She glanced down to see an IV line running from her arm to a bag dangling from a pole beside her bed. For a moment she just lay there in the quiet and stillness, absorbing the first sense of peace she'd experienced in longer than her shattered mind could comprehend.
There was no hunger. No overwhelming need for the poison that pricked her skin and crawled insidiously through her veins. For the space of few moments there was no pain. Only sweet silence.
A movement to her right startled her, and she let out a gasp. The shadow moved and soft light flooded her eyes.
"Rachel, it's me, Ethan. Sorry if I frightened you."
He came into view, standing at her side. She took the opportunity to study him with borrowed clarity. He was large, much larger than the men who haunted her nightmares, and yet she knew instinctively that he wouldn't hurt her, that she was safe with him.
Sleek, black hair worn short. Military. The word floated through her mind unsummoned. Startling blue eyes, serious and brooding. Another image flashed, those eyes sparkling with laughter as he spun her round and round. She closed her eyes, wanting more of the memory, but just as quickly as it came, it was gone.
"Are you hurting?"
Ethan's urgent voice crashed through the pleasantness of her dreams. Her eyes fluttered open again, and this time, he was leaning close, his fingers reaching tentatively for her cheek.
Instead of responding, she reached up and caught his fingers. They were so warm and strong around hers. He rubbed his thumb across the top of her hand and then brought it up to his lips in a gesture so tender that it deeply moved her.
"Hey," he murmured in a voice that cracked. "How are you doing?"
"Ethan."
"Yes, baby, it's me, Ethan. You're safe now. Do you understand that?"
She nodded, her throat too constricted to say anything.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead, and then he withdrew and carefully pushed her hair back with his fingers.
"Got room for me to sit?" he asked.
She looked down at where his hip leaned against her bed and then hastily scooted against the rail on the other side.
He settled onto the bed, his thigh pressed to hers.
"How are you feeling?"
She thought for a moment. How could she explain how she felt?
"Free," she finally said.
He reached for her hands and pulled them into his grasp. "I'm going to take you home soon. Dr. Scofield wants to watch you for a few days and make sure you're okay to leave before we go home. But I'll be with you the entire time."
More images haunted her memory. Smoky, hanging on the edge of her recall. This time she saw Ethan's face drawn in anger. He shouted and she recoiled from the dark feeling that swept over her.
"Rachel?"
She yanked her gaze to his and tried to control her rapid breathing.
"What's wrong, honey?"
She shook her head, unable to explain the brief flash that had unsettled her so.
For a long moment, he simply stared at her, his gaze caressing her face as surely as if he were stroking her with his fingers. She absorbed it greedily, wanting this contact, the feeling of security he instilled just with his presence. For the first time in so long, she wasn't eaten alive with fear and pain.
Again he brought her hands to his lips and held them there, his mouth pressed to her knuckles. He trembled against her fingers as he kissed them.
"I just need to touch you," he said. "To have you here. To see you. To feel you again." Emotion clogged his voice, making it strained and raw. "I thought you were dead. They told me you were dead. I buried you, mourned for you, tried to get on with my life without you. And now here you are. It's more than I ever hoped or dreamed."
Her breath caught and hiccupped roughly from her chest. Her insides twisted and squeezed. Tears burned like acid.
"I waited for you," she whispered. "Over time I thought I'd imagined you. When I forgot everything but my name, I thought maybe I'd made you up and that hope was forbidden to me. I knew you'd come when I knew nothing else."
He bowed his head, lowering until his forehead touched hers. "I love you, Rachel. So damn much. I know we have a lot to get through, but you aren't alone anymore. You won't ever be alone again."
She closed her eyes, savoring his promise. She was afraid to believe, to hope that after so long her nightmare was over.
"There's a lot I don't remember," she said hesitantly. Would it anger him that she could only remember bits and pieces of their life together? Not only that, but she could barely remember her.
As if sensing her turmoil, he pulled away. He stared down at her, his eyes suddenly troubled. Almost guilty. Her eyes narrowed in puzzlement. What would he have to feel guilty over?
"It'll be okay, baby," he soothed. "It'll come back in time, and we'll face it together. The important thing is that I have you back."
"What did she give me? The doctor. I feel..."
"Are you in pain? Do you want me to get her?"
She shook her head. "No. I feel . . ." She mentally examined her physical state. "Quiet. My mind is quiet. My skin isn't crawling and yet I know it's there, waiting to come back."
He gently touched her face, his fingertips sliding over her cheekbone and to her lips. "We'll beat this."
She closed her eyes as grief settled, thick and suffocating. "What did they do to me? Why?"
Ethan's hands stilled on her face. "I don't know why." Anger tightened his voice. She opened her eyes to see fury reflected in his. "I won't let it happen again. I protect what's mine."
A peculiar prickle shivered up her spine, leaving a warm glow in its wake. Her chest fluttered, and something inside her long dead awakened and unfurled.
She belonged to this man. He'd keep her safe.
"Tell me about us," she whispered.
He smiled then, and it transformed his face. Gone was the serious, gruff man, replaced by boyish charm. It was a marvelous thing to behold.
"We were married three years ago."
Her brow wrinkled. "Oh, not long then."
His eyes lost some of their shine. "No, not long."
If she concentrated hard, she could summon distant memories. It was odd. Though she could remember them, it was as if they belonged to someone else. The connection to her hadn't been forged in her tattered mind.
"Did Garrett give me away at our wedding?"
Ethan stilled and then slowly nodded.
"I remember that. He told me I was the most beautiful bride in the world."
"And you were."
"I remember seeing you, waiting for me."
Ethan hesitated for a moment. "What else do you remember?"
She sighed. "It's sort of a mess. I mean I remember lots of random things, but I don't have a clear chronological list of events. It's like someone's shooting out-of-order pictures at me."
"Don't rush it. You've been through a lot. When I get you home, and you feel safe again, you'll remember."
She cocked her head to the side for a moment. "How many brothers do you have? I only remember Garrett. Sam . . . he scares me. And there's another here. Donovan?"
Ethan smiled. "Garrett is usually the one who scares people. Sam is the oldest, but you'd think Garrett was."
"Garrett wouldn't hurt me."
"Neither would Sam," he said gently. "To answer your question, there are six of us in all. Nathan and Joe are twins and they're deployed to Afghanistan."
"Do I have any family? It seems odd that I would remember Garrett but not my own family."
He shook his head. "You were an only child, and your parents died in a car accident several years ago."
"Oh." She couldn't help the disappointment that accompanied his statement.
"You were very close to my mom, though. She and Dad both loved you like a daughter. You were a part of the family long before I married you."
She relaxed and smiled. Then her forehead furrowed as she remembered one detail. "They think I'm dead. Like you did."
Ethan sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair.
"How did you know? I mean how did you find me?"
She trembled as she spoke, and already she could feel the slow crawl of need creep over her skin.
"It's a long story, baby, and right now it isn't important. What is important is that I found you. You're a miracle to us all. Mom and Dad are going to be so thrilled. I don't know yet how I'm going to tell them. They'll think I'm crazy."
"I'm hungry," she blurted. She rubbed her hand over her arm, trying to make the itch go away. Hunger beat at her, but she wasn't sure which was more prevalent: the hunger for food or the hunger for the needle.