No matter how fast feet flew against the browning grass, she just couldn't get far enough ahead to catch her breath. Her footing was getting sloppy and her breath heavy and ragged. It didn't matter what she did, she just couldn't escape. She couldn't find peace. Find sanctuary.

Panic consumed every inch of her and fear was ever prevalent in her serene blue eyes. Salem was yet another dead end only, this time, she wasn't sure she'd make it out alive.

For the past hundred years, a woman by the name of Mercy had migrated across the land. Or rather, the Atlantic Ocean. She fled from Europe to escape prosecution (living for two hundred years wasn't considered normal so she couldn't stay in Europe much longer without being found out). She heard rumors of a magical little town in a place called Salem, Massachusetts. It was a part of the New World. A new world meant new faces and a chance to start over. It sounded like a dream come true.

For years, she would aid the sick and injured. She'd invite them into her quaint home and tend to their ailments. By day, Mercy would appear to be a simple, kind nurse. But by night? Well, that's when Mercy's true colors showed. It was in the middle of the night, when said individual was asleep, that the real treatment would begin. With the flick of her wand and the light chanting of ancient prayers, the potion would brew. Once perfected, Mercy would slip the concoction into the morning stew and the ill patient would recover with uncanny speed. In days, they would leave with full-health and a sparkle in their eyes.

Or at least that's how it was for the past five or so years...

With a grieved heart, Mercy accepted a pleading mother's cry for help. Her daughter, a sixteen year old, was damned by some sort of fever. Left in Mercy's capable care, she was able to nurse the lass back to health. Only, Mercy was oblivious to the fact that the teenager witnessed her potion making, her magic.

The second she was cured, the selfish, ungrateful girl fled into town to spread a wicked rumor. A rumor that would eventually lead to a mob of angry men wielding pitchforks and torches. It was the reason she was running. It was the reason she was so scared.

She was to be hanged. If she could be caught. If not? The mob was instructed to kill on sight.

Mercy had been running for the past two days. She was growing wary and knew the end was near. The voices grew ever louder and they were no longer focused on a fair trial. It was death. Death to the wicked witch!

"Ooompf!" Her chin scrapped against the rough terrain as her foot twisted around an uprooted tree.

Teeth grit, she fumbled. She pawed at anything that might help her to get back to her toes. Only the pain in her ankle was too severe. There was no way she could keep running. There was no way she could endure much more of this fox chase.

Brows falling flat, her lower lip quivered. Whimpering, she jerked free her mangled leg. It had already swollen to twice its size.

"No," she muttered. This... this wasn't happening. She couldn't... she couldn't die.

Sucking in her breath, Mercy forced herself up. It absolutely killed her but she couldn't afford to waste this much time. She had to get out of the open. The murmuring voices grew were becoming audible. If she stayed hunched over that root, she'd be a dead witch. And witches, well, they were a dying species. She was one of the last alive. To die like this? It was a shame. A real disgrace to her sisterly kin.

Pushing through the pain, she ground her teeth. She knew it was a bad habit, but she needed something, anything to get her mind off the gruesome pain that slowly started to travel up her leg.

With a sure step forward, her upper bosom pressed against something cold and hard. Brows furrowing, she glanced down at the object that was now wedged between her breasts.

It was a long, silver shaft that continued down into a lovely mahogany-colored piece of wood. Eyes panning down past the wooden features, she spied flesh. Human flesh.

Eyes wide, she shot her petrified blue gaze up. Sure enough, her eyes locked with another set of eyes; these ones equally as blue as hers. Why, they even shared her fear.

Lower jaw spasming, she lost herself to a plague of shivers.

This... this was the end. His gun was perfectly positioned. As his trigger finger curled around the metal curve, she whimpered.

And then came the silence before the bang.

Click.

She flinched but still had breath in her lungs and life in her veins. Bewildered, Mercy peeled open her eyes to find a hand reaching out for hers.

"Take it," he instructed.

She must have rendered a confused look on his face for it caused him to huff and reached for her.

"We don't have all day," he snapped. Greedily, his fingers twirled around hers. He tugged her close and soon she was up on his back coddling a gun between her chin and chest.

"W-w-what are yo-" she tried to ask.

"What's it look like," he grumbled, "I'm rescuing you."

When she finally came to, the pain in her leg was no longer unbearable. In fact, it barely hurt at all. There was a glistening ointment on it, likely some sort of salve. And that's when it hit her, she couldn't hear the voices of the angry men. Slowly, she scanned her surroundings. She was no longer running in a forest. In fact, she was laying in a cave beside a rather pathetic fire.

Confusion washed over her. How... how did she get h-

Snap!

Her head swiveled. Her eyes dilated as she took in the darkness. Analyzing the figure in front of her, she spied a familiar set of blue eyes. It was... it was the man! The man from before! So that wasn't a dream. That was... reality?! But why? Why had he saved her?

Pushing herself up, Mercy chewed her lip. "Um," her shaking hand pushed back a loose strand of blonde hair. "Th-"

He smirked, which caused her to lose her voice. "No need to thank me, witch."

She snarled. The word witch always sounded so distasteful. She preferred to be called a miracle worker.

"What?" He suppressed a light chuckle. "That's what you are, a white witch."

At that categorization, he piqued her interest. How did he know she was a white witch?

"I'm not an idiot," he inched closer to her after taking note of her trembling body. Consuming her dainty hands with his own massive pair, he offered her a reassuring smile. "I know a white witch when I see one."

His hand around hers caused her to flush. But still, she had to push those nerves aside. "How?"

"You don't ride a broom for starters."

"That's an old wives tale. We witches don't ride brooms. Period." She corrected with a slight hint of annoyance in her voice.

"Wow," he mocked, "I can see you're a lively one. A real kidder." Rolling his eyes, the blue eyed man with the glowing golden hair released his gentle grip on her. "Well, if you're going to act like that, I suppose this is where we part ways." He started to roll up from the cavern floor but she stopped him. Cocking a brow her way, he rolled his eyes.

"D-don't leave," her bashfulness was starting to show. "I-I, um, I'm sorry. It's just..." She fell silent. Walking her fingers across the dirt floor, they collided against his warm hand. Chewing her lip, she slipped her hand back between his. "I've just..." Her cheeks were now a bright cherry red.

"Just what?" His hand squeezed hers before he pulled her closer. "Never had someone to talk to about this?" His head tipped to the side, genuine curiosity at play on his face. "Never had a boyfriend to share all your secrets with?"

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Mercy turned her head away. "No," she stated meekly. "I've always been alone..."

His hand released hers again. The second it did, her head turned to him. Panic plain as day in her eyes. She longed for contact. Human contact. Warmth. Comfort. Trust.

Eyes trembling, her lower lip started to quiver. He noticed this and reacted by running a hand through her soft golden locks. "Stop looking at me like that," he whispered while a devious grin swept up onto his face.

"W-why?" She blinked, perplexed by his statement and mystified by his intoxicating baby blues. He was a handsome man. A kind man. A soft man. She couldn't help but lean in closer. Drink him in-both his scent and warmth. Not to mention, she liked the way he looked at her. The way he pulled her in. Put her in a trance.

He leaned into her more too, which caused her heart to thunder within her chest. She'd read stories about things like this. About a man rescuing a woman. About spending a night alone in a cave. About falling in l-

Her lips brushed against him. The second they made contact with his face, she pulled back. She pulled back completely and scampered across the floor to put as much distance between him as she could.

Cheeks burning and heart racing within her chest, Mercy tried to calm herself. These feelings, these emotions, she had to justify them. She couldn't be falling for a mortal. She couldn't be falling for a man. She'd read stories about this too. About men who abuse witches for their magic and power. What if... what if this was all just a pl-

His hands found hers. Her fearful blue eyes met his. And when they did, she didn't see lust nor greed behind his blue stare. No, instead she found compassion. Trust.

Blinking, she blushed while looking away. "Wh-why did you save me?" she dared to ask.

"You're a white witch," he retorted with such a softness that it made her turn back to look at him. "You would never hurt man nor creature. You're a being of life, light, and peace. You don't deserve to die. You don't deserve to be hanged, burned, or shot."

"But if you're caught?" her question was laced with concern.

The corners of his lips pulled up to reveal a devilish smile. "It's a death I would gladly accept."

To this comment, her brows furrowed. Why... why would a man accept death?

As he looked down, his beautiful white smile grew. "You just don't get it, do you?" A faint blush clutched his cheeks. It was in that dim light and with that gorgeous smile that she put two and two together.

Jaw falling ajar, she beheld him. Him. He was the man she saved five years ago. The man damned with the plague. The man that wasn't supposed to live and yet she saved him. She saved him because she didn't want the world to be without his smile. His precious, endearing smile.

"Y-you," she reached out to him. Stroked his cheek. Found her smile.

"You saved me," his blue gaze fell back on her. "And I know it's my mission to save you." Mimicking her, he outstretched his hand to gracefully cup her cheek. "You need a warrior, a soldier. A soldier to protect you from harm." His smile returned. "To rescue you. To keep you safe."

"To keep me warm," she added. "To keep me whole."

As his lips pursed, she leaned forward. He knew not what she meant and that scared him. But she was a kind witch, a good witch. She wouldn't leave him hanging. And so, she pressed her lips against his to help him understand...