by J. Adams
Eight
Emerging from a night filled with indescribably disturbing dreams, I awaken to the delicious scent of bacon, eggs, and fresh baked pastry. I inhale deeply, trying to chase away the frightening images. Images of death and bloodshed. Images of people being trampled and murdered by inhuman assailants with the single goal of destroying mankind. Mangled bodies of children littering the streets. Men and women chained together, tattered and broken, reduced to slavery. Smoky surroundings filled with the screams of pregnant women as babies are ripped from their wombs, and the cries of men as they watch helplessly through lifeless eyes the acts of desecration committed on their spouses.
Buildings that were once so tall and beautifully elegant, demolished and crumbling to the ground. Cities becoming barren wastelands. Animals and wildlife destroyed, never again to grace the earth's surface. Trees and plants withering and completely void of life. It was as if the world no longer had a soul, like all the life had been completely drained from it.
But the worst of all, and the most painful, were images of my protector's body lying in the street along with several others of his kind. His unseeing eyes staring up from a frozen, pain-contorted face, and all breath depleted from his body.
I sit up and shudder, doing my best to put the dreams out of my mind. But I know the last image will stay with me. I get up and take a set of clean clothes from from the dresser, then head to the bathroom to shower.
I close my eyes and stand under the water as steam surrounds me and fogs up the glass, wishing the water could somehow wash away the mental picture of him lying lifeless, never again to take me in his arms and warm me in his embrace. Never again to hear him whisper caro against my temple or feel his lips brush my brow. The thought of losing him is physically painful to me and soon my hot tears begin to mingle with the water. Suddenly all the emotions I've kept in control erupt at once and I begin to sob. I press my head against the shower wall and release them all. I lose track of time as wrenching, water-muffled sobs wrack my body. I tell myself I have to be strong, not only for me, but for him. The last thing he needs is a basket case on his hands. I don't want to be any more of a burden to him than I already am.
I finally exhaust myself and get a hold of my emotions, mentally promising that I will never break down this way again. I shampoo my hair, rinse my face a final time, and get out. After drying off, I brush through my hair, braid it, and pin it up in a bun, giving up trying to tame the stray curls that usually fall onto my forehead and frame my face. I quickly dress and put my things away before joining him.
He is sitting at the food-laden table in the dining room staring out the window, seeming lost in thought. When I enter, he smiles and stands to help me with my chair, seating me next to him. I thank him and marvel at how gentlemanly he is.
“You did not rest easy last night,” he states as he sits down.
I should have known he would be able to sense my emotions even while sleeping. It makes me wonder if he slept at all.
“Not last night,” he says.
I take in his concerned expression. “The dreams were bad–the worse I have ever had.”
“I know.” He takes my hand in his and squeezes firmly.
“There was so much violence, so many lives lost, and such terrible destruction. And . . .” I break off as my eyes travel to his face. I furiously blink back the tears filling my eyes. “And then I saw you . . .”
“Shhh,” he soothes. “Do not think on it anymore. Let your mind be at ease, caro.”
“But it was almost as if my dreams were some sort of premonition of things to come. Like this is what will be.” I look into his eyes, my own imploring. “Is it?”
He closes his eyes and lifts my hand to his mouth, holding it against his lips.
* * *
He can still see the gruesome images of her dreams and he shudders inward. Some of the scenes are familiar to him because he has seen them before in his own dreams. He supposes this is why he hardly sleeps anymore. Not that he believes the things of their dreams will come to pass. But he knows it is a possible future–possible but not probable if the prophecy is fulfilled–when the prophecy is fulfilled.
He'd felt the anguish she experienced in the shower. He had experienced every shudder, felt the trail of each tear that rolled down her face, and it had hurt his heart.
He presses her warm palm to his face. He can feel her hand trembling. “Those images are not in our future, Celine. I promise you, I will do everything in my power to keep it from happening.” He wants more than anything to pull her close and kiss the worry from her face, but he can't let himself. If he were to kiss her now, the moment his lips should make contact with hers, the burning passion of his immortal soul would take over and he would not be able to stop himself from claiming her body as his own. Until their bond is completed in ceremony, this is something he just cannot allow to happen.
* * *
I again try to push my fears aside and hold onto his promise. I let my gaze roam over the features of his face and travel down to his muscular arms and chest, the longing to have his mouth pressed to mine growing with each passing second. I don't try to push my emotions away this time. I fully embrace them, and I feel the powerful longing emanating from him as well.
Our time will soon come. I hear his voice filling my mind and his emotions come through with absolute clarity.
He releases my hand and I finally drop my eyes to the table, taking in the wonderful breakfast he prepared. “Everything looks great. Thank you for cooking.”
“You're very welcome. I decided I need to do my part in the kitchen as well and give you a break.”
“I really have enjoyed cooking for you. Plus, it has been fun learning new dishes.” I pull apart a fluffy croissant. “Please tell me you didn't make these from scratch. They're too perfect.”
“Would it make you feel better if I told you I've made them before, countless times in fact?”
“A little.”
“All right. I have had centuries of practice making them. My mother taught me.”
“Well, kudos to your mom. These are delicious.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you miss your parents?”
He pauses a moment before answering. “Sometimes more than others.”
“Do they still live?”
“Yes. I hope to introduce you to them one day.”
I smile warmly. “I hope for that as well.” I pause a moment, chewing a bite of bacon. “So, where exactly do your kind live? I mean, surely you didn't come from another planet.” I almost laugh at the absurdity.
“Our survival depends on the secrecy of the location of our home. I cannot tell you now, for your own protection, as well as that of my people. But hopefully one day soon you will see it for yourself.”
I nod in acceptance, again reminding myself that every decision he makes is for my welfare.
“Do you have any siblings?”
“No, there is just me. Maybe one day my parents will be blessed with another child.”
“When I was young I wished for a brother or sister, but Mama was only able to have me. Health problems shattered her dreams of ever having another baby. They were always pretty protective of me, probably because if anything happened to me, that would be the end of our bloodline. When I was older and my parents told me they couldn't have any more children, I was saddened, but they showered me with all the love they possibly could and I lacked for nothing. I was a happy child. Happy and very fortunate to have them as parents.”
“And they were fortunate to have you.” He squeezes my hand and I smile.
We finish eating and I help him clear everything away. I leave the kitchen and walk into the front salon and gaze out the terrace window down into the rippling water. There are water buses cruising back and forth, delivering passengers to their various destinations. I marvel at how oblivious the citizens and tourists are to the evil surrounding them– clueless of the hidden element that lies awake in the dar
k alleyways of the city, waiting to wreak destruction on the human soul. I shudder and rub the goosebumps on my arms and try to replace the disturbing thoughts with something else.
I feel his presence even before he touches me. I sigh as he wraps his muscular arms around me and holds me close. I am sure he senses my inner distress. I soak in the comfort he gives.
“Will you tell me about your home, what it's like?”
Tightening his embrace slightly, he heaves a deep sigh. There is a melancholy tone his voice when he speaks.
“It is very green, and the colors of the flowers, trees, and the sky are more vivid than you could possibly imagine.” He leans down and presses his face into my hair. “The sounds of birds, the smell of nature, the taste of food. It is all blissfully intoxicating. Our cottages are large and comfortable, and we have everything we need or want. There is no war, no violence there. Everyone lives in peace.”
“It sounds Utopian,” I murmur in wonder.
“Not Utopian, but more heavenly than I can describe. We work for what we have. We reap only what we sow. We get out only what we put into our way of life. We strive to be kind and fair, to love our neighbor. And we do what we can to help those we share this world with. This is very important to us. But we also stand ready to defend our home, our children, family, loved ones, and our lives.”
I turn in his arms and raise my eyes to his, letting my gaze travel over his angelically handsome features. “You are a great people. This world is blessed by your presence.” I caress his face. “I know I am.”
His piercing gaze captures mine. “Do you truly feel that way? Are you truly happy to be with me?”
I stare into his imploring eyes and I feel tears rise in mine. How can you doubt it? Can you not feel it? Just look into my eyes. Can you not see it?
He lifts a warm hand to my cheek. “Si, caro,” he whispers huskily. “I see it.” He takes my hand and presses it against his chest. “I feel it.” He tightens his embrace and pulls me further into himself.
I sigh and let his words wash over me, through me. I never want to leave this spot. And I never want to be away from him. We stand for a while in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
After a long while I finally ask, “What does 'caro' mean?” I have wanted to ask him for some time now.
He touches his lips to my ear and whispers, “It means beloved.”
The sensation and heady sound of his words causes a blissful shiver to move through me. “Caro,” I whisper, testing the word with my own voice. The one word says much to me, and the warmth I experience each time he uses it to address me is now magnified. This one word conveys to me what he is not yet free to say. I feel this with absolute certainty, and I marvel at how strongly my heart answers.
Our time will soon come, he tells me again and I hold to his words.
* * *
It rains on and off throughout the day and I am somehow comforted by the sound. The temperature has dropped outside and it is a bit chilly, but I am warmed, not only by the house, but by the company as well.
We share a picnic dinner on the floor by the fireplace in the inner salon. It is a simple meal of panini sandwiches, salad, and chocolate cheesecake. The cheesecake is a recipe handed down from my mother. I had enjoyed making it again. Each bite brings me a bit of home.
Afterward, wrapped in a quilt, I curl up next to him and we silently gaze into the flames. The sun set long ago and now the light from the fire dances against the walls of the darkened room. I am relaxed with my head resting against his chest, and his soothing heartbeat causes a feeling of languidness to envelop me. At night, his warmth is always like a sedative, and I fall asleep easily in his embrace.
I feel him shift and I awaken just as he lifts me in his arms. He pauses a moment, holding me close. It feels like I am being embraced by a giant. I guess in a sense this is true. Even at six feet, I feel positively short around him. I wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me to my room, feeling as secure as a child, yet his touch elicits womanly responses. He places me on the bed.
“Goodnight, caro,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to my brow.
I smile sleepily. “Goodnight.”
He smiles back as he closes the door.
* * *
Reaching out with his mind, he checks the doors and windows, making sure they are locked. He turns off the light and again positions himself in front of the terrace window and stares out into the night. The rain has increased and is falling hard. He listens to the patter of large drops on the roof and against the window.
He is restless tonight, even more so than normal. Closing his eyes, he takes a calming breath, then slips into meditation. It is effortless for him to become one with the earth and the elements. He learned at an early age how to merge his soul with nature, being taught that the earth is a living breathing thing with a spirit. All the people of his kind have this gift. However, he is even more gifted, and his ability to commune with nature and his surroundings is especially strong. He can hear the wind as it speaks to the atmosphere and the atmosphere's submission in this partnership we call weather. He can see and feel the exact size and shape of each raindrop that falls–the pattern of each snowflake that drifts softly to the ground in the winter, and the ferociousness of destroying everything a tornado as it touches down, in sight. He knows the elements intimately and respects them all.
He continues to listen to the rain and begins to relax, his body slowly growing languid, one organ and limb at a time. * * *
A moment later his eyes snap open, and in a flash he is in Celine's room. The creature had not even had time to draw a blade. His heart lurches and instant fury fills him as the Urchin snatches Celine up and sprints through the balcony doors with her clutched in its claws. He releases an inhuman roar of rage as he lunges through the doors into the rain. He is right on the creature's tail.
Celine's body is limp. He reaches out with his mind to assess her condition. She has been injected with an Urchin sedative, most likely to keep her from fighting or screaming should she had awakened, but she is otherwise unharmed. Something tells him the Urchin's orders have changed and Lord Derth wants his minion to bring her to him alive, otherwise she would be dead now. Maybe he wants the satisfaction of killing her himself. That would be like him.
He trails the Urchin as it weaves back and forth through alleyways, trying to lose him, but the creature's efforts are in vain. It finally stops in front of St. Mark's Basilica.
Standing in front of the creature, preparing for battle, he watches as it hurls Celine toward the building wall. He sends out a powerful strand of air and catches her before she hits the hard surface, and gently places her on the pavement by the church doors. Then he turns and faces the creature.
In an instant, both leap into the air towards one another, the protector with his sword and shield, the Urchin with it's poisonous daggers. He manages to deflect every dagger, destroying each blade that hits his shield. He swings his sword toward the creature's head and the Urchin blocks the blade with its own.
Thus the hour-long battle begins.
Nine
The Present
He tightens his embrace, holding me closer. Everything about him is familiar to me. He exudes peace, safety, and comfort. Being with him is home. I press my face in the curve of his neck, wanting to curl up inside him and never move.
Tonight I was closer to death than I have ever been before, and I had been completely unaware of it. For that, I am grateful. I had caught a glimpse of the creature before he injected me, and even though it was only for a fraction of a second, the hideous sight that met my eyes will stay with me forever.
But what is he? And why does he want to kill me?
It is time, caro. I will tell you everything.
I lift my eyes to his face, giving him my full attention. He draws back, taking my hands in his. “My name is Sebastian. Sebastian Giovanni.”
“Sebastian,” I whisper. It thrills me to finally know his name, to
finally be able to say it. “So you really are Italian?”
“Technically, yes. I was born in Italy. My parents decided to leave our real home, Challis, before I was born and moved to Venice. We lived here for my first nineteen years. Gideon, the man you met who helped us get here, is my cousin. He moved to the surface in 1798.” My mouth forms an o at finally knowing a little more about the blond man. Sebastian continues. “Our height caused my parents and me to stick out like a sore thumb. By my nineteenth birthday, my parents missed our home and moved back so I could begin my training. Every young man of my kind begins his training at twenty and hopes to be given the calling of protector. I was blessed to be chosen. ”
“Chosen for what?”
“To be the protector of the Woman of Prophecy.” He squeezes my hand. “It is you, Celine. You are the Woman of Prophecy.”
Woman of Prophecy? My mouth is moving, but nothing is coming out. My mind is exploding with questions, but I press my lips together and allow him to continue.
“When we are young, we are taught that one day there would be born to this earth a woman who will bear a golden son, a child whose birth would end the reign of Lord Derth, the leader of the Urchins. It has been foretold that the child's very birth will incinerate him and all who follow him instantly. They will turn to dust where they stand. He will possess the purest spirit to ever be born to this earth. When he draws his first breath, the enemy will cower before him and draw his last.”
My heart is pounding like crazy. “Me? Give birth to a golden child? How is this possible?”
“You were chosen long before you came into this life. The One chose you, and he chose me to be your protector. But more than that, I am your true mate in every way.”
When he says this, I look at my hand, noticing the painless burning of the mark. Sebastian places his open palm over mine and heat ignites between us, traveling from my head to my feet.
I have no idea how all of this is happening or why it's happening to me. I only know that it is–and it makes complete and perfect sense. I look up into his eyes as he closes his hand around mine, and the heat becomes a steady burn. I feel myself being consumed.
