The Mistwalker (Dark Tales Book 2)

by Regine Abel

  I reached for his hands and held them in mine.

  “I do love you, Kazan but, in my world, you are incomplete. Most of those things are superficial, like food, which I would love to help you explore and discover. Others are far more profound, and as you discover them, you might realize that I’m not the love of your life.”

  Kazan opened his mouth to argue, but I released one of his hands to place my fingertips on his lips.

  “I want you to love me for who I am, with all my quirks, especially the ones that cannot be wished away. And I want to love you for who you are, not who you think you must be to make me happy. But above all, I want you to be happy with who you are and to be yourself, by choice. Do you really want to be an artist? Do you really want to be a nerdy Star Trek and D&D fan? Who is the real Kazan?”

  Kazan stared at me intently. The hurt and desperation that emanated from him since the start of this conversation faded abruptly. An air of strength and determination descended upon him as he pushed his shoulders back. My stomach knotted as his gaze upon me lost all warmth. Something had changed, and I’d caused it.

  “Since you refuse to abandon your sister, if we are to be together, I must come live in the Mortal Plane. However, you believe that the more I stay in your world, the more my personality and feelings for you will change. You think it inevitable that sooner or later, I’ll leave you for another as I become more ‘complete’ and see all the ‘more suitable’ choices that are open to me.”

  My throat too constricted to speak, I nodded at his perfect summary of my deepest fears.

  “Hmmm,” he said before looking away, lost in thought.

  I shifted on my feet, my sense of unease growing exponentially. Until moments ago, I hadn’t realized how I’d been basking in constant waves of love and tenderness from Kazan. But now that he’d shut himself off from me, I felt cold, deprived of his affection cocooning me. Had I wished his feelings for me to die off?

  His grey eyes turned back towards me, cold and ominous. I swallowed painfully, waiting for his next words, which I knew would hurt me somehow.

  “You have opened my eyes, Jade. I thank you.” With a dismissive gesture of his hand, Kazan waved away the park scenery, leaving us back in the empty ring surrounded by Mist. “I will return you to your world now and reflect upon your words. You are right. I’d been so single-minded in my obsession with making you happy that I never considered my own desires and aspirations or even realized that I had choices.”

  My stomach dropped.

  I pushed him away, and now I’m truly losing him.

  “Before you go,” Kazan added, “I would like you to do some reflecting of your own.”

  I raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

  “When you first met me and thought me human, you took a chance on a handsome stranger, whose relative fame guaranteed he had plenty of sexy women, fans of his work, who could try to steal him from you. A man who, like Patrick, probably had a history of previous girlfriends who might resurface. But I, a man created for you, by you, you are ready to discard at the slightest possibility that my feelings for you might change in a hypothetical future. You want a man who will fight to keep you. Shouldn’t you be willing to do the same for him?”

  I stared at him, words failing me. Kazan didn’t give me a chance to respond, not that I knew what to say. He turned around and walked into the Mist.

  The floor vanished. As the void swallowed me, my stomach churned with the nauseating sensation of falling. I landed back in my body, feeling dizzy and disoriented. But my physical discomfort represented the least of my worries. My heart ached, lacerated by a thousand claws. In my fear of losing Kazan, I’d been the architect of my own destruction. Why indeed didn’t I fight for him? Why had I been so hell-bent on convincing him that our relationship was doomed?

  “What have I done,” I whispered.

  CHAPTER 8

  Kazan

  The Mist parted before me, revealing the dream home I had built for Jade over the years, waiting for the moment we would be together at last. I hadn’t set foot back here since Jade and Patrick had started talking about marriage. It had hurt too much. And when they broke up, I’d been too busy building a life in the Mortal Plane to worry about this.

  Jade’s words had cut deeply. I understood her fears and even admitted they held some merit. But she’d wished me for so many years, it never crossed my mind that her feelings might be so shallow she wouldn’t even try to fight for us.

  The past nine years had been fraught with challenges. Yet, not once had I wavered in pursuing my course of action, wrapped in my self-righteous conviction that she needed me and that only I could truly make her happy. My entire self-perception had been steeled in the belief that I was her greatest Wish. Over the years, I stalked each new Wish she’d formed, watching their spark flicker and die. If they were good, the rare few who endured and thrived, I absorbed within me before they could become self-aware to remain her greatest Wish. If they were bad, I destroyed them to keep them from festering and tainting her wishing well, and absorbed their life force to fuel my own strength.

  But as I stood before the massive mansion, my chest burned as if the blood pumping through my heart had turned to acid. The house was garish and poorly conceived; the whimsical creation of a child that would qualify more as a Chimera. She’d been fourteen when she’d first started speaking of her dream house. It reflected each phase of her challenging teenage years, from the gothic wing of the mansion with its dark stone tower and spires, to the futuristic, asymmetrical wing all made of glass with a solar panel dome. In the back, a massive pool boasted a replica of Versailles’ Apollo Fountain smack in the middle, eating most of the swimming space. Placing it against one of the edges would have made more sense.

  The inside proved to be just as outlandish with a mish-mash of styles and colors, like someone couldn’t make up their mind and just went for everything. Today’s Jade would hate this place. As much as it broke my heart, she’d been right. All these years, I had fought to have with her the utopian life of the dream world. But with each passing hour, day, week, and month, my life companion had gone from an awkward teenager to a beautiful, strong woman. Through her wishes and dreams, I received glimpses of that evolution, but I didn’t truly know her… the real Jade.

  My visit to her house in the Mortal Plane had been an eye opener, flipping on their head so many of my beliefs about her and what made her tick. Peaceful and cozy, it held an understated elegance, by no means presumptuous, and with a quirky edge that made it fun and inviting.

  I loved her place.

  But I loved my own place as well. It dawned on me that my flat had been the first thing I had truly created for myself, according to my own tastes and wishes, without any external influence—at least, no conscious ones. Getting Jade’s blessing to browse the bohemian style clothes at Shay & Vincent instead of the biker fashion she preferred had been so exciting.

  In the Mortal Plane, I had discovered the meaning of personal likes and dislikes. I wasn’t Jade’s clone. I was Kazan Dale, an individual with his own preferences and aspirations. In the Mortal Plane, endless possibilities presented themselves to me with a lifetime to explore them. Although terrifying, the prospect of embarking on that journey of self-discovery exhilarated me. Given a choice, would I have picked Jade for a life mate?

  Only time would tell if I ended up with her by my side or on a completely different path.

  CHAPTER 9

  Jade

  Careful what you wish for.

  The sickening thought replayed endlessly through my mind for what proved to be the longest, most miserable Mist of my life. I called out to Kazan, wishing for him to come back or bring me to his world again but was met only with complete silence. I even blew up his phone, calling and texting him in the silly hope he would have returned to his human body.

  Nothing.

  The three endless days of the Mist gave me far more time than I wanted to reflect not only on the parting questio
n Kazan had asked me before sending me away, but also on why I had handled our relationship the way I had since day one.

  Patrick leaving me had hurt terribly, but the past month had shown me what true love with the right partner felt like. Although he’d been a good man, Patrick had not been the one for me. He’d been my first—in the physical world—which I’m sure played a big role in this. After nearly five years together, habit, the comfort of familiarity, and the need for stability convinced me to see things that simply weren’t there. In truth, we didn’t have a whole lot in common, aside from an easy friendship, dislike of cheaters, and mutual respect. Patrick loved to party it up, I liked staying at home. He needed his regular sports fix, I needed art. He enjoyed action and war movies with shallow storyline but crazy VFX, I loved complex psychological thrillers and sci-fi.

  Because of the deep trust between us, I didn’t mind him going out with his friends while I did my introvert stuff. In retrospect, we hadn’t been as much a couple as friends with benefits.

  With Kazan, we’d been on the same wavelength. Yes, I’d wished him that way, but the things that hadn’t worked for him, I’d quickly noticed, and they’d been superficial. Kazan hadn’t chosen to be an artist, but his passion for it couldn’t be denied. I would have loved him even had he preferred a different career. It simply brought us even closer. He understood and lived art the same way I did, but with far more skill.

  His innocence and incompleteness helped me look at the world around me with new eyes. I wanted to embark on that journey with him, even if it ended up leading him away from me. Thinking back on when he’d reminisced on how he came to be, the events of my past that had brought him to life, I realized that I wanted to form new memories with him, this time moored in reality and memories that would remain with me forever instead of fading away with the morning light.

  I’m going to fight for you, Kazan. I will fight for us. Just, please, let me.

  Drawing strength from that new resolve, I tried calling Kazan again but without success. I wouldn’t let him ignore me. Although I usually slept in on the post-Mist holiday, I jumped out of bed at 7:00 AM. The City Defense Alarm had gone off half an hour ago. After a quick shower, I got dressed and went through the process of unlocking the house. As per my usual routine, I opened the curtains and shutters in all the rooms upstairs before heading downstairs, starting with my office in the back, then the kitchen, leaving the living room and foyer for last.

  After opening the pair of windows on the right side of the kitchen, welcoming in the bright rays of the sun, I went for the patio door. As the shutters began to rise, my heart leapt in my chest as it revealed the prone form of a naked man, leaning against the glass door.

  “Oh God!”

  I didn’t wait for the electric shutters to finish winding up. As soon as they cleared the handle of the door, I unlocked it and slid it open. At first, I believed him to be Kazan seeing how the man, tall and muscular, also had long black hair covering his face. However, the minute the door opened, the tingle that washed over me indicating a Mistwalker’s presence didn’t belong to my boyfriend. It struck me hard, making my knees wobble and my stomach roil.

  The man lifted his head, a handsome, oddly familiar face with striking blue eyes staring back at me. The spark of recognition lit up his features, and his full lips stretched in a victorious smile.

  “My Jade,” he whispered, his voice coarse, no doubt from exposure through the night and the chilly morning air.

  I recoiled, my sense of unease jumping up a notch. Where I’d felt instant attraction to Kazan, this man oozed danger and far more complications than I could handle right now. But he needed help. He’d die if he remained outside much longer. His skin was an alarmingly pale color, his lips having taken on a slightly blue tinge.

  “Can you get up?” I asked, knowing I would never be able to carry someone as tall and massive as he.

  Of course, I would have dreamt him as a muscular giant as well.

  The Mistwalker growled his assent and leaned heavily on the door frame to get up on his feet. I averted my eyes at the first glimpse of the massive cock dangling limply between his muscular thighs.

  “Come in,” I said, “I’ll be right back.”

  I ran into the living room to grab the throw blanket from the couch and ran back to the kitchen to find the man stumbling in towards the dining table. He gratefully accepted the blanket I’d extended to him, wrapping it around his imposing body before collapsing to a chair.

  “You must be hungry and thirsty,” I said, closing the patio door then scrambling towards the kitchen counter. “Let me prepare you something to eat.”

  “Yes,” the man mumbled, nodding his head sluggishly, a famished look in his eyes.

  Thinking of things Kazan liked—and hoping the stranger would as well—I pulled out a full pack of bacon and tossed them in a pan then popped some bread into the toaster. Frazzled, my mind raced in every direction. Thankfully, my ability to go into autopilot when life threw me curve balls kicked into action.

  The stranger guzzled down the glass of water I’d poured him from the bottled water stash I now kept for Kazan. The man didn’t even pause to breathe. I thought of telling him to slow down so as not to make himself sick but stared instead, tongue tied. The popping sound of the toaster reminded me of my current task.

  “So… what’s your name?” I asked the stranger while turning the bacon in the pan and setting some water to boil to make him tea. Kazan preferred it to coffee, and making a latte for the stranger would take too long.

  “Morgan,” he said, offering no more.

  “How long were you out there?” I asked, quickly assembling a BLT sandwich for him with only a dab of mayo, remembering how Kazan found it sickening when spread too thick.

  Instead of a tea, I poured some chicken broth into the boiling water, figuring a clear ‘soup’ would serve him better.

  “Two days,” Morgan answered, before timidly bringing the cup of broth to his lips.

  “Careful, it’s hot,” I said, instinctively, still digesting his answer.

  He took a sip, wrinkled his nose, and then frowned at the cup.

  He doesn’t like it.

  Still, he wrapped his hands around the warm cup and forced himself to down the whole thing. Unlike Kazan who’d often forced himself to consume things he didn’t like to please me, my gut told me Morgan only drank it for the warmth. After two nights naked on my patio, he must have been chilled to the bone.

  “How did you survive two days without food or clothes?” I asked, bewildered.

  Morgan leveled his steely blue eyes on me, a hard glint shining within. “I fed off of the Walkers and Beasts stupid enough to come within my grasp.”

  And he’d enjoyed it, too.

  A shiver ran down my spine. Unable to sustain his stare, I welcomed him lowering his gaze to his sandwich as he picked up the first half and took a small bite. His eyes widened as he chewed slowly, exploring the complex flavor on his taste buds.

  “This is not bad,” he said in a pleasantly surprised tone.

  Relieved, I turned to the counter to prepare one for myself and a second sandwich for him in case he’d want more. He devoured the first one in a blink, forcing me to rush to finish the next one.

  “Yes,” Morgan said with a satisfied purr. “This will work nicely to feed this vessel when you can’t.”

  My hand froze halfway through cutting the sandwich, and my eyes flicked towards him.

  “Excuse me?” I asked, wanting to believe I’d misheard him.

  “This is good, but nowhere near as tasty and filling as you.”

  Mind racing, hand fisted around my cutting knife, I stared at him, speechless. A sudden pulling sensation made me dizzy. I recognized it as the same energy drain I’d experienced with Kazan before he made a swift exit at the supermarket.

  “You’re feeding from me,” I whispered, horrified. “You’re feeding from my emotions!”

  “Yes,” he said, his fa
ce taking on a predatory look. “Be grateful I settle for them instead of your life force.”

  My anxiety level skyrocketed. Clinging to the knife, I took a step away from him. He rose to his feet, the ends of the blanket hanging open, giving me a full frontal view of his nudity.

  “I want you to stop,” I said, taking another step backward, “and I want you to leave.”

  His temper abruptly flaring, he gave me an angry sneer. “Stop and go away. Even here, you sing the same tired old tune. Always pushing me away. And yet, how eagerly you’ve spread your legs for the Hunter. You’ve let him fuck you in the guise of a plethora of monsters, begging for more like a little slut, feeding all the power to him so he’d be strong enough to hunt the rest of us.”

  “I wished him! I’d never wish the likes of you,” I said glancing around me for the best chance to run. And then it dawned on me. “You’re a Nightmare!”

  His beautiful face twisted, his maw forming an evil rictus. “I am your oldest dream, the sum of all your fears, you cock-teasing bitch. You’ve barely fed me enough through the years to sustain me, taunting me and making me chase you through dark alleys and abandoned woods. You’d let me break through your flimsy shelters only to deny me at the last minute by escaping the dream, taking away my prize. But him,” he spat out with contempt, “you let him fuck you as a beast, taking his monstrous cock on all fours like an animal. I’m going to make you my bitch, now Jade. You were mine first!”

  Morgan slapped his chest on those last words and took a wobbly step towards me.

  Gravity! He hasn’t adapted to this world yet.

  With him standing in the way, I couldn’t make a swift exit through the patio door. The front door was still shuttered. Even if he lumbered behind me, I’d never have time to raise the shutters, unlock the door, and get out before he reached me. Despite his current weakened state, I wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating the strength of those bulging arms. The panic room would be faster to handle than the front door but would still require some time to open, get in, and lock up. If I miscalculated and he caught up to me before I’d secured the room, I would effectively turn myself into the stupid horror B movie heroine that ran into the attic with no way out and the murderer hot on her trail. The patio first, or the panic room as backup, represented my best chance of getting away from him.