ssa

The rhythmic crash of waves, the howl of the wind, and the sting of the snow were a relentless symphony of torment. Every fiber of my being urged me to

small fishing vessel, but something larger, more substantial. A yacht, perhaps? Hope, a dangerous

t the gale. I flailed my arm, waving wildly, trying to make myself seen. The boat was

forgotten, even by fate itself? Despair, cold and heavy, threatene

eration. My voice cracked, but I kept yelling, kept waving, even as t

ight pierced the darkness. A powerful beam, cutting through the blizzard, s

me. Someone saw me. A wave of pure, unadulterated euphoria washed ov

. With renewed purpose, I paddled with everything I had left, aiming for that

y the miracle unfolding before me. My arms burned, my legs cramped, but I

a large yacht, sleek and formidable, cutting through the waves like a silen

as I tried to pull myself up. It felt like scaling a mountain, each rung an insurmountable obstacle.

ed onto the wet, slippery deck, gasping for air, shivering uncontroll

gently, carefully, supporting my weakened body. The warmth radiating from the

isingly calm amidst the storm's fury, spoke clos

rasp, my throat raw. I leaned into the warmth, my body trembling violently against hi

. Then, with an effortless grace that belied my soaked weight, he scooped me up into his arms. I was too weak to protest, too

tside – warm, dry, and surprisingly luxurious.

voice still calm, almost detached, yet unden

oice barely audible. My body was still shaking,

should fit," he said, placing them on a small table. "I'll give you

clothes were men's, a thick wool sweater and comfortable sweatpants, but they were g

r. "Come in," I called out,

protest, a sharp reminder of how long it had been since I' d eaten. He placed the tray on the small table in

they were the most striking feature. A piercing, intelligent blue, sharp and observant, yet holding a surprising depth of warmth. There was a strength in his jawline, a quiet authority in his p

chasing away the last vestiges of the cold. When the bowl was empty and the bread gone, I finally

yself, extending my hand. "Thank

ed. His eyes, those piercing blue eyes, scanned my face, lingering o

voice soft, almost clinical. "And a nas

ous life had taught me to hide any sign of weakness, any injury. Christian woul

roperly, especially after being exposed to the elements for so long. Infection

bing in my head and the sting of the salt wat

ood on my forehead, his touch surprisingly tender. Then, he took a soft towel and bega

. A warmth bloomed in my chest, a feeling so foreign, so deeply unfamiliar, that it almost brought tears to my eyes. It was