Only by Moonlight

Chapter 6

With special thanks to my amazing pre-readers, ladylibre at FanFiction.net and EmmyDana at Wattpad for their patience and invaluable assistance for cutting and snipping with authority while this professional editor shook in her proverbial boots at the idea of trimming back my monstrous chapters which are more unwieldy than usual due to Camp NaNoWriMo this month. Love you, ladies!!

 

From the end of Chapter Five:

            As I straightened to my full height, I caught my reflection in the mirror over the dresser—the dresser that was mine. I noted my height and slim but masculine build, my wild auburn hair that refused to obey any current style, and my eyes that glittered like emeralds in the moonlight.

            And as I had every night since the appearance of this angel in my room, I seated myself silently in my rocking chair and prepared to watch over her, guarding and protecting her until the sun rose….

 

Chapter Six

 

            When I woke to my alarm the next morning, I could recall every detail of my strange yet wondrous dream. Each image seemed burned into my memory which was definitely out of the ordinary, for rarely do I ever remember my dreams.           

            And once again I felt refreshed and relaxed—exactly how I have awakened every morning since I had moved in five days ago.

            Of course, it had been odd to dream as if I were someone else—as if I were the green-eyed stranger who only existed at the edges of my consciousness. Seeing myself through his eyes, feeling his strong emotions toward me—admiration, yearning, protectiveness—so many fleeting emotions had washed through him during my dream…and thus through me as well.

            It had been a bizarre sensation, yet so very welcome at the same time.

            As I sat up in bed, I couldn’t help wondering if I was sleeping so restfully because of the handsome phantom watching over me in my dreams?

            And why did he care so much that he was willing to spend each night guarding me as I slept?

            For some strange reason, I didn’t feel frightened or disturbed by his presence, even knowing that not only had he entered my bedroom, but that he also remained here, a silent sentinel while I slept.

            Instead, I felt…comforted by his being in my room. He seemed so courteous and modest, so reluctant to touch me, almost as if he were seeking my permission first.

            Who in the world behaved like that, anyway? Most guys touched first and wouldn’t even consider apologizing afterward…since they were God’s gift to womankind, after all.

            Like Mike, for example.   

            But even while dreaming, I knew I had been safe—protected—in my phantom’s arms. Somehow I knew that he would let no harm would come to me. The gentleness in his eyes had drawn me into accepting his mysterious presence.

            I automatically and absolutely trusted him.

            Even though the memory of his kiss to my forehead warmed my cheeks and quickened my pulse, I did not doubt his motives. 

            But was he really a phantom? Or was he merely the product of my overactive imagination or my fixation with Jane Austen’s oh-so-proper literary heroes?