Chapter 9 - The Healer’s Hands
The private villa in Corsica was bathed in warm Mediterranean sunlight.
The storm had washed the island clean.
The scent of wild rosemary and salty sea air filled the terrace.
I sat on the stone bench with a wooden medical tray.
Valkyrie perched calmly on my arm as I gently dressed her healed wing with
soothing botanical ointment.
The bird cooed softly, nuzzling her beak against my palm.
Footsteps sounded on the terrace flagstones.
Dominic stepped outside, carrying two glasses of fresh citrus water.
His white linen shirt was unbuttoned at the collar.
The dark circles beneath his eyes were finally fading.
“She loves you more than she ever loved me,” Dominic said with a faint chuckle,
sitting beside me.
“She just knows who brings the good meat,” I smiled.
Dominic set the glasses down and looked at my wrist.
The bruises from Camille’s diamond rings had faded to faint yellow marks.
He reached out, his warm, rough fingers gently tracing my skin.
“You faced machine guns for my brother’s bird, Sylvie.”
“I faced them for you,” I said quietly, looking into his slate-gray eyes.
“You were the only man who treated that creature with honor. I couldn't let them
destroy what was left of your brother.”
Dominic looked away toward the sparkling blue sea.
“For seven years, I felt like I died on that mountain with Gabriel. I built
walls. I bought guns. I thought fear was the only thing that kept people safe.”
May you like
He turned back to me, his gaze fierce and tender.
“You taught me that courage doesn't come from fear. It comes from loyalty.”
