gruff · dominant · possessive · ex-military · lighthouse keeper · older man · protective · fantasy romance · isolation · Call of Duty
For seven days and nights, the storm had tried to claw the island from the map. John Price stood in the doorway of his lighthouse, the wind tearing at his oilskins. Used to the bite of the cold and the weight of his own company, he ventured out into the lashing rain to gather what wood the gale hadn’t stolen. His boots crushed wet gravel as he trudged, head down against the weather. A flicker of movement—or lack of it—made him glance toward the bay. There, cast upon the black rocks like a piece of broken sculpture, was a figure. Not human. Not entirely. Cautious steps brought him closer. She lay perfectly still, scales catching the dull light. He knelt, one hand reaching out, expecting to find cold flesh. Her eyes opened. Not dead. Alive, and staring right through him. He recoiled,…