BROKEN ANGEL (Savage Cinderella Novella-#4)

BROKEN ANGEL-Chapter 1

In all the time I lived in the wild, I never saw myself as broken—someone who needed fixing. I lived moment to moment, taking care of whatever need was most immediate. Hunger, shelter, fire, water—safety. Always safety. In the two years I'd been back in the so called "civilized" world—all my needs met with an ease I had longed for and never imagined possible—I still felt distant and hollow more times than not, as if a piece of me was missing, left on the mountain, lost to a past I was trying to reclaim.

As for safety, my anchor had quickly become Justin, the nature photographer who'd found me. Savior, friend, lover—everything I'd dreamed of during my self-imposed years of isolation. Justin was all I thought I could want or need. Someone who made me feel loved, accepted...protected.

Why then, did I still feel alone and so often afraid? And why couldn't I shake this restlessness and uncertainty?

Maybe because I continued to have constant misunderstandings with people, I considered with regret. My communication skills lacked the nuances of humor, sarcasm, and references to popular culture—most of which I'd missed entirely while living in the High Country with limited human interaction. Even the simplest of tasks, like using a washer and dryer, a cell phone, or an ATM still felt foreign, as if I'd somehow dropped into a TV character's life and taken it over. Computers alone were enough to make me feel like a time traveler transported to the future. When would I ever feel as if I were truly home?

I sighed, frustrated with myself and determined to put distance between me and the pressure of unanswerable questions. I'd been warned by my counselor—running away from your problems is never a solution. But old habits and a lifetime of living in survival mode told me different.

"Finally, we're here." I glanced at Eliot, who could read me like he was sniffing out a suspect and who was currently eyeing me with grave concern from the seat next to me, his tongue dangling like a trout from the side of his mouth. "I have to start somewhere," I added, my stomach squeezing a tad tighter. The pulse in my temple batted at my brain. Why...why did I have to face any of it? Maybe I would have been better off if I'd never come down from the hills.

Deep inside, in the place that ached for connection, I knew that wasn't true.

I turned into the driveway as instructed by an Australian voice named Sheila on my GPS and breathed an extra-long sigh of relief. I hadn't been to Abby's house in some time, and without the gadget telling me where to turn, I'd have never found the place again. A shiver of remembrance crawled across my skin as I came to a stop and stared at the old farmhouse, its blue paint flaking off at the eves. "I know. I don't want to be here either," I said as my furry companion sat to attention and whined.

Less than two years before, Roy Stockman, my kidnapper and escaped serial killer, had stalked me, cornered me inside that house, and then chased me for miles into the hills. He'd shot me and nearly killed Justin—the man I'd grown to love. Thoughts of Justin and another deep breath quieted the awful memory, and a familiar mix of emotions stirred. Trust, love, loyalty, friendship...and yes, an unexpected passion.

Unfortunately, those feelings were constantly at war with doubt, unrelenting fear, and a heaviness in my chest I couldn't explain. The idea of putting safety over freedom always left me feeling boxed in, making me want to run that much faster in the opposite direction to avoid imminent capture. Not that Justin was trying to cage me. In fact, he was totally supportive of me in every way—at least on the surface. I knew him well enough to know he was having his own difficulties with me putting the brakes on our relationship and even more so with me risking my life at every turn.