by Kristie Cook
“Well, that’s a long time you’re talking about. You mean my immediate future or later, after . . . ?”
“Both. The rest of your life.”
“Hmm . . . well, I have no idea what it’ll be like after, unless it’s just more of the same, since that’s how Mom’s life is. I’d still like to write. And I definitely still want real, soul-mate love and a family . . . if that’s possible.”
“What if I can make it possible? Can you see me in the rest of your life?”
I took a moment to seriously consider it—not that I hadn’t already. I’d thought about it many times, but now I had to answer him. And I still came to the same conclusion. Although I didn’t even know what it was like to be with anyone else, I just couldn’t imagine feeling stronger love for another man. I just didn’t think it was possible. Our connection was too deep. Just who we were told me we were meant to be together.
“I definitely want you to be in it.” I searched his face, trying to figure out why he brought this up now. His eyes sparkled brightly and a smile played on his luscious lips. “I said ‘soul-mate love’ and I believe you are my soul mate.”
“And I know you are mine.” He took a deep breath. “So, Alexis Katerina Ames . . . will you do me the honor of allowing me to spend the rest of my life with you? Will you marry me?”
He held his hand out and opened a small box to reveal a ring. The air caught in my throat and my heart stopped beating. I couldn’t even see the ring clearly as tears filled my eyes. I looked at him instead, his eyes serious and pleading. So loving. So damn beautiful.
I froze. He did not . . . ? Oh, yes, he did! Oh, my!!
“Oh . . . ” I finally breathed. Speak, stupid, or he’ll take it the wrong way. “Um . . . yes . . . of course . . . Yes, Tristan Knight, I would love to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“Thank you,” he breathed with relief. Did he expect any other answer? He slid the ring on my finger and before I could get a good look at it, he took my face in his hands and kissed me passionately.
We fell back on the blanket and his hand slid down to my neck, around my shoulder and down my side as our kisses became more fervent. He held my waist and our lips and tongues continued their dance. His mouth traveled slowly down to my neck, kissing and sucking, his hand gliding up the front of my stomach, sliding over my breast. A small sound slipped through my throat. He gently cupped and caressed my breast, moving his lips slowly over my skin to the opening in my blouse, slipping his tongue under it. One of my hands clawed at his back while the other twisted in his hair.
With one hand, he undid my two top buttons, enough to expose my chest, and kissed around the tops of my bra on both breasts. He traced the birthmark—a strange design of slightly lighter pigment—over my left breast with his finger, then his lips, kissing and sucking. I tugged at the bottom of his shirt and he pulled it over his head as I undid the last buttons of my blouse, letting it fall open. He pressed his body down, so hot and hard against me. His lips found mine again, sucking and tugging, his hand between us on my breast, his fingers slipping under my bra. With so much skin-to-skin contact, the electricity stimulated every nerve. I couldn’t control the moan or the spasm as my pelvis jerked against him.
And that was the breaking point.
He groaned and pounded his fist into the sand next to me. He sat up on his knees over me and I started to reach up and touch his bare chest and stomach. He was so beautiful, so perfect. Except his eyes. Fire burned within them. I dropped my hand. He stood up and strode away without a word. I lay there, drawing ragged breaths, staring at the darkening sky. My heart raced and the blood throbbed in delicate places. After several minutes, I finally buttoned my blouse with trembling fingers and sat up. The sky had darkened enough that I couldn’t see him anywhere. I picked up the blanket and his shirt and headed inside.
Tristan wasn’t in there, so I sat on a kitchen chair and waited. His house wasn’t quite home to me, not like Mom’s cozy cottage. The more time I spent with him and the more time we spent at his house, though, the more it grew on me. Or maybe I was growing into it. The cottage was small and warm and soft, like childhood. Tristan’s house was large and new and angular—modern and very adult-like. As the newly placed ring on my finger indicated, I had grown up and would soon be starting a new life with Tristan. This house would become my home.
I studied the stunning ring he’d slid on my finger. The main diamond was square and large but not gaudy and it was set with marquis diamonds and blue sapphires on each side. The band was either silver or platinum—knowing Tristan, it had to be platinum—with an unusual design around the large diamond. I twisted my hand, letting the light hit the diamonds and create tiny rainbows dancing around me, when he finally walked in.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, dropping to his knees in front of me. His face looked pained, his eyes sad. I raised my hand to his face and stroked his cheek with my fingertips.
“You can’t help it.”
He hung his head. “I should be able to. What kind of boyfriend or husband can I be for you?”
I put my hands on his shoulders, leaned over and whispered in his ear. “I’m not ready yet anyway. You’ll be fine when the time is right. And that’s when we’ll get married.”
He looked at me appreciatively. “I don’t deserve you. And you certainly don’t deserve me.”
I frowned. “Tristan, don’t talk like that. It’s just an obstacle we’ll eventually get over.”
Disbelief overcame his face and he was suddenly on his feet, striding around the room. “Just an obstacle? Do you realize what I can do to you?”
With hardly any force, just a twitch of his wrist, his fist hit the wall and pieces of concrete fell to the floor, leaving a divot with cracks spreading from it. I froze in my chair. He glared at me.
“I’m under control right now, Alexis, and that’s what I do without meaning to. You wanted to know some of my abilities, I’ll show you.”
He flicked his hand and the table next to me—ten feet from him—rose off the floor then crashed to the ground. The wooden legs broke into pieces under the weight of the marble top. He twitched his finger. The chair next to me slid across the concrete floor to him. He picked it up and a leg splintered into pieces with a squeeze of his hand. He threw the splinters at the window. They pierced through the concrete in a neat row across the window’s encasement.
“That’s not much, but should give you an idea. And you . . . you are so breakable. Imagine what I could to do to you if I lost control!” His voice filled with anger, but his eyes held no fire.
“But you wouldn’t! You couldn’t!” I nearly screamed.
In a flash, he stood in front of me, looking down at me. Power emanated in waves from his body, but I didn’t shrink away. He growled, “Don’t underestimate the force that lies beneath.”
“And you don’t underestimate the power of our love!” I stood up on the chair and glared into his eyes. “You love me! You know our love is more powerful than anything else.”
His face twisted and his voice rose. “Don’t you get it? It’s not something I would do intentionally! But if I ever lost control and hurt you, I would not be able to live with myself.”
“I can heal!”
“You don’t know that! What if I crush your bones? Crack your skull?”
“Don’t talk like that! I will be fine. And so will you!”
“And if I kill you?” he snarled.
“Tristan, stop it! You will not kill me! I won’t let you do that to yourself!” I pounded my fists on his chest. It was hard as rock.
His hand twitched and the marble top of the kitchen table he’d just broken lifted from the floor. It hovered threateningly in the air near me. I knew he wouldn’t do anything to me, but it aggravated me how he held it there.
“And what are you going to do about it?” he snarled.
“WHATEVER I NEED TO DO TO PROTECT US!” I grabbed the marble slab with both hands and hurled it across the roo
m. It hit the concrete wall with a deafening crack and crashed loudly to the floor. The noise echoed off the walls, sounding like gun shots.
Followed by silence.
We both stared at it for at least a minute, too shocked to remember our anger.
“Did you just . . . ?” He looked from the wall to me and back to the wall in amazement.
I tilted my head, still staring at the marble slab. “Um . . . yeah . . . I just did.”
“You know that slab weighs at least three-hundred pounds?” I felt him staring at me.
“Really? Huh.” I looked at him. “Well, what you did was a lot weirder—all that levitation crap and those splinters in the concrete. I’ve heard of tornadoes doing similar things, but . . .”
“I’m sorry. I wanted you to know, but I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t scare me, you idiot, you just really pissed me off. My whole point is I’m not afraid of you because I trust that we will win together. But . . .” I narrowed my eyes and tilted my head, a smile teasing my lips. “. . . since I just agreed to marry you, I think I should know if you’re always going to act like a broody teenager and throw an angsty fit every time you get mad at yourself.”
He lifted an eyebrow, the gold dancing in his eyes as his lips pressed into a guilty smile.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He grabbed me in a hug, pulling me off the chair, and buried his face in my hair. I kissed his cheek and he turned his head to meet my lips with his. We started to get into it again when he had to pull back in frustration. There was no fire in his eyes; he wasn’t losing control. But we both knew we couldn’t carry on. No make-up sex tonight.
“One of these days, we will make love,” he promised.
“I know.” I smiled. “Hey, we get to go a little more each time, you know. We’ll get there. I have faith in you. Maybe by our wedding night . . .”
“We’re not getting married until I can be a real husband to you.”
“That sounds like a good deal for us both. Because I know by our wedding night, I will be ready. And it will be our wedding present to each other.” I smiled at the thought.
“Then it’s a deal.” He grinned, too.
I looked at the ring on my finger, giddy at its meaning. “I love my ring.”
“I designed it.”
“I thought so. It’s perfect.” I hugged him and he held me in silence for a while.
“Shall I take you home?” he finally asked.
“You want help cleaning up first?”
We looked around at the destruction.
“I don’t think there’s much you can help with, unless you can pick up that marble top again.” He chuckled.
“Only if you make me mad again.” I made a stupid face and growled, “You won’t like me when I’m angry.”
He laughed, but then sobered quickly. “You know, you do scare me.”
I lifted an eyebrow.
“I think I may have finally met my match.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked with bewilderment.
“You have no idea, but you’re going to be very powerful. I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle you, after the Ang’dora.” Then he smiled. “But you will make a kick-ass Amadis. And you are definitely ma lykita.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what that means?”
He thought for a long moment and I was sure he still wouldn’t tell me.
“It’s short for my little Lykora,” he finally said.
“Little . . . what?”
“Lykora. Sophia never told you the legend of the lykora?”
I wracked my brain for all the fantastical and supernatural creatures I knew about. I shook my head.
“Supposedly it’s a mythical creature, it’s so rare, but I’ve seen one myself. It’s one of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen. It looks like a snow-white wolf, but with black stripes like a tiger. And it has wings—they’re supposed to be like angel wings.”
I cocked an eyebrow with skepticism. “And why would you call me that?”
He grinned, his eyes sparkling, and held out his hand. “Because a lykora is small enough to fit in my hand. But it is fiercely protective and very loyal, so when it feels a loved one is in danger, it grows as large as it needs to be and protects.”
I laughed. “You’re making it up.”
“You don’t have to believe me,” he said with a shrug, “but it’s still what you are.”
A few minutes later we pulled into Mom’s driveway and I suddenly felt apprehensive. I wasn’t sure how she’d react. After everything came out in the open and then Tristan spent so much time with us, she had finally accepted him as a key part of my life. I thought she might almost love him like a son. But I wasn’t sure and I didn’t know if she’d be happy with my being engaged already, especially at nineteen. I sat on the motorcycle and stared at the lit-up cottage.
“Relax, my love,” Tristan said. “She already knows.”
“She does?”
He shrugged. “I had to discuss it with her first. There’s all that other stuff that can get in the way.”
“Oh, yeah. We’re kind of like a really twisted Romeo and Juliet, huh?”
“I’ve thought about that. But there’s a big difference. Your family supports us.”
Mom waited expectantly, already in the foyer when we opened the door.
“So . . . can I see?” she asked, skipping any preliminaries. I held my left hand out for her. She inhaled sharply. “Nice job, Tristan. I’m impressed.”
He grinned.
She looked at me. “You will finish this book first. And you will finish college.”
“I’ll definitely finish the book first. And I’ll finish college, but probably not before we get married.” I glanced at Tristan and I knew he was also thinking about our deal because he winked at me.
***
I’d never imagined it possible to be so happy. It lasted about a month. Then the subjects of sex and trust came up again and it was a devastating turning point. We both seemed to have a blockage with Tristan seeing me naked. I lay on his boxy leather couch in just my bra and panties, while he paced the semi-dark room. He wasn’t trying to regain control—the fire was already gone. Something else was wrong. I pushed him off this time as he started to unhook my bra. I felt a loss of control and something deep inside hit the panic button. I sat up and pulled my shirt and shorts on.
He finally came over and knelt in front of me, looking into my eyes.
“I was getting close, but I think that was you this time,” he said quietly.
“I know,” I admitted, hanging my head. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t trust me nearly as much as you think you do,” he said flatly, as if it was fact.
I looked up at him. “No, Tristan, that’s not it. I know you won’t hurt me.”
“That’s not what I mean. You still have a shell, even for me.”
“What do you mean?” I thought we’d overcome that. I’d opened myself up and let him in. He knew more about me than anyone, even my own mother . . . and, apparently, more than I knew myself . . . .
“You let me in to a certain point, but you’re still protecting your most vulnerable areas.”
I knew the confusion showed in my eyes as I stared into his.
“You won’t let me read your book,” he pointed out.
“If it gets published, I don’t have a choice. You can just go buy it.” I tried to smile. He remained serious and my smile disappeared.
“Don’t you love me?”
“Of course! More than anything.”
“But not enough to share something so important to you.”
I sighed. How’d we get on the subject of my book? “You wouldn’t even like it.”
“And you’re making that decision for me?”
“Tristan, it’s about a witch and a werewolf and their unlikely romance and magic and myths—the stuff you laugh at me about.”
“I
don’t laugh at you.” He scowled. “I just don’t understand your fascination with them.”
“And I don’t understand your fascination with numbers and angles and the lines of a building.”
“But you like the finished product.” He waved his hand toward the house models. “I would like to see your finished product.”
I sighed again. He had a point. “It’s not even a finished product. It’s just a draft. It needs revisions, holes in the plot need filling . . .”
“I don’t care. It’s important to you, so it’s important to me. Why can’t you share it?” He studied my face, his eyes filled with sadness. “Why can’t you share yourself? Even if I’m not there yet, I thought you would want to be with me by now. But you don’t.”
The pain and rejection in his voice felt like daggers in my heart.
“Tristan, we both need more time. We’ll get there.”
“But why, Alexis? Why do you need more time?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered honestly.
“I do know. You’re still protecting yourself, protecting those most personal, intimate parts. You won’t let me read your book. You stop me from enjoying your body, even when I can go further. Why can’t you give yourself fully to me yet?”
I sighed sadly, leaned over and pressed my forehead to my knees.
“You still don’t trust me,” he answered himself.
The words burned my ears and tears stung my eyes as I realized he was right. I was willing to give him the rest of my life, but I couldn’t give him all of me.
“Tristan . . . ,” I mumbled into my thighs.
He sighed heavily, sadly. “You don’t need to say anything, Alexis. I get it. You love me . . . just not completely.”
I sat up and saw the pain written all over his face. Tears streamed down my cheeks.
“Tristan, please . . . ,” I whispered. “I do love you, more than . . .”
“Just stop, Alexis. I know you love me. But stop lying to us both about how much. Don’t even say it until you can completely trust me with everything. Otherwise, it’s not the same love I have for you.”
