Warmth touched him first.
Not gentle warmth. Not the casual heat of a summer day. This warmth seeped into him like memory, like recognition, like a truth his body knew before his mind could catch up.
Declan slowly became aware he was sitting cross-legged in the tall grass behind his grandmother's farmhouse. The blades swayed around him, brushing his arms and legs with soft, whispering strokes. The air tasted like sunlight and clover. Lavender oil drifted faintly across the breeze from his grandmother's hands, wrapping around him in a familiarity so sharp it nearly made his eyes sting.
Dragonflies skimmed the pond. Blue. Gold. Green. They darted like tiny pieces of broken sky, stitching glittering patterns across the surface of the water.
The wicker chair behind him creaked .A sound he would have known anywhere, even in the dark.
She leaned forward and rested her warm palm against the back of his head. Her fingers threaded through his dark hair, smoothing it the way she used to when he was small and the world frightened him.
"Declan," she murmured, her voice a soft hum, "do you know why the druids said dragonflies return each spring."
He shook his head without looking away from the pond. A bright green dragonfly hovered so close he felt the faint breeze of its wings on his cheek. His breath hitched with something that felt like awe.
"They are messengers," she said, thumb brushing the edge of his temple with infinite tenderness. "They carry the things we lose along the way. Hope. Courage. Beginnings we misplaced without noticing."
Her fingers tapped lightly over his heart.
"They remind us when we have forgotten something important here."
He frowned slightly. His child-self wanted to understand, but the meaning felt too big for his hands.
"Forgotten what."
"A promise," she whispered. "A bond. A truth waiting for you."
A dragonfly skimmed past his elbow, wings shimmering like liquid light.
"The old ones believed they came from the Otherworld," she continued. "Crossing realms to guide us back to ourselves. They land near those who need reminding of who they are, or what they are meant to find."
The pond glowed. The colors blurred softly. The air thickened with golden light.
"So if one circles near you," she said gently, "pay attention. It does not appear without purpose."
She lifted his chin with gentle fingertips until he met her warm, knowing eyes.
"Remember this, my boy. What is meant for you will always find its way home."
The sunlight behind her brightened until it wrapped her in a halo. The dragonflies blurred to streaks of color. The wicker chair creaked once more and then...
Light swallowed everything whole.
Someone stepped through.
She emerged from a swirl of golden haze.
A silhouette. Graceful. Soft around the edges. Her face blurred every time he tried to focus, like he was looking at her through warm breath on glass.
Yet her presence struck him like lightning wrapped in silk.
She lifted her hand and placed her palm over his heart.
Heat bloomed under her touch. Slow. Certain. Claiming him in a way that unmade every wall he had ever built.
His breath trembled as he covered her hand with his own. His body moved before he could think, guided by instinct that felt older than memory.
Her scent drifted toward him. Warm. Feminine. Soft. Something like wildflowers after rain.
A glint of silver caught the light.
A dragonfly pendant rested against her collarbone, wings shimmering with faint luminescence. The pendant pulsed like a heartbeat, and something inside him answered without permission.
The dream shifted.
They sat beneath tall trees. Sunlight spilled through the branches, dappling her skin with gold. She leaned against him, thigh brushing his, and her laughter curled around him like warm air. He heard his own voice call her beautiful. The word tasted familiar, like he had said it a thousand times.
Another flash.
Her lips brushed his. Slow. Unhurried. Certain. Her fingers curled into his shirt as if anchoring herself to him. His hand slid into her hair, pulling her closer. Heat rolled through him, not lust alone but recognition. Connection. A click of something inside his chest locking into place.
Another shift.
Twilight wrapped them in soft blue. He held a ring. Her breath trembled as she whispered yes. She threw her arms around him. He held her tightly, joy settling into his ribs like it had always belonged there.
Another breath and they stood before a mirror. Her back pressed to his chest. His arms circled her waist. Their bodies swayed together in the hush of candlelight.
"Husband," she whispered.
One word. Soft. Certain. Undeniable.
Then everything fractured into sharp, bright flashes.
A nursery bathed in warm lamplight. She held a newborn girl, tiny fingers curled around the glowing dragonfly pendant.
Another flash.
Sunlight. Grass. A toddler girl barreled into him, knocking him backward with laughter. An eight-year-old boy grabbed his sleeve, eyes the same stormy gray as hers, tugging him toward some new adventure.
Declan swept the toddler up and held her close. He felt the warmth of her, breathed her in, knew her.
His children. The knowing settled in his bones.
She sat nearby on the blanket, smiling with a love that filled the whole world.
Then...
Silence.
Light.
Nothing.
Declan jolted awake with a ragged breath.
The dim room tilted around him.Bare walls.Closed blinds.Half-open boxes that still smelled faintly of cardboard.
His sheets were tangled around his legs like he had fought them in his sleep. Sweat clung to his skin, gathering along his hairline and sliding slowly down the sides of his throat. His heart pounded so violently he could feel it in his teeth.
A tear slid down his cheek before he could stop it.
"What is happening."
His voice cracked, raw and shaken.
He dragged both hands down his face, pressing his palms into his eyes. The darkness behind his eyelids pulsed with afterimages — her silhouette, her touch, her whisper.
Husband.
It wrapped around his heart like a fist.
His throat tightened to the point of pain.
He shoved the covers aside and forced himself to stand. His legs wobbled under him, muscles weak from the adrenaline crash. He stumbled toward the bathroom, flicked on the light, and turned the shower on full blast.
Steam billowed instantly, clinging to the mirror in thick fog.
He stepped under the spray, bracing his palms against the tiled wall. Water slammed into his shoulders and back, sliding over the ridges of muscle, tracing the lines of his spine, hitting him with enough force to make him gasp.
"It was just a dream," he muttered, letting the water run over his lips. "A stupid dream. Stress. Exhaustion. That is all."
He said it again.And again.
The words felt useless, dissolving in the steam.
His breathing stayed uneven.His skin stayed too aware — every nerve alive with phantom warmth, like her touch hadn't faded.
He dragged a hand through his wet hair, slicking it back. Droplets ran down his jaw, catching on the rough stubble that shadowed his face. He usually shaved every morning, but his hands trembled just enough that the idea of a razor felt like tempting fate. So he left the stubble, rough and masculine, accentuating the hollow beneath his cheekbones.
Heat crawled across his chest, into his throat. The shower wasn't soothing. If anything, it heightened everything.
He shut off the water abruptly.
Stumbled out.
Grabbed a towel and dragged it over his chest and abdomen, the coarse fabric scraping heat back into his skin. Muscles flexed under his own touch, tight with restraint he didn't understand.
The mirror slowly cleared.
He froze.
His reflection stared back.Ragged hair.Red eyes.A jaw clenched like he was holding himself together with threads.
Then his gaze dropped.
A dark shape bloomed on the left side of his chest.
He stepped closer until his breath fogged the glass.
Two faint wings.A narrow body.Edges blurred but unmistakable.
A dragonfly-shaped bruise.
Right over his heart.
His breath fractured.
"No."
He blinked hard, once, twice, like he could will it away.
It didn't fade.
Heat pulsed under the skin.Soft.Steady.Alive.
He reached out and touched it, desperate for something normal.
The warmth flared instantly.
He jerked back. "Perfect. Great. Amazing. You bruise yourself in your sleep and now you are dreaming about strangers. This is fantastic."
He scrubbed a hand down his face, dragging his fingers through his hair until it stood on end, damp and wild.
"It is just a bruise," he told his reflection. "A bruise that made you dream."
He did not believe a word of it.
He backed away from the mirror like it might expose something he wasn't ready to see.
He pulled on worn jeans with sharp, jerky movements. Tugged on a fitted shirt that brushed the bruise just enough to make his breath hitch. He shoved his feet into his work boots and tightened the laces with more force than necessary.
Both hands raked through his damp hair again, trying to steady himself.
Work.He needed work.Noise.Tasks.Anything to drown out the echo of her whisper in his chest.
He grabbed his keys and squeezed them so hard the metal dug grooves into his palm.
Without looking back at the mirror, he walked out the door.
The morning air was cool against his overheated skin.
The bruise warmed once, a subtle throb.
He ignored it.He had to.
He locked the door behind him and headed for his truck, forcing each step even as something unseen tugged at him from the inside.
Something that felt like a beginning.