by Kristie Cook
I was scared to death to be here alone.
I paced the cottage several times, mentally going through self-defense motions. Being alone at night for the first time ever—Mom had never left me before—brought renewed fear. Not fear of those others, who couldn’t possibly exist. Time and distance had caused that memory to fade to the point where I doubted any of it actually happened. I felt foolish now for being so afraid of a dream. But the wife-beater, on the other hand . . . what if he sought revenge?
I whirled on a whispered sound, my heart hammering. It stopped when I did. Then I realized it was only my own feet sliding across the tile floor.
Feeling the emotional tolls of the day, I finally talked myself into going to bed. But while lying in my bedroom, my eyes wouldn’t shut and my ears strained, my mind imagining various monstrosities lurking in the rest of the house. Eventually I curled up on the couch with all the lights on, and, somehow, sleep overcame me. I awoke several times, thinking I heard something outside, but when I listened, all was quiet and I fell back to sleep.
Chapter 7
The store felt empty and ominous when I first arrived, but I came early to have a little extra time before opening. Mom kept a small office in the back room and I thought she might be more likely to hide something there than at home, where I might find it. I tugged on all the drawers of her desk and filing cabinet, but, of course, they didn’t budge, locked against intruders . . . and snoopers like me. There were no loose papers on her desk and only one large, flat envelope in her inbox. She was annoyingly organized.
I glanced at the single piece of mail and my eye caught on the corner where the return address should be. Instead of an address, though, there was a strange, yet vaguely familiar symbol and the word “Amadis” embossed into the paper. I picked the envelope up and studied it closer, holding it to the light, but I couldn’t read anything inside. I briefly debated whether I could get away with opening it and resealing it, but eventually just dropped it back into the tray. It was probably from a publisher and I had seen the symbol on a book’s spine. Or, for all I knew, it was just junk mail, not worth the risk.
Curiosity gripped me all morning. I impatiently waited for Owen to relieve me of my duties, only taking the time to answer his questions of how I was after yesterday to confirm he hadn’t seen me punch Phil. Then I hurried home to search Mom’s room. I didn’t expect to find anything I hadn’t already discovered while unpacking, but there was something right on her nightstand. A lone piece of paper with that strange word “Amadis” printed at the top. The paper contained a list of names with numbers next to them. Some were obviously phone numbers; others had the wrong number of digits and I didn’t know what they meant.
Two names stood out: Katerina and Stefan. Katerina because it was my middle name. Does the name on this paper mean anything? The number next to it wasn’t a phone number. I wasn’t sure why Stefan struck me. The name felt familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
A sticky note with Mom’s handwriting clung to the bottom corner of the page:
Alexis, This is for emergency use only. If Owen can’t help, call these people until you reach one. They will know what to do. If this is not an emergency, though, you put us at risk. SO STOP SNOOPING! Love, Mom
I chuckled. She knew I’d be prying. I put the paper back and lay on her bed, thinking. What did Amadis mean? Who were the people on the list? Did she actually go to see one of them this weekend? And how would I be putting us at risk? That last question made me anxious. I knew Mom well enough to know she wouldn’t joke about this. Is just calling them risky? Or is all of my research? I sighed. Regardless of the answers, my research and snooping only led to more unanswered questions.
I tried to study, but my mind drifted in various directions, eventually toward Tristan. I didn’t know when I’d see him again and as the afternoon wore on and evening encroached, I really didn’t want to be alone. As if in response to my thoughts, the sound of a motorcycle resonated right outside the cottage. I sprang to the window and my breath caught.
Tristan still sat on the metallic-blue crotch-rocket, looking like a dream. He ran his hand through his wind-blown, sandy-brown hair, slightly taming the wild look. His muscles strained against his just-tight-enough t-shirt, tucked into faded jeans cinched at the waist with a black belt. He slowly pulled the dark sunglasses off and studied the cottage, his eyes sparkling brightly. I almost expected to see cameras—he looked like a model in a photo shoot. Is he really here for me?
He swung his leg over the bike. I beat him to the door.
“Guess I can’t sneak up on you,” he said, smiling.
“I seem to be specially tuned to the sound of motorcycles.”
He chuckled. I hoped he understood my innuendo.
“So, I have these exams to study for and I thought it wouldn’t suck so bad if I was sitting on the beach,” he said, then added with a smile, “and if you were there, too.”
My stomach quivered. “Just give me a sec, okay?”
I hurried inside, threw my books into my bag and grabbed a beach blanket. Tristan took my bag from me and we walked again, but not in silence this time. We talked about how boring the day had been for each of us so far and how we’d both been procrastinating on studying.
Once on the beach, we spread the blanket out on the sand and then spread our women’s studies books out on the blanket. We read in silence, stopping now and then to ask each other a question or make a comment. More than once we discussed the differences in how each gender thinks. He didn’t act superior at all and seemed genuinely interested in learning the thought patterns of females . . . well, at least mine.
“Of course, I’m not exactly your typical girl, so take it for what it’s worth,” I said. I packed up my books and stretched out on my back, staring at the white wisps overhead. My brain couldn’t take another minute of studying and the sun was low in the sky anyway, hovering just over the horizon, like a timid swimmer not quite ready to make the plunge.
Tristan packed his things, too, and tossed his backpack to a corner of the blanket. He lay on his side, facing me.
“I think it’s worth a lot,” he said. “And I’m glad you’re not the typical girl.”
He picked up my hand and turned it over, then traced the lines on my palm with his finger, having crossed that no-touch boundary last night. I continued staring at the sky, the cloud wisps turning a peachy-gold color against a deepening blue background. I tried to control my breathing as the electricity radiated up my arm, wondering what caused it. Was it just because his touch was new? Or just so dang thrilling . . . ?
I wondered what he would think when he eventually found out just how atypical I was. It was just a matter of time—one small cut on the finger was usually all it took. Of course, I reminded myself, he already knew more than he should, seemingly more than I even knew. Because I knew so little.
“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly. I turned my head to look at him. He watched his fingers on my hand, now moving them along my wrist and inner arm, light as a feather. I fought the natural urge to pull back from the tickle.
“About how you know more about me than I do about you,” I said honestly.
“Ah. But you’re wrong. I know so little about you. You don’t share much. I can’t even tell how you’re feeling most of the time.”
Good. I’m doing my job then. The wall’s still holding. But I frowned because I really didn’t want to push him away. “Tell me what you want to know and maybe I’ll give you an answer.”
“See what I mean?” He raised his eyes to mine and they looked hurt, making my heart squeeze with sadness. He must have seen it in my own eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ll give you space and you can share when you feel comfortable. I won’t push you.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He sat up and tugged on my hand, pulling me up, too. “Let’s just watch the sun set.”
He pulled me between his legs, my back against him. I drew my knees up and he curled his b
ody around my back, his chin resting on my shoulder, his face right next to mine. His tangy-sweet breath made my head buzz pleasantly. He draped his arms around my shoulders and held my hands in each of his, entwining our fingers. That strange electric current flowed around and between us as we gazed out over the water, completely silent except for our hearts. I could feel both racing. I was grateful the beach had nearly emptied by then.
“Lovely,” he breathed in my ear.
“Yes, it is,” I whispered, afraid anything louder would blow the moment away.
“I didn’t mean the sunset,” he murmured, his lips close enough to my cheek to tickle.
He let go of my left hand and slid the back of his fingers along my jaw from my chin to my ear. I fought a shudder and turned toward him so I could look into his beautiful face. The emerald green of his eyes shone brightly and the gold flecks danced in the reflection of the setting sun. His lips pulled into a small but tantalizing smile. And I knew then what was coming. My heart flipped erratically.
His hand cupped around my face and he gently pulled it up to his. He hesitated, still gazing intently into my eyes, his face less than an inch from mine, our noses nearly touching. The rest of the world disappeared as his eyes held mine. The sounds of the waves and the seagulls faded out so all I heard was my heart pounding and his thumb lightly brushing against my cheek. He must have heard my heart whirring like a hummingbird’s wings. He smiled and held his other hand to my chest as if to quiet it. The usual calming effect he had on me didn’t work. It sped even faster.
He leaned in slightly and his lips barely touched mine.
A spark jumped between us and we both flinched.
Then we moved into each other and let the electricity fly. He pressed his lips against mine, soft and full, moving tenderly but longingly. I opened my mouth slightly and tasted his delicious scent and breath on my tongue. I moved my lips with his, the electricity charging through my body and warming places that had never been so warm before. My heart stopped and I forgot how to breathe. We both finally pulled back to catch our breaths.
“Can you tell what I’m feeling now?” I whispered breathlessly.
“I’m not sure.” He smiled and his eyes sparkled brightly. “Let me try again.”
He held the back of my head gently in his hand and I placed my hands on the sides of his face and closed my eyes as he kissed me a second time. The world faded out again. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else even existed but Tristan and me. My fingers slid into his hair and I pulled him into me, desire rising in my chest as the tip of his tongue lightly traced my bottom lip. I leaned into him, nearly giving in to the sudden and ridiculous urge to climb up and attack him. Losing control! I forgot to breathe again and finally had to pull away.
I looked into his eyes and froze.
The gold sparks in Tristan’s eyes had turned to flames and for just an instant—not even a second—he actually looked more than just dangerous but . . . murderous. Then the flames disappeared and his eyes filled with pain. In one swift motion, he closed them and turned his head away from me. There was something wrong—I hadn’t imagined it—something going on in his head. But the frightening look in his eyes was gone so quickly, I didn’t know exactly what I saw, except for the sadness that followed.
I dropped my hands into my lap and leaned against him. I could hear his heart pounding hard against his ribs and I wished I could do something for him. I tried to slow my own heart and breathing, tried to regain control, and his breathing told me he was doing the same. His arms held me tightly, as if he was afraid to let go. We sat completely still until most of the sky turned dark blue. We lay back down on the blanket, his arms still around me, and we stared silently at the stars as they blinked to life one at a time.
Then both of our stomachs growled, ruining everything. We laughed, sat up and started gathering our things. He seemed to have recovered from whatever thought or memory had hurt him so much. I wondered if he’d ever tell me about it, but I didn’t dare ask now. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
We cooked dinner together at the cottage. I taught myself to cook, with the help of Emeril and Martha, and quite enjoyed it, but it had never been so much fun as it was with Tristan. I had to stop to admire his perfectly sliced peppers and onions. Every piece was exactly the same size and he had done it so quickly. I was impressed—and intimidated. He cut the prep time in half and it wasn’t long before we sat down to chicken fajitas.
After cleaning up, we watched a movie. He laughed at the choices I offered, my favorites—Interview with the Vampire, Lost Boys, Willow and The Princess Bride.
“You seem to have a thing for vampires and magic.”
“Yeah, actually I do,” I admitted with a small smile.
“Really? You like that fantasy stuff?” He seemed surprised.
“The lore fascinates me. You know . . . how it got started, if it was ever based on any kind of truth. I like to believe there’s magic in this world. And that it can be used for good.”
“Hmm . . . interesting,” he muttered. Not in a sarcastic way, but as though he found my fascination unexpected. His brows furrowed for an instant and then his face relaxed. “Let’s go with Willow. It won’t give me nightmares.”
I laughed. I had a hard time believing scary movies bothered him. “If you’re that much of a wuss, then let’s watch . . .” I scanned the other movies on the shelf. “. . . Legends of the Fall.”
“Oh, no. That would be the worst nightmare of all.”
I gave him a questioning look as I slid the movie into the player. I used to have a crush on Tristan Ludlow, Brad Pitt’s character, but hated how he left his loved ones. It wasn’t exactly nightmare material, though.
“I might dream of you with that other Tristan.” He pulled me onto the couch next to him and put his arms around me. “And that would be horrifying.”
He nestled his face into my hair at my neck. I smiled.
“I prefer this one.”
“This one prefers you, too,” he whispered.
He leaned back on the couch, pulling me with him. I felt so comfortable, so relaxed in his arms, I couldn’t understand now why I had panicked at the idea of being alone with him. Nothing felt more natural.
“Lexi,” Tristan murmured as he stirred on the couch. “Wake up, Lexi.”
“Huh?” I sat up, a little disoriented. “Is the movie over?”
“I think it was over a while ago. We both fell asleep.”
The TV’s menu screen silently glowed bright blue.
“Oh.” I snuggled back against him. “Can we just stay here?”
“I think I better go,” he said quietly.
He stood up and pulled me up, too. I held his hand as we walked to the door, and then he pulled me to him. Sparks flew through me again as he leaned over and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, dug my fingers into his hair and pulled tightly as I kissed him back. Passion rose as his mouth traveled along my neck and jaw line and his hands slid down my back, pressing me against him when his lips returned to mine. A tiny sound might have escaped from me. I don’t know. His touch and scent and taste all together at once overwhelmed me. Losing control again . . . .
He abruptly pulled back. Those flames sparked in his eyes again, glowing brighter than before. I stepped back, surprised (frightened).
“Yes, I better go,” he muttered. He was out the door before I could react.
I stood there breathless, not able to say anything because I didn’t know what would come out. Yes, go. No, stay!
“I’ll see you in the morning. We have more studying to do,” he called over his shoulder. I shut the door and slid to the floor—my legs weak, my insides still throbbing and my heart racing. I stayed there while I listened to the motorcycle’s engine fade into the night.
A knock at the door startled me back to alertness. I stood up and peeked through the window.
“Owen?” I said with shock, pulling the door open. “It’s two in the morning. What are you doi
ng here?”
“Hey, Alexis.” He seemed to be giving me a once-over. “I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to make sure you were okay. I know you’re home alone and I saw the lights on . . . .”
What the . . . ?
“Uh, I’m fine.” I stared at him with bewilderment.
“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” he mumbled as he turned to leave. “Sorry to bother you.”
He started down the walkway. Oh, no. Oh, no, she didn’t!
“Hey, Owen?” I called after him.
He stopped and turned. “Yeah?”
“Did Sophia put you up to this?”
He started walking again and called back, “Just doing my job, Alexis.”
Son of a witch! She had Owen checking up on me. And he’d conveniently shown up right after Tristan left, as if he’d been watching. A babysitter?! Seriously?!
But then I wondered if it had been Owen whom I heard outside last night, checking on me. That would be a good thing. He gave good vibes and Mom trusted him, so I should, too. Right?
***
Tristan showed up at the door at ten the next morning with coffee, croissants and his backpack in hand and we spent the morning studying. By one o’clock, he’d had enough. He strode over to the backdoor and gazed out the window.
“It’s a beautiful day for a ride,” he hinted. When I didn’t answer, he came over to my chair, dropped on his knees, clasped his hands together and stuck his lower lip out deliciously. He lowered his voice. “Please?”
Like I could resist that. Or the offer.
“Why not? My brain’s fried, too.”
He grinned. “You’ll want to put on jeans and real shoes. No flip-flops for this ride.”
We cruised the streets of Cape Heron, and then headed for I-75. The interstate, where everyone drove eighty miles an hour. Holy crap! What am I thinking? I had absolutely no control! I put my life into his hands! I squeezed my eyes shut and held onto Tristan tightly, my muscles tense as the wind rushed against my face and the sounds of cars and trucks seemed way too close. Exhaust fumes and the smell of hot rubber filled my nose. My body was welded to Tristan’s back by the time we left the highway only a couple exits later. I breathed a sigh of relief that we survived.
