strikes me, seemingly familiar to my eyes.

Exactly like my guardian angel.

A name whips out of nowhere, stunning me almost like