Ocean of Love (18 page)

He opened the door, hoping to find her
sitting in the middle of the bed and clenched his jaw in
disappointment. His gut tightened as he slipped on a pair of boxers
before heading downstairs.

The house was unbelievably well laid out
with an open floor plan that encompassed the natural lighting, the
sky, and Atlantic; all visible on different levels within the home.
Exceptional. Minus the fact that he didn’t see Marissa.

Still, no sounds issued forth from below in
the other areas of the house. Only silence, save the rhythm of the
surf. Coming around the curve of the banister, he walked quicker,
unable to fathom where she could be, and not wanting to consider if
she wasn’t there at all.

“
Hey, Marissa? Darling, are
you hungry? We can eat in or out. Breakfast is the one meal I make
that’s edible.”

Still silence. He crossed the living room,
past the dining room, and pushed open the swinging kitchen
door.

Empty. His gut clamped down into an iron
cannon ball. He returned to the living room, his gaze falling to
their brandy sniffers. Wyatt tunneled his fingers through his hair
glancing around the room. There wasn’t a note. He spotted her purse
tucked into the corner the sofa.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he stared down
at the cushion. He picked up her bag and inside he found her
cellphone, wallet, and keys.

Wyatt set the bag down and eyed the swirling
curtains. This was the beach, Christ, what did he expect? He walked
out onto the terrace, but she wasn’t there; only the horizon lay
before him. In between, the shoreline framed the dawn. Soon the sun
would be a blazing ball heating up the beach. Dropping his gaze, he
spied dainty footprints in the sand forming a trail, leading from
the terrace towards the shore.

A no-brainer. She had taken a walk. He
pushed aside a surge of exasperation at her leaving. She was so
independent, part of her charm, not a pushover at all. He couldn’t
help smiling at the hoops she’d had him jumping through since
yesterday. Yep, his little vixen was an absolute dynamo.

He trotted upstairs, and pulled on a pair of
shorts and sweatshirt. Outside in the morning air, his pulse
rocketed, tracking her footprints across the beach. He inhaled the
remnants of her scent on his skin.

Less than twenty-four
hours—he was falling, nose down into the essence of Marissa. He’d
heard of people meeting and knowing right from the start. In front
of him, beached upon the shore, lay a row of dolphins, silent and
hardly moving.
What the hell?
He ran forward, uncertain what to do. The
dolphins lifted their heads as he neared. Marissa’s footprints were
dots that ended, and he was certain intersected the sight before
him.

Where was she?
He squinted over the beach, up the shore one way
and then the other. Standing less than a few feet from the line of
animals, he held onto his chin, surveying the squirming dolphin. If
she’d seen this sight, she’d be here, right now. She’d have
commandeered a task force into helping these animals. Not walked
way. A couple of the dolphins chattered, drawing his
attention.

One, two … he finished counting. Six
dolphins were beached and more of them were in the shallow water
beyond the beach. The dolphin began to lift their tails more in
agitation than from being injured. He looked around again. No one
was out on the beach.

He walked closer toward the
dolphins.
A school of
dolphins
. No, that wasn’t right. A pod or
was that the term for whales? He stopped short. Long strands of
golden hair lay across the sand in front of him, not inches from
the middle dolphin. His heart froze.

“
Oh, God, please no.” He
ran forward, stopping short of their heads.

The dolphins opened their mouths, baring
sharp teeth unlike the smiling bottlenose dolphins featured in
movies and television. He knelt down, pushing at their sides.

“
Let me get to her.” He
pushed, using his hands on the dolphin’s flank.

Somewhere, somehow, she was underneath or in
the middle of these animals. He shoved forward, digging his feet
into the sand, and wedged in between the dolphins, opening a wider
space within the center.

“
Jesus Christ,” he barked.
His forearm was wrapped on either side by a fierce-looking
Flipper.
Sharp points
lanced his skin, but not with the pressure he’d expect from a
creature of this size.

Wyatt gazed into the dolphin’s eyes. Without
hesitation, he spoke to it. “I’m here to help.”

He braced his legs and pushed harder against
the bottlenose’s body. He clenched his jaw, breaking a sweat, and
put everything he had into moving the dolphin. Not much distance.
He sunk down on his knees to catch his breath. He glanced up at the
dolphin who kept watching him. “I know you understand. You’ve got
to move, buddy. You could be hurting her.”

He stared into the dolphin’s eyes without
breaking contact. The creature who gazed back communicated a vast
intelligence, making Wyatt believe it capable of judgment.
Something stirred within him. Almost a shadowy echo pounded his
chest from the inside out. Each dolphin rolled, bit by bit across
the sand moving into a v-shape formation, and presented him with
what they had tried to keep hidden. She lay on her side between two
dolphins.

“
Marissa,” he groaned.
“Baby. What happened?”

He moved his body further between the
dolphins, trying to get to her. He stared down at her closed eyes,
the soft curve of her lips, her pale skin. The shimmering effect
made it seem like she was merely in some fairytale sleep. He
stroked her face, ill-equipped to understand what had happened,
knowing only that he needed to get help. He pulled her head up onto
his lap. The sand near her was stained red.

Then the breath evaporated from chest. Blood
trickled from Marissa’s shoulder. He ran his hand along her smooth
skin. Some parts of her body were almost blue and so cold. Her bare
chest rose and fell.

Wyatt tried to lift her, but she was still
caught by the dolphin. Frustrated, he pushed against their bodies.
“For the love of God. You must move back. I’ve got to get her
help.”

He wrapped his sweatshirt around her
shoulders and cradled her in his arms. A red stain spread from her
shoulder. He rocked her and murmured she was safe. The dolphin
began rolling, easing backward. Slowly, their movements gave him
room to visually access Marissa. He got up on his knees, and then
froze. He was too shocked to do more than gaze at her body. The
dolphins had hidden what she’d become. She was not the same
Marissa. Not with a full-sized tail.

The dolphin clicked and screeched, rapidly
snapping him from his mindless blustering. Whatever he had been
thinking was washed away. In little time, if he didn’t find help,
Marissa would succumb to her wounds by a loss of blood or
shock.

No matter what he thought or felt or hoped,
it was up to him to keep her alive and safe. Kneeling down beside
her, Wyatt gathered Marissa up in his arms. He couldn’t help but
plant a kiss on her lips, trying to breathe warmth back into her
body. She was lighter than he remembered from last night.

He glanced over his shoulder, the group of
dolphins and many other sea creatures were crowding near the shore.
Marissa’s still body was cradled within his arms. He nodded and
turned. His target was the villa, upstairs in the bedroom.

He made it back to villa and once inside, he
mounted the stairs with her, murmuring to her everything would get
better. Returning to their bedroom, he held her tightly against
him. The room was unchanged. That wasn’t true. Everything had
altered. Hours before he’d made love to the woman of his dreams. He
glanced down at the woman now in his arms. His chest tightened,
unwilling to let go of his dream.

He laid her down, ever so gently on the
mattress. Unlike last night, her body was clammy to his touch. Wet
and cold were never good when it came to the emergency care of
shock. She needed heat and quickly. He could deal with warming her
as he covered her body with the sheet and comforter. It was a sharp
piece of metal protruding from her shoulder that knocked the wind
from his lungs. He didn’t recognize the metal lancing her shoulder;
perhaps some type of piercing mechanism used for offshore sport
fishing.

“
Crap,” he swore softly.
Game fish such as shark or marlin. He lightly trailed his hand over
her face.

His thoughts raced,
condensing into an immediate checklist. The end of the barb had to
be cut off to free from her body. He had enough experience in
dealing with construction materials including metal to snip off the
end. He pressed his lips, wild thoughts running through his
head.
What if?
Marissa had risked being hauled inside a fishing boat or
worse, trolled around as bait for larger prey.

Not once in his life had Wyatt toyed with
the idea of a future with a woman before. Now, as he looked down at
Marissa, he wasn’t about to let their future disappear.

There were so many questions. A million
places to start.

Only one obvious
point:
Mermaid.

He couldn’t take her to the emergency room
at the hospital or call in a doctor. She required emergency medical
help to remove the metal piercing her shoulder and staunch the
bleeding. His heart jack-hammered against his chest. He had
construction site medical experience. But shit, nothing like this.
He traced his fingers along her jaw, unable to breathe. To remove
this metal barb, he must locate tools and supplies.

He gently lifted her shoulder. The metal
barb appeared to be something like a trident. Easing her back
against the pillows, he rolled her to one side. The end pierced the
other side of her shoulder. She was cold and shaking. Wyatt moved
to the linen closet, filling his arms with more comforters and
blankets. He covered Marissa’s body, trying to generate some
warmth. He turned up the heat in the house and went downstairs to
boil some water.

He had to get his head around what he’d
need. A first-aid kit, gauze, a sharp knife—or a razor
blade—needle, and thread. In the garage, he located a set of tools.
He fished around inside the metal box removing a clamp, bolt
cutters, and locking pliers.

And what about sanitizing
everything?
Wyatt opened cabinets and went
into the powder room downstairs. He returned upstairs bringing a
dose of over-the-counter painkillers he’d found in the bathroom
cabinet. He hesitated giving her anything that might increase her
bleeding. He’d have to wait until after the metal was
removed.

He bolted out the bedroom door, but kept
returning to check on Marissa while assembling all the necessary
items. He returned and brought a chair to the bedside. He organized
an assortment of supplies. Everything he’d found was there on the
nightstand.

He pulled on latex gloves, going over in his
head how he intended to remove the metal from her shoulder. He had
provided plenty of medical care to injuries and over the years had
seen many men impaled, torn, bleeding, but this was different.
Marissa was the victim.

“
Marissa?” He stroked her
hair. The fragrance of flowers and sea water drifted up from
her.

Her lips were parted, now cracked and dry.
He ran his hand along her arm, her skin felt colder than before.
“I’m going to turn you on your side,” he murmured.

Wyatt spoke to her, told her every step. He
sponged the wound with antiseptic, not once but twice, and wiped
off the razor, pouring a liberal amount of antiseptic over the
edge.

Holding the thin razor, he hesitated before
bringing the edge to her skin. He set the razor back down.
Interlacing her fingers with his, he held her hand, silently
meditating, wondering if it had been too long for a prayer of his
to be heard. He contemplated the solace he had felt being next to
Marissa. He was willing to do anything if only she’d recover. After
squeezing her hand, he proceeded to do something he’d not done for
years. He prayed for her well-being. For her health. For God to
hear him now.

He picked up the razor, inhaled, and
steadily made the first cut along Marissa’s skin. The end of the
trident moved easier once the wound was open. He held the bolt
cutters in his hand. A chilled sweat broke out across his face. He
laid the metal blades of the cutter at her shoulder. Slipping the
blades around the rod of the trident, he snipped the barb in two,
and one end fell into his hand.

Wyatt set the metal on the nightstand and
wiped his face against the back of his arm.

Marissa’s face had turned ashen. He pressed
two fingers along the blood vessel at the side of her neck. Her
pulse flittered, prompting him to continue. The set of pliers were
rusty so he wrapped them in a latex glove. He gripped the handle,
gave a rapid pump, and then gripped the metal prong. Slowly, he
drew out the piece of metal from her entry wound. A rush of blood
oozed, trickling over skin. He immediately pressed a towel to her
wound, holding it against her shoulder, and waited to lift the
edge. After a couple of minutes, he pulled the towel away finding
that the blood flow had lessened.

He swallowed gratefully, and exhaled. “Thank
goodness.”

Wyatt dabbed Marissa’s wound with a piece of
gauze saturated with antiseptic. The wound was deep and gaping,
about three inches long from where he’d removed the trident. He
frowned in worry. Bright red blood continued to drip down her
shoulder. She needed stitches to stop this type of bleeding.

Swearing softly, he picked up the needle
he’d found. He threaded it, before taking hold of the ends of the
string to tie a knot. Nothing rudimentary in stitching up the woman
he desperately wanted to save. This wasn’t the first time he’d
stitched someone up. Hell, it had better be the last time he had to
do this for her. She’d never get in this predicament again if he
had any say.