“You are my prince,” she said, breathless, fingering her father’s token tucked into his belt. “One day, when owner, you shall be my King. I am confused as to why, with such power, you are unable to make a reality of your choosing?”
“Because any power I get from Hanley is an illusion, even ownership of all this.” He gestured to indicate the biodomes. “I’ve been manipulated and groomed my whole life. I’m a tool, and it will be under my ownership that New Eden will disband. Ever thought of that? I get to be the bad guy, and Hanley walks away on top.” Fillion moved away. “But if you have ideas, don’t hold back.”
Oaklee studied the way the evening light dappled across his features as his eyes roamed the wooded trail. Ideas swirled inside her head and she attempted to concentrate. Although, with the intensity of emotions storming around him, it was difficult. Then, with a start, she stepped before him. “Is there a way for your mother to meet Leaf before the Second Phase? If your mother truly held affection for my father, then surely she would not allow any harm to come to our family. It was my father’s dying wish for my brother to seek Della, actually.”
“What ... what did you say?”
“I wonder if there is a way for your mother—”
“No, I heard you.” His eyes widened. “Damn. That’s brilliant. She’s here at N.E.T. according to the latest message on your brother’s Scroll.” He stared at Oaklee in awe and she blinked with modesty, focusing her attention on a lacy, brittle leaf upon the forest floor. “I should have thought of that.” He continued in a droll tone, “You make me stupid. It’s an ongoing problem.”
“You are far from stupid, My Lord. I admire your intelligence.” She twirled a strand of hair as thoughts pulled her even deeper. “Perhaps your employer’s power is simply an illusion, and he has accomplished nothing more than fooling you into submission. For how can one man truly control so much?” She lifted her eyes. “I am real, a truth he shall never bend. Nor can he control our affection. Do you feel the invisible thread that stitches our lives together?”
“Yeah.” A timid smile tugged on his lips as the toe of his shoe pushed leaves around aimlessly. “It’s like quantum entanglement. What happens to one is experienced by the other. Regardless of time and space.” He paused a beat. “Even death.”
“The son of Della and the daughter of Joel.” She stared out into the forest to hide the blush and whispered, “Our relationship is meant to be full of forevers, not nevers.” Oaklee folded her hands at her waist and squared her shoulders. “So, how do you plan to seize control and make your own reality, Dungeon Master?”
“You’re a brat, you know it?” A corner of his mouth lifted.
“You like it,” she replied, hoping she sounded like him.
“I do. It turns me on. You turn me on.” Fillion bit his bottom lip and she lowered her eyes. “Be warned, though. Once you start thinking of me, there’ll be no saving you.”
Oaklee rolled her eyes as he quietly laughed. “Perhaps I do not wish to be saved.”
“Damsel in distress much?” He lifted an eyebrow.
“Only when I am with you.”
“What?” He laughed. “Ouch.”
“It is a trouble most welcome.” Warmth threatened to suffuse her face and neck with her wanton behavior. Nevertheless, she maintained a level gaze.
A gentle breeze swept by, feathering strands of dark hair across his eyes. The often rumpled tresses had grown in the last month, a look she found rugged and handsome. After a few long heartbeats, he leaned close, hovering dangerously close to her mouth. “Distressed?” he asked in a seductive voice, his body nearly touching hers.
Her heart faltered with the soft tones, and she grew faint as his breath whispered longings to her lips. The energy, so often present between them, crackled and sparked. She waited for him to kiss her, her body demanding more breath with each heartbeat, and still, he did not. Distressed indeed, she mused to herself. She would not allow him to win so easily, though. Nor could she live with herself should she succumb to swooning. The very thought irked her more stubborn sensibilities.
“Do not flatter yourself, Dungeon Master,” she riposted and sauntered past him and out of the trees. Once upon the path, she whipped his direction with a celebratory smile.
He relaxed into an aloof posture and moved toward her as if a predator on the prowl, slow, careful, the sleek confidence and smug satisfaction an intimidating vision to behold. When he reached her, she drew to full height and refused to back down, even though every part of her quivered with his nearness. And he knew it. But he only stared, unmoving, his body perfectly still as if lying in wait.
She grew weary of his arrogance and sighed with impatience, a sound that set him in motion. He leaned forward until his warm breath tickled her ear. In gritty tones, he whispered, “Run.” A shiver of delight shuddered through her as he straightened. And his slight, imperious grin widened into something altogether wicked. Then, he pounced.
Oaklee squealed and bounded out of his grasp. Without a moment’s hesitation, she scooped up a handful of leaves and threw them in his face. The autumn flurry bought her a small measure of time, and she dashed down the trail, her laughter escalating with anticipation. He eventually passed her, sticking out his tongue and laughing at the angry look she threw his way. When the stairway leading to her apartment appeared around the bend, Fillion grabbed her hand and sprinted off of the trail and into the forest. Oaklee giggled as he leaned her against a yew tree, the long, lacy boughs dipping to the forest floor.
Their eyes locked, chests heaving, and then he kissed her laughter until she was truly breathless. Fervor swelled and pulsed as his lips moved across hers. He buried his hands into her hair, gripping fistful of strands, then trailed finger tips down her neck in whisper-soft motions. A warm drizzle of emotion, sweet like honey, poured over her in a languid, tantalizing flow. His caresses were soft and yearning, his kisses tender and provocative, and Willow surrendered every beat of her heart to him.
The memory of his breathy whispers to drink up and drink fast danced across her mind. Their stolen time was precious. It was a thought Fillion apparently shared, and Willow swayed when he broke away, completely and utterly drunk on him. Each limb tingled and her head swam as she marinated in one pleasurable rush after another. Her legs eventually grew unsteady, and she fell back against the tree in reverie, succumbing to the lightheadedness that claimed her entire body.
Fillion blinked, slow and lazy, unable to hide from his eyes a similar intoxication, and said, “Just like kissing the surface of the sun.”
His thumb brazenly grazed along her bottom lip and her eyes slid shut, weighted by pleasure. This was the very definition of bliss, she decided. His body shifted closer, his breath pulsing with hers, just as a bird nearby flapped noisily off of a branch. Her eyes flew open. Fillion whipped his head toward the path, and the hand cupping her face dropped back to his side.
“We should start walking.”
She sighed with resignation. “I feel as though my legs might fail me.” A ghost of a smile teased his lips with her confession. “Do not let it go to your head,” she said.
“Say it.”
Willow shook her head while restraining her mirth. He leaned forward until they were eye to eye, a mischievous gleam in his steady gaze, irritating her.
“Say. It.”
She loosed a heavy sigh and lifted her chin. “I am distressed.”
“Pretty much.” She pushed him with a harrumph and flounced out of the forest and back onto the path. Fillion grinned and jogged after her, weaving his fingers with hers. “The feelings are mutual,” he said, ending with a wink.
Oh, how that smile destroyed every effort to remain strong! Nevertheless, Willow cast him a sidelong glance. “Once you start thinking of me, there will be no saving you.”
“Perhaps I don’t wish to be saved.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he sobered, and the anguish he expressed earlier returned. She squeezed his
hand and he squeezed back, but both avoided eye contact. They walked a small ways in thick silence when a yellow leaf, perfectly golden, spiraled through the air, as if nature honored her—honored them. Fillion reached out and plucked the leaf from its graceful descent and brought it to his lips. Then, he placed the golden token into his pocket.
***
Under the linden tree
on the heath
where we two had our bed,
you might find both beautiful
flattened flowers and grass.
At the edge of the wood in the valley,
tandaradei,
The nightingale sang beautifully.
I came walking
to the meadow,
where my sweetheart had come.
There I was received
oh honored woman!
So that I forever happy was.
Did he kiss me? A thousand times!
Tandaradei!
Look how red my mouth is!
There he made
in joyful haste
a bed of flowers for us both,
that must still cause a knowing smile
to those who find it in their path,
and see the spot, where, on that day,
tandaradei,
My head among the roses lay.
How shamed were I if anyone,
God forbid, would know
that he had romanced me!
There we two lay,
but that was known
to none except my love and I,
and the little nightingale,
tandaradei,
who, I know, will tell no tale.”
— Walter von der Vogelweide, “Under the Linden Tree,” 12th century A.D. *
***
Portland, Oregon
The car rolled to a stop and Coal fidgeted in his seat. The blindfold dug into his skin. But he remained still, even when a gift he pocketed for Lynden, prior to their leaving Seattle this afternoon, poked him through the jeans.
Since they had reached the Portland train station, he had been subjected to one of Lynden’s games. He could not refuse, though. The vulnerability in her eyes while she brimmed with nonchalant excitement—she had truly perfected the art of bored playfulness—silenced the protests that nearly fell from his tongue.
A hand touched his thigh and traveled to his knee, and his skin startled into goosebumps. “We’re here,” Lynden said into his neck. She lifted her head from his shoulder and fussed with the blindfold on his eyes, tightening it even further, then moved away from him. Although he was blindfolded, Coal closed his eyes, his entire being pulsing to life under her touch. “Wait for us,” she said to the town car driver. “We’ll only be an hour. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Yes, Ms. Nichols,” the driver responded, and Coal could almost see the man bobbing his head with eager anticipation of the monetary reward.
“All right, Mr. Awesome. Keep your head down.”
“Do we jump onto the road?” He offered a charming smile.
“Nope. We crawl.”
He remained motionless for a moment. “You wish for me to crawl across the road? Are you mad?” When she didn’t reply right away, he pressed his lips together. “Surely there is another way to journey toward this intrigue you play.”
“Maybe. It’ll cost you, though.”
“Name your price.”
She touched the black ribbon still tied around his wrist. “I ask for a favor.”
“Now?”
“No, whenever.”
“I see.” A slow smile crept up his face. “You are a tiresome faerie, but I will consent.”
“Walk,” she replied simply, as if bored already.
Coal kept his head down and exited the car, squinting against the light, even through the blindfold. He had been shielded from light so long, his eyes had grown far too sensitive.
“Do you still wish to remain in my world?”
“Yes,” he breathed in reply, almost irritated.
“You might be wishing for a lifetime of regrets.” She took his hand and led him a few steps before his shoe touched a curb. He lifted his foot and continued beside Lynden on the sidewalk.
“The same could be true about returning to New Eden.”
“Last chance. You sure?”
“Lyn, what is this about?” Frustrated, Coal tugged on the blindfold, but she grabbed his hand. “I have not looked upon a single thing since Union Station.”
She flicked the strands of hair falling over his covered eye. “I didn’t want to make it harder on you and just realized my idea may be sucky like that.”
“I have blindly followed you thus far, and for a second time no less.” Coal crossed his arms over his chest. “How will I then convince you that I wish to remain in your world? Shall I fall upon my knees and plead my case until I receive your benevolent mercy?” His arms fell back to his sides. “I grow weary of this question.”
Lynden released an annoyed sound from the back her throat rather than verbally reply. But a few seconds later she said, “Look, I’ve traveled a lot. Visited many places. Still, nothing compares to home. When you go back to New Eden for your goodbyes, you’ll understand what I mean.” She caressed two of his fingers like she wished to take his hand, then pulled away.
A car whizzed by and the wake of its passing made their garments rustle against their bodies. She remained quiet, and he refused to play to her insecurities. After a few, long agonizing seconds, her fingers, cold to the touch, grabbed the edges of the blindfold and pulled it over his head. Her hands hooked around his neck as she lowered her arms, and she nibbled on her lip ring. Their eyes locked and he remained unwavering, holding his ground until she looked away.
“Ready?” She dropped her arms and focused on a light blue house, austere in appearance compared to Lynden’s and Mack’s homes. The neighborhood was quaint, dotted with trees and small flower gardens. A waist-high, white posted fence framed the modest yard, with a gate beneath an arbor covered in a giant tangle of vines. “This is the surprise.”
“A house?” He turned her direction with confusion.
“Your grandma’s house.”
Air left his body as the shock settled in his gut. “My father’s parents died several years ago.”
“Your mom’s mom.”
His eyes widened and he blinked back the surprise, slowly turning toward the blue house. “I have family here...” Elation, fear, and relief curled their way through him as his mind struggled to comprehend the moment. “I contain no adequate words.” Coal swiveled toward Lynden and lifted his hand to caress her cheek, and decided last minute to pull away, suddenly feeling shy. “You possess the loveliest heart.”
Lynden nibbled on her lip ring again and gently took hold of the chain dangling across his thigh. “Come on, Mr. Awesome. We don’t have much time.”
They walked through the gate and were approaching the front landing when the door opened. An older woman, with reddish gray hair, greeted them with a cautious smile. First, her eyes rested on Lynden. Small, wrinkly hands brushed across the simple clothing, clinging to the older woman’s frail, wiry frame, as she ironed out imaginary imperfections while appraising the younger woman by his side. Coal forgot that Lynden was viewed as quasi-royalty, referred to by the world as the Eco-Princess. Warm brown eyes traveled his direction and rested upon his face next. She placed a hand to her chest and remained very still.
“Coal Hansen?” Her voice carried a genteel element, soft yet confident, reminiscent of Ember.
“Yes, Madam.” Coal bowed, feeling a light thump against his thigh as Lynden released the chain. “It is a great honor to meet you.”
“Your voice... You sound so British. Not what I was expecting.”
She had not seen his interviews?
Beckoning with her hand, his grandmother said “Please, come in.”
They crossed the threshold into her home and Coal studied the clean, mostly empty space. A scratched dining
table with two mismatched chairs nestled against a wall near the kitchen. The entry shared location with the living room, showcasing a single blue divan, a weathered end table, and a small Imigicast. A tear in a back cushion of the divan revealed a white, cottony substance, and Coal felt a lump in his chest. Digital pictures lined the walls, images fading into other images every few seconds. Dark curtains draped to the floor and were pulled tight against the remaining traces of evening light.
His grandmother flitted across the room and toward the kitchen in a dither, over what he knew not. “Make yourself at home. You want a pop? I have Coke or root beer.”
“Sure. I’ll take a Coke,” Lynden said, glancing around at the sparse furnishings.
“Have a seat on the couch.” Before they could even sit, her voice rang out from the kitchen once more. “Coal, do you want a pop?”
“Water, please.” He sipped a carbonated beverage once and shuddered with the memory. Coal lowered onto the couch, realizing, with shame, that he did not know his grandmother’s name. He turned toward Lynden and whispered, “What shall I call her?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Grandma.”
“No,” he laughed softly. “I do not know her first name.” Just then, his grandmother entered the living room, handing him and Lynden their beverages.
“Thanks, Sarah.”
“Of course, Ms. Nichols.”
Flitting across the room again, she grabbed a chair from the kitchen and began dragging it toward the living room. Her thin arms shook, the chair landing with a soft thud onto the carpet when she lowered it to catch her breath. Coal thrust his glass of water into Lynden’s hands and strode to the nook area, taking the chair from her hands.
“Allow me,” he said simply. She released the chair and he carried it effortlessly toward the old, worn divan. “Please, sit beside Lynden and I shall enjoy this seat.”
“Next to Ms. Nichols?” Her eyes grew wide, and she swept a nervous look around her house.
Elements (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2) Page 45
