His Chosen Bride

The waves roared like restless beasts, clawing at the jagged rocks beneath Gabriella's feet. Her fingers were stained with paint, the last remnants of the sunset she'd tried to capture before the storm rolled in. Now, the canvas lay forgotten in the sand, the wind tearing at its edges. She wasn't thinking about art anymore.

She was thinking about him.

"Stay still," Gabriella hissed, pressing harder against the wound on his side. Blood soaked through her scarf, dark and warm, and she swallowed the panic rising in her throat.