by L. C White
“You and the girl.” She goes mute on me.
“What about her?”
“She draws.”
“Yes she fuckin draws, so what.”
“She draws you. She draws you both.” Gwen looks right at me, taking her hand away from the card. “Your Dhampir and her Muse, have been lovers before. Not on this plane, but all nine. It happens over and over again. The six of cups is a reconciliation of souls. But it’s so wrong.” Her voice has upset in it.
“Why?”
“She dies every time. The energy of your Dhampir is easily led to darkness.” I see her white eyes tear over. “The only way to overcome it, is love. The Muse loves greatly, but the Dhampir needs much more.”
This is bullshit. I’d never hurt her. I threatened her, yes. But I could have stopped myself.
Gwen takes hold of my hand. “You have to choose which way you’re going to jump. You’re maturing, and your power needs an identity. Good or bad, Daniel. If you don’t, it will choose for you.”
I slip my hand out from hers, and brush my fingers down my face.
Gwen turns over the next card, but I’m not interested in hearing any more. All I can think about is Maeve. I don’t want to hurt her. But fuck, if I don’t see her now, I know this, I will turn bad. I have to see her one last time, to give her some sort of explanation.
I jump down off the stool.
“Daniel,” Gwen says. “You going to her, could end in disaster. Her heart is breaking, and she cannot give you what you need.”
“I don’t have the choice.” I open the bi-folding doors.
“What about the cards?” she calls out, but I ignore her and leave.
I hurry through the garden, and jump up to grab the top of the twelve foot wall. As my boots land, I hear the breath of a woman, and feel that dense air I felt in the house. I spin and that red head is right in my face. I go to move by her, but she thrusts out her tits, and steps in rhythm with me.
“Daniel,” she sighs out. “Oh Daniel, Daniel, Daniel.”
“Do I know you? If not, move out of my way,” I warn.
“No, you don’t know me… yet.” She runs her index finger up my chest.
I shove her hand away. “You need fucking, go back into the house and jump on Dom!”
“I just wanted to wish you good luck,” she smiles, showing her bright teeth.
I manage to get by her, and begin to jog toward the garage.
“Go get the girl,” she calls. “I’m rooting for you, Daniel.”
Wow, Dom has sunk to a whole lower level with that girl. She freaks me out, and I don’t freak out easy.
I grab my helmet from the handlebars of my bike, pull it over my head, and straddle the seat. I can feel her sadness, the upset I caused. I can’t let her last memory of me, be that dick Dhampir. She needs to know I do fuckin care, and I won’t hurt her.
I twist the throttle and become one with my bike. I speed out onto the gravel. The grumble and pitch echoes in the night, coaxing me to go faster. Coaxing me to get to Maeve as fast as I can.
Chapter 14: Past in Pencil
Maeve
I tear the classy dress over my head, and manage to rip a huge hole in the lace. I should be panicking because it’s not mine, and cost a small fortune. But really, I don’t give a shit. Even if Liz were to be here, demanding her dress back, I would probably just punch her in the face, the way I feel right now. This is my domain, my one bedroom apartment on Scots Way. It’s small, cosy, yet modern, and tonight it will be the place my heart breaks.
The journey home was what you would call awkward. Not so much for me, but for Adrien. I sat in the backseat with my head against the window, and remained silent all the way home. I think he daren’t ask me if I was okay, and it’s a good job he didn’t. I’d have only blubbered all over his fancy four by four.
With Liz’s dress under my bare feet, I arch over the sink in my shower room. I’m fuckin crying again, I can’t bloody stop. I can’t tell a soul. There’s no one to confide in. My friends don’t even know Daniel exists. It’s all been like this wild whirlwind encounter, which has literally shook me up, and dropped me on my head. I’m in physical pain for someone who isn’t of this world. He has shredded my heart like I meant nothing to him. He used me.
It was like a strange summer romance. It should be easy to get out of my system. I should just treasure the memory and move the fuck on. But I can’t. Meeting Daniel Knight has completely screwed me up on a monumental level. God, I’m so angry at myself.
I turn and slam my back against the wall next to the sink, sliding down to sit on the cream floor tiles. The showers been running for the last ten minutes, and I’m cloaked in steam. I just cannot move through my sobs. I need to sit here in my nude coloured underwear, until there are no more tears to cry over him.
“Fuck it,” I squeal at myself, banging the back of my head against the wall.
My dad taught me well about life. He warned me about boys. It’s just a shame he didn’t warn me about Daniel types. I always listened to his advice. I looked after myself, and I think that is why I held onto my dignity for so long. Then the first guy (well I say that, when he’s clearly not) who shows a very intense distinct need for it, tells me he wants me, and I go hand it to him on a goddamn platter. Why Maeve, why?
A banging sounds over the noise of water beating down in the shower. I shrug it off, presuming it’s coming from my neighbour’s door. The apartment door is locked downstairs. No one gets in here without buzzing from the first floor.
I draw my knees up into my chest, as the banging occurs again, but this time it continues. It’s coming from my apartment door. I swear, if that’s my dad, I’m going to drown myself in that shower. If he sees me in this state, he’ll be paying a visit to the Knight’s, and he’ll only make this whole sorry situation ten times worse.
I push myself up to my feet, and grab my blue cotton robe from the back of the door. No one comes here and knocks like that, apart from my dad, who has a key for the door downstairs.
I wipe my eyes swiftly, trying to rub the evidence of heartbreak off my face. It’s no good, I look like shit. I might as well wear my heart on my damn sleeve.
The knocking becomes impatient, aggressive, and so bloody loud.
“Dad,” I yell. “I’m frigging coming for Christ sakes.”
I don’t bother looking through the peephole, I just cast open the door, frustrated. What the fuck! Daniel has just charged right passed me. What do I do, after the crazy shit he pulled at Fonab Castle? I should be yelling at him right now, but my voice box has suddenly shrivelled up in shock.
I close the door and turn, to see him pacing up and down in agitation. He’s wittering real fast words under his breath like a lunatic. I hover by the door, unable to tell him to piss-off. Unable to do anything other than anxiously watch his every move.
“I have to leave Maeve,” he yaps.
My brow tenses as air jets out from my nostrils.
“We’ve already concluded that,” my vocal cords tremor.
He stops pacing to stare with a tempestuous look in his eyes. He’s kind of dancing on the spot, and his frantic movements are worrying me. I don’t want to see him lose it again. The eerie eyes, the threats, the confusion, I can’t handle it.
“Go get your pencils,” he says, yanking his t-shirt over his head.
What in god’s name is he doing?
I don’t move. I’ve been gripped by the sight of his naked chest. My sub-conscious is purring in bewilderment.
“I said, go get your pencils,” he says to me again, so cold and serious.
This is nuts. I cough and swallow, blinking fast to focus on the situation and not his body. I’m frowning deep, watching as he stands there panting on the spot, his demanding eyes set harsh on mine.
“What for?” I finally manage to ask.
“I want you to draw me.”
He can’t be serious. I snort out a sharp laugh. He really has gone crazy.
“I’m not goi
ng to draw you,” I squeal. “You need to leave. Leave before I call the police!”
“I’m not going anywhere, until you pick up your damn pencils, and draw me.”
The tattoo on his breast rises up and down as he breathes heavily. I love his body so much, and for a millisecond, I’m tempted to go and get my sketchpad. I did want to draw him, but under these shitty circumstances, I can’t.
“Daniel, what are you doing?” I bark, with a slow nod of my head. “You want me to draw you, after everything you said!”
He walks toward me, his abs swelling a little as the curve of his hips sway closer. God, watching him, is like watching a last ever sunset, a necessity, almost as important as breathing.
He stands before me and my view falls. I can’t bring myself to look up to his desperation. It could fuel that monster in him, and again take away my inhibitions. He changes me. I become something else when he’s near, and thinking straight is impossible.
“You’re going to draw me, Maeve.” His warm breath flows over the back of my neck. “You’ve been doing it for as long as you can remember. One picture, then you’ll see what’s happening to us. You’ll know what you are to me.” His fingers softly course up to my cheek. “Please… Maeve.”
He’s spellbound me. He can make me do anything. I lift my head to look up to him, expelling all the air from my lungs.
***
My heart beats ferociously, as I nervously gather my charcoal pencils and my pad, from the messy dressing table. I growl out and slam my hands down, calling my reflection stupid. This is the strangest thing I’ve ever been asked to do, by the hottest guy on the planet. I really can’t wrap my head around what it is he wants from me. How the hell do I concentrate, zone out and enter that creative realm inside my mind? I’ve never drawn a live model before.
“Where do you want me?”
Oh shit, he’s behind me, in the reflection of the three way mirror, topless, in my bedroom, oozing deep dark sexuality. I flame, sensing the embarrassed rouge coating my cheeks and neck.
“Here?” He sits down on the edge of my crinkled cream sheets.
My teeth pinch at the inside of my cheek as I nod. I’m falling into his eyes. His human uneasy eyes. He’s as apprehensive as I about this. He says this will give me answers on why I’m tethered to him, and I can’t see how. But I’ll do this. I can’t very well just run away. I’ve agreed, and he’s now half-naked in my apartment.
I bring my things up into my arms and flick on my lamp. He’s lying across my bed, and I’m fighting not to look. I’ve never had a man in my bedroom. I’ve never been touched by a man in that bed. And I’ve never been so plagued with such an erratic need to have sex before. It’s crushing me. Constricting me to the point I quiver. I gulp, pulling a red transparent scarf over the lamp shade, to dull down the light.
I walk to the end of the bed, still clutching my things to my chest like a safety blanket. But shit, how the hell do a few pencils and some paper, stop voracious lust. I need him still, and I’m struggling with my sub-conscious as to why. I feel like he knows me. He knows every inch of me. He knows what I need. When the truth is in fact, he doesn’t know me at all. It’s as though I’ve been possessed by some crazy nymphomaniac, who takes over every time he’s near.
I remove a pile of clean clothing off my wicker chair. Taking a long breath, I sit down and fumble to organise what I need. I flick open my pad onto a clear page, my eyes reluctantly landing on my subject. My very sexy, hot, subject.
“Can you tilt your head toward me a little more?” My words are weak, no authority in them at all, just melting words as the urge to touch him grows. “And… and lie your hand over your tattoo.”
He quietly does as I ask, with an overpowering magnetism radiating from his pores. A flicker of imagination zips through me, the image I want of him transpiring in passionate flashes.
I open my tin and take out the finest pencil. I always begin with a very faint outline on every drawing I create.
Okay, I’m ready. My view studies every inch of his chest, his arms, and his eyes. I bite on my bottom lip to prevent my tongue falling out, panting over him.
The soft lighting accentuates the firm curves and crevices of his stunning body, and the shadows slink over every one of his abs like a wave. God, he’s flawless. This extraordinary situation, and the sight of him posing for me, has my panties wet and warm. I want him inside me again. So much so, my fingers shake, unable to get a good grip of the pencil. I feel so fuckin awkward, and I hate myself for it. If this is what it feels like to just want to fuck someone, then it’s not an easy thing to deal with.
“Can you do this, Maeve?”
“Hmm,” I exhale the longest breath, ever.
I look down at my blank canvass and begin a light outline, sweeping the tip of the pencil over the paper, visualising and sensing the feel of his skin on my fingertips.
He hasn’t moved, and my artistic rhythm is off the scale, like I’ve drawn him a thousand times over. I begin to sketch his shimmering eyes, using my little finger to smudge the shadow of his nose. I run my hand over my near finished work, and move down the pad so my eyes can capture him. His fraught gaze pierces right through my chest. He’s ripped the breath from my body, and as I get lost in his eyes, a strange distressing image of us being torn apart, sears inside my mind.
My view hazes. I know him. I’ve always known him. I’ve had paint to canvass. Chalk to board. Pencil to paper. I’ve touched him. Loved him. Given my fuckin soul to him. Era after era. Place after place. He’s caused me to bleed. He’s made me smile. And he has had my heart for god knows how long. The love and pain between us now, is so familiar to me. Oh god, what is happening? I’m being regressed by my own hand. I’ve drawn us so many times, loving and fucking.
The drawing and my pencils drop to the floor as I spring up from the chair, terrified. He’s shuffling off the bed, calling out my name, but I can’t listen to him right now. I have to get away from him, because this is so weird and messed-up.
I race through the lounge and shut myself in the bathroom, locking the door. With the palm of my hand pressed against my chest, I wheeze in and out, over and over.
“Maeve,” Daniel shouts, knocking on the door.
I back away, watching the handle jiggle. I don’t know what to do; scream the building down, or open the door so he can hold me.
“Maeve, you get it now?” he asks. “This is why we’re screwed. We’ve done this before.”
“No… no. I don’t get it!” I pace from the shower to the sink, panicking.
“Open the door and I’ll explain.”
“This is fuckin nuts,” I utter to myself.
“Yes Maeve, it’s crazy. But it’s true. Please open the door,” he appeals.
I take a step to the door, then back again. I do this over and over, trying to rationalise what’s going on. But it’s no good. This cannot be rationalised.
“Shit.” I hurry to the door and open before I talk myself out of it again.
He backs away from me, cautious. My lips part as I stare at him through narrow eyes. I need his body pressed up against mine. I have to act on these intense longstanding feelings. He wants to fuck me, that’s fine. He wants me hard, I’ll allow it. He wants to leave me after, that’s also fine. All I know is, I have to have him right now.
Passions flare as we both, at the same time, hurry to each other. He grabs and grips me so tight, like he wants to devour me, like he wants me inside his body. My fingers pull at his hair. I scratch deep into his neck, as I climb impatiently up him. He angles back, glaring angrily at me as he aggressively rips open my robe, and yanks at my sodden panties. I feel so fuckin strong and horny with my legs gripped around his body, holding him with my thighs, rubbing.
“I have to have all of you,” he growls. “I won’t let that happen.”
I moan out for him, eyes closing in rapture. Nothing right now matters to me, other than this.
With a deep rumbling grunt, he thru
sts me up against the bathroom doorframe. I don’t know where this shit hot strength and power has come from, and I don’t care. It sparks between us, growing hotter and hotter.
My lips consume his growls as he tweaks my wet panties aside, and undoes his trousers to free his erection. This is it. Oh god. I moan out his name and tense my butt cheeks as he slams into my sex. He’s so hard, so huge, and the pain as he bangs me up against the wall, is so fuckin perfect. This is so different than the first time. I feel empowered.
Sweat beads on my top lip as his tongue teases mine. He’s so careful yet forceful with me, thrusting in and out, up and down, burning up my sex.
His mouth moves down to my neck. He bites my earlobe, before pushing his clammy head on mine.
My come starts to well up as he goes into me deeper. I feel like I’m tearing in two. Oh fuck. I compress my thighs around his body, sliding my head up the wall. His fingers claw down my neck and chest as I angle back, coming onto him. He’s growling low, watching my face contort in pleasure. I sigh out loudly, overcome by the intense throbbing between my legs.
He pounds me harder and harder, faster and faster, and there’s a rage in every move he makes. It doesn’t scare me. He likes it. It’s what he needs, and that causes my body to fling up, coil around him, and convulse as my sex pulses into climax.
“Oh god,” I scream out.
I feel him explode inside me, and I can smell our sex combine together. His body judders and winces, his jaw tensing as he groans in release. I gasp in a breath as he stares at me.
Normally a small pleased smile would occur after such an intense sexual act. But this is so different. This is no normal act. It’s painful, yet needed. It’s a goodbye. I know he has to leave. I know we can’t be together. Oil and water don’t mix, and neither do we.
His hand lies over my cheek as I close my eyes. I just need him inside me a little longer. As I hesitantly open to see, one tear escapes from me. He sweeps it away with his thumb.
“Maeve, I’m sorry you ever met me.”
I nod my head, my eyes shutting down so I’m lost in the darkness, releasing my hold of him. My feet land on the floor as a cool breeze swoops over my half naked body. My lip trembles as I pull together the hem of my dressing gown. I know what I’ll see when I open my eyes. I’ll see nothing, because he’s gone.
