by J. Adams
The Wishing Hour
J. Adams
Copyright © 2010 J. Adams Jewel of the West Publishing All Rights Reserved
ISBN-13 978-0615425207 ISBN-10: 0615425208
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010918012
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The Wishing Hour
To Amanda,
my kindred spirit in the book world, and the best nail tech to ever wield a bottle of acrylic!
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Take my heart into thy care, and I shall leave a wish upon thine own, that it lay open to me,
never hesitating to merge its beats with mine, and in return,
my soul shall be thine for eternity.
S. G. iv
Zero
Venice, Italy
Standing on the steps of St. Mark's Basilica in the pouring rain, he heaves a tired sigh and watches the battered creature from Lord Derth's army force its heavy body up and stand once again. The rain dilutes the sulfuric odor of the canal and lends a subtle freshness to the air. He inhales deeply, taking the cleansing scent into his lungs as he carefully watches the creature.
The square is devoid of life, and if not for the storm, the only sound would be the gentle-flowing water of the canal. The fight has been brutal. It started at two am. It is now three. His sinewy muscles ache and his silky white shirt is streaked with blood, but his cuts have healed and his strength is quickly regenerating. He pushes the long strands of inky black hair from his face. A leather thong holds the rest in place. His brilliant, blue cat-like eyes hold excellent night vision and clearly see the Urchin crouching, readying itself to spring once again. Its hands are like a hawk's talons and black leather stretches over the large round body. Its head is bald and pointed top teeth protrude over the bottom lip of the twisted and deformed mouth. Scars in different shapes and sizes cover the Urchin's face and neck. The acidic green mucus dripping from its mouth is foul enough to turn the strongest of stomachs.
He takes all of this in for a moment, then clears his mind. Closing his eyes, he calls upon the power living deep within him–a power he summons only when absolutely necessary. A rush of adrenaline fills his veins and heats his body to the core. His eyes snap open and he lunges, meeting the Urchin in the air. He lands a fist in its chest and a great current of power surges from his hand as it makes contact with the Urchin's heart. It cries out and the ear-piercing screech echoes throughout the square. No longer able to stand, it falls to the ground, writhing on the pavement.
He approaches the creature and stares down into its half-closed, blood-red eyes.
“This isn't over,” it croaks in a garbled voice.
“It is,” he says with surety and strength. Standing still as stone, he watches the Urchin close its eyes and release a final rattly breath. It turns to dust and disintegrates before his eyes, the remains washed away by the rain. It is the second time this week he has witnessed such a sight. And he is sure it will not be the last.
Heaving a deep sigh, he turns his gaze to the body lying a few yards behind him. He quickly scoops the unconscious woman up in his arms and cradles her against him. Once again he has succeeded in protecting her, only this time it had been a closer call than before. His eyes take in the soaked features of the woman he has come to know as his true mate. Every time he touches her, the mark of the Ki Talimai, the soul's bond, glows and tingles in his palm. Now, as he stands holding her in his arms, the eternal mark burns.
He lowers his dark head and presses his forehead against hers, inhaling her rain-enhanced scent. He smells a mixture of jasmine, vanilla, and cinnamon pine on her skin. He knows her scent well because it matches his own. It calls to him as strongly as her senses. He knows her emotions intimately–her joys, her fears, her sorrows, her grief, her loneliness. He knows her. Yet she doesn't truly know the real him, nor does she know the full measure of his powers.
But she will. She will finally know everything this night. * * *
He moves toward the large double doors of the church. They swing open without him making contact. He never needs to touch an object to move it. He simply thinks it into action and his command is obeyed. When it comes to people or living creatures, however, his powers only work on the weak-minded. For the strong, he must get physical. Even still, he never forces his will on anyone. He would never abuse his powers that way. That had been the first lesson he was taught when his training began seven hundred years ago at the young age of twenty.
He ducks his head and steps inside. Father Battiano silently directs him to the corridor to the right. He has been here before–he has used the same quarters he now enters. He lets his eyes scan the room. There is a small bed against the wall, covered with a thick quilt. A pan of water is heating on a hotplate in the corner and a creaky furnace warms the small area. A wooden door in the corner opens to a small bathroom.
He walks over and places the woman on the bed, then gestures to the priest to turn and face the wall.
When the holy man complies, he in turn closes his eyes and whispers three words. He opens his eyes and the woman is dry and now wearing a soft white gown. He lifts her from the bed to pull the quilt and top sheet back, and tucks her underneath. His eyes take in her smooth brown skin, long fluttering lashes, and the mass of black spiraled curls splaying over the white pillow, spilling down to her waist. He watches the slow rise and fall of her chest and listens to her soft rhythmic breathing. His gaze moves back to her face, and for the ten thousandth time he admires her beauty. From the moment she was born, he has been watching over her from afar until recently. He witnessed her childhood, watched her blossom and grow and turn into the great beauty that she is.
He lifts her hand to his lips and presses his palm against hers. Her Ki Talimai calls to his, causing heat to spread up his arm through his entire body. Never before has it affected him so strongly. And he knows why.
Her call to him is stronger because the bond between them is near to completion. When that happens, nothing in this world or any other can ever come between them. They will fully lay claim on one another's souls, as well as hearts.
This is not their end.
It is only the beginning.
One
The dimly-lit room is cold, but I am warm. I hear the creak of the water heater and the beating of rain against the stone walls. I smell the faint musky scent of the old building, and feel the softness of freshly-washed sheets. Though my eyes are still closed, I am awake enough to sense a familiar presence surrounding me–a presence the defies all description. His essence pierces my very soul, sustains me, and it has for a week now. He is my protector, my conscience, my guide, my archangel.
Yet I still don't know his name.
The arms holding me now are as familiar to me as my own name. The steady heartbeat encased in the rock-solid, muscular chest my head is resting upon fills me with complete peace. After what I've gone through lately, I need that peace. I slowly open my eyes and turn slightly. I raise my gaze to the piercing blue of his and my heartbeat speeds up. I smile as the reality of his nearness threatens to overwhelm me. Then he smiles back and the rest of the room fades away. At this moment, the fear I have carried with me is forgotten.
“Are you well?” he asks in that deep, rich voice of his.
“Yes.”
He continues to stare intently. I want to say more, anything more, but no words come. I can't lend voice to my thoughts. So I silently wait to hear his angelic voice again. It is the sweetest sound in existence. Nothing is more beautiful to my ears. He touches my face, drawing a warm trail down my cheek with his finger.
“There is much to say.”
This is true, for I feel his emotions travel through me before his words give voice to his thoughts. I should be used to it by now, but each time he looks i
nto my eyes, each time he touches me, the sensation is renewed, and my senses are freshly captured by his.
He rises, helping me sit up with him and keeps his arms around me, holding me close. Their shelter is one I never want to leave. His warmth is intoxicating. The haven of his embrace feels like home.
“Do you remember the very moment we met?” he asks.
“Of course,” I answer, smiling and burrowing deeper in his embrace. The moment I met him is one I will never forget.
* * *
One week ago.
Grandville, Colorado
Sitting in the bedroom of my small apartment, I absently stare out the window into the wooded area behind my building, rampant. and once again set my thoughts free to run These times of aimlessness are coming more frequently because I have absolutely no life. This discovery is nothing new to me, but for some reason, today this fact is more prominent. When I tell people I have no life, they usually laugh and say something like, “Yeah, right,” or “You're joking, right?” I've never been able to understand why they don't believe me.
I glimpse my reflection in the window and attempt to smile without success. I am twenty-five years old, six feet tall, black and single. And except for Henry, my husky Persian cat, I live a solitary life. I always have. I have no siblings, no cousins, no aunts, uncles, or grandparents. Having lost my mother to cancer three years before and my father to heart disease the year after that, I have been flying solo for a while now. Thanks to the insurance money I received from my parents' death, as well as some wise investing, I only work a couple of days a week at a rest home, helping to care for the elderly residents there. Every now and then, even when I am not scheduled to work, I go in for a few hours and volunteer to help out. I've really grown to love the people I help. There is definitely a wealth of forgotten wisdom in that place, and I enjoy hearing the thoughts of the loving old souls there.
This is the extent of my social life.
It's Friday night, and once again I can hear yelling next door. Karen's husband has been drinking again and he is on a warpath. I have become used to the sound, but tonight things are different. Tonight Karen is screaming even louder and her little girl's sorrowful cries echo throughout our floor of the apartment building. The sound makes my heart ache. She is only five and is witnessing things no child should ever have to see. There have been so many times over the past couple of months that I've encouraged Karen to take her daughter and leave. I've tried to help her understand things will only get worse with each day that passes. But she never listens. She says she loves him too much.
Now, here I sit tonight, listening to her pleas, and it really has gotten worse.
I pick up the phone to call the police when there is a soft knock at my door. I am hesitant as I approach the door until I hear the small voice of Karen's daughter Sarah whispering, “Celine, can I come in?”
Throwing caution the wind, I quickly open the door and pull her inside, locking all three locks behind me. I pick up her small frame and she clings to me as I return to the chair in front of the window. I call the police and they inform me that they will send an officer out. Waiting, I stare out into the woods and hold her close, softly humming, trying to mute the screams of her mother. It is a painfully frightening sound. I press my chin in the little girl's hair as tears fill my eyes and blur my vision. When they fall onto my face and my vision clears, I see something that causes my mouth to drop open.
A most astounding being appears amidst the trees.
I must be seeing things. I close my eyes and rub them, then open them again. He is still there.
His straight, jet-black, hair hangs around his shoulders and his tanned, lean-muscled physique is clad in a white, form-fitting silk shirt tucked into black leather leggings and high black boots. He has to be at least seven feet tall! Even from where I sit, high up in the window, I can see he is magnificent, the most glorious looking man I have ever seen. He makes the models on the front of romance novels look like nerdy pansies.
As he walks forward, I can see his eyes are clearly focused on me and my cheeks grow warm. He stops, then raises a hand and smiles. I am completely shocked and awed that this amazing being is smiling at me. I lift my hand in return and start to smile, but a loud banging at my door stops me. I immediately jump up and Sarah whimpers.
“Give me my kid, Celine!” Roger's voice is slurred but deceiving. He may be drunk, but he is still huge, and as strong as an ox.
I hold Sarah close and frantically wonder where the police are. My eyes move back to the woods only to find the man is no longer there. Disengaging myself from Sarah long enough to grab my purse, I dump out the contents to find my can of pepper spray, but before I can pick it up where it has fallen to the floor, the door is kicked open and we both scream. I back against the wall, clinging to Sarah, not knowing what to do.
Roger snarls like a crazed animal as he lunges toward us. I pick up a large metal paperweight, prepared to throw it at him and hope my aim is true, but it is unnecessary. He has only taken two steps when a force flies through the door and slams him to the floor. I hear the crack of Roger's nose as it hits the hard tile. Shocked, I finally look up at our rescuer.
It is him! The man from the woods!
From a distance he had been magnificent, but up close, he is indescribably magnanimous! His head almost brushes the ceiling and he's even taller than I thought, at least eight feet! He's a giant! His cat-like blue gaze pierces me to the core. He reaches out a strong hand, placing it gently on my shoulder, and I almost forget to breathe.
“Are you all right, Celine?” he asks. His deep angelic voice is heavily accented. I am sure he's Italian, though it almost sounds like a mixture of European accents.
“Yes,” I breathe, staring up at him. “But . . . how did you know? And how do you know my name?”
He smiles and answers simply, “I just know.”
I swallow hard. I don't know what to say. For the first time in my life, I am completely speechless.
Sarah turns in my arms and looks up at the man curiously. He squats his long, sinewy body down in front of her, taking her small hand in his large one.
“Everything will be all right, Sarah. You and your mother will never be hurt by him again.” He presses a hand to her cheek. “You believe me, don't you?”
She nods and returns his smile. Seeming satisfied, he stands, turning his beautiful face to me and stares silently for a long moment. I feel like I am melting before him. I lean against the desk for support, fearing I will fall right at his feet.
“Who are you?” I finally manage to ask.
Instead of answering, he reaches out and takes my hand, entwining my fingers with his. His hands are huge. My breath catches and I tighten my hold. I know nothing about this man, but I am comfortable sharing this intimate gesture with him. Suddenly it doesn't matter who he is. My heart knows him. That is all that matters.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation.
“Then trust me when I tell you we are connected in ways I cannot explain right now.” He pauses, squeezing my hand, making me feel warm all over. “One day I will explain, but for now, please know I speak the truth.”
I do trust him. I have no idea why, and it's unbelievable that I can feel this way about someone I have never met until today. But everything inside me knows him and what I feel for him runs deep. Call me crazy, but this is how I feel.
“I trust you,” I say with surety, pressing my palm against his. “I trust you.”
* * *
There are sirens blaring in the distance.
“Finally,” I mumble.
“Celine,” he says softly, “we must leave. Get your purse and come with me.”
“But what about Sarah? I can't just leave her like this.”
“She and her mother will be fine.” His eyes move to the unconscious man on the floor.
“But . . .”
“Celine, you said you trusted me.”
/>
I pause, looking up into his eyes. “I do.” Saying nothing more, I put everything back in my purse and grab Henry. Then we take Sarah and my cat next door.
Karen is sitting on the sofa holding her head in her hands, crying softly.
“Mommy!”
At the sound of her daughter's voice, she lifts her head and opens her arms. Sarah runs into them. Karen presses her battered face into the little girl's hair.
My protector walks over and quickly kneels before mother and child. I watch Karen's eyes widen in surprise and awe, and I can definitely understand. The word magnificent again comes to mind as I watch him.
“Depending on your choice, all will be well now.” His voice is firm but kind. “You and your daughter will be safe, but only if you take the initiative now to make it so.”
She nods, understanding him perfectly. I can't help wondering why she never listened to me when I advised her to do the same thing. In any case, I'm glad she is listening now.
We hear the sirens outside the apartment building, and he stands and takes my hand.
“We must go now,” he says. I nod and give Sarah my cat. “Take care of him for me.”
“But where are you . . .”
We leave before I can hear the rest of Karen's question, but I finish it in my head, knowing I wouldn't have had an answer for her anyway.
He leads me from Karen's apartment back to my own. Guiding me to the window, he opens it and takes out the screen. He then lifts me in his arms and whispers, “Put your arms around me and hold on tight.”
Nodding, I close my eyes and press my face against his neck. My heart is pounding, but I know he will let no harm come to me. Keeping my eyes closed, I feel the breeze rush over us as he jumps from the third story window and lands so softly on his feet, I barely realize we are on the ground.
We travel through the woods at an incredible speed–too fast for me to try and focus. So I keep my face pressed against his neck, soaking in the warmth of his body and the scent of his skin. Both are completely intoxicating. I have no idea where we are going. No words are spoken between us, but then again, no words are needed. Every so often, his embrace tightens and he pulls me further into himself, as if he is sheltering me from any and all harm.
