Arianna Rose: The Awakening (Part 2)

by Martucci, Christopher

  She flattened his lips with hers and tightened her hold on him, then raked her nails down his broad back to his taut waist. She lifted the back of his shirt and felt his smooth skin beneath her fingertips, warm and inviting. The urge to peel his shirt from his body and feel his bare skin against hers pressed at her until his hands pushed her away.

  “We can’t,” he breathed but his voice lacked certainty.

  “Your lips say that, but is that what you really mean?” she replied. She nibbled his lower lip, and he groaned a delightful sensual sound that reached intimate parts of her.

  “Arianna, no,” he said more sternly and grabbed her shoulders. He held her back, away from him. “I want nothing more than to,” he said and allowed his eyes to travel her body from head to toe. “But we can’t.”

  “Why? Are there rules about that, too? Am I to be chaste as well as alone?” she asked and knew she sounded irrational, like a pouting teenager.

  “No. There are no rules. And you have not been chaste,” he said and for the first time, his voice was not even. A hint of acid had crept into it.

  Arianna’s cheeks blazed. He was referring to her night with Luke, a night she’d regretted wholeheartedly. Desmond had been jealous. She’d suspected it, had thought she’d heard the slightest traces of jealousy in his voice when she’d seen him afterward, but had dismissed it. A remote part of her supposed she should be flattered that he cared, but hearing Luke’s name, poor, sweet Luke who had died because of his short relationship with her, only saddened her.

  “I have to go,” Desmond said dejectedly. “And so do you. You are needed.”

  Desmond did not give her time to protest or ask questions. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and she felt a tingle begin in her chest and branch out as softly as a breath blowing across her skin, warm and welcoming, throughout her body. She felt the familiar flow of his energy through her, thrumming in time with her heartbeat, whispering through every part of her. Arianna pulled back for a second to look at his face, desperate to memorize every plane of his beautiful, serene, face. She did not know when she would see it again. His golden hair haloed the perfectly sculpted angles of his face. He looked as though he had been carved from marble, save for his eyes. He eyes stared into hers, through hers into the farthest reaches of her soul. Then he pulled her close to him, and she felt her breath catch in her chest. Light filled her field of vision, brilliant white light. Desmond and his warmth enveloped her and for a fleeting second, the loss and loneliness that escorted her like a dark and permanent passenger, faded. All she felt was Desmond.

  When darkness returned, Desmond was gone and the yawning pit of grief slowly returned. Her hand covered her heart and she doubled over for a moment. Then she heard a voice whisper through her mind, “I love you, Arianna. We will meet again soon,” was all it said. But each word caressed her being with frothy wisps of comfort, of hope. She would see Desmond again.

  About the Authors:

  Jennifer and Christopher Martucci hoped that their life plan had changed radically in early 2010. To date, the jury is still out. But late one night, in January of 2010, the stay-at-home mother of three girls under the age of six had just picked up the last doll from the playroom floor and placed it in a bin when her husband startled her by declaring, “We should write a book, together!” Wearied from a day of shuttling the children to and from school, preschool and Daisy Scouts, laundry, cooking and cleaning, Jennifer stared blankly at her husband of fifteen years. After all, the idea of writing a book had been an individual dream each of them possessed for much of their young adult lives. Both had written separately in their teens and early twenties, but without much success. They would write a dozen chapters here and there only to find that either the plot had fallen apart, or characters had lost their zest, or the story had simply fallen flat. Christopher had always preferred penning science-fiction stories filled with monsters and diabolical villains, while Jennifer had favored venting personal experiences or writing about romance, as romance was far easier to invent fictitiously than it was to attain in real life. Inevitably though, frustration and day-to-day life had placed writing on the back burner and for several years, each had pursued other (paying) careers. But the dream had never died. And Christopher suggested that their dream ought to be removed from the back burner for further examination. When he proposed that he and his wife author a book together on that cold January night, Jennifer was hesitant to reject the idea outright. His proposal sparked a discussion, and the discussion lasted deep into the night. By morning, the idea for the Dark Creations series was born.

  The Dark Creations series was written, while Jennifer and Christopher continued with their daily activities and raised their young children. They changed diapers, potty trained and went to story time at the local library between chapter outlines and served as room parents while fleshing out each section. Life simply continued. And in some ways, their everyday lives were reflected in the characters of the series. In fact, the main female characters are named after three very important people in their lives: their three daughters. Their likenesses end there, however.

  As the story line continues to evolve, so too does the Martucci collaboration. Lunches are still packed, noses are still wiped and time remains a rare and precious commodity in their household in upstate New York, but it is the sound of happy chaos that is the true background music of their writing. They hope that their work, though penned for a young adult audience, will be appreciated by the young of every age, and that all enjoy reading it as much as they enjoyed writing it.

  Other works by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci:

  The Dark Creations Series (A YA paranormal romance series)

  Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1)

  Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 2)

  Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1&2)

  Dark Creations: Resurrection (Part 3)

  Dark Creations: The Hunted (Part 4)

  Coming Soon:

  Dark Creations: Hell on Earth (Part 5)

  Please visit our website at: http://www.darkcreationssaga.com

  Enjoy an excerpt from Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1)

  Chapter 1

  Melissa Martin paced about her room nervously until a trio of beeps startled her. She froze and looked in the direction of the sound. It had come from the cell phone in her purse, and had seemed far louder than usual. She rushed to her bed where her bag sat, hoping another set would not ring out, and quickly retrieved her phone. She pressed a single button and her display screen brightened. A small envelope icon in the lower left corner indicated that a message awaited her. She was fairly certain of who the message was from, but checked, nevertheless.

  Kevin Anderson had sent two simple words to her via text message. I’m here was all it said. And with those two words, her plan had been set in motion.

  She inhaled deeply and put her phone back in her bag before crossing her room and placing a hand on her doorknob. She turned it slowly, all the while willing it to twist silently. When it had rotated as far as it would go, she pulled it toward her and opened the door. She scanned the hallway beyond her room and found it dark and still, and saw that her father’s bedroom door was shut. Satisfied that he was sleeping, she closed her door, tiptoed to her bed and grabbed her purse. Her heart thundered in her ears and her hands shook as she moved to her window. She knew she ought to hurry, that Kevin was waiting for her, but paused briefly to consider what she was doing. She looked out, beyond the pane of glass she stood before, beyond her own reflection, into the blackened sky. The sky seemed darker than normal, foreboding, as if it wished to warn her to stop, to stay inside. She knew that that was exactly what she should do, stay inside, and forget about Kevin. Her stomach ached and quivered. She knew what she was about to do was wrong, that the consequences could be devastating. She had a good sense of judgment, after all. But she ignored it, as well as the worry that teemed inside her.

  Pushing the worry to the back of
her mind, she swallowed hard, placed both hands on the sill of her window and raised the pane first, then the screen. A gust of cold air rushed in. She hadn’t seen the treetops stir, didn’t know it would be a windy night, yet a strong blast of air had sent her lavender curtains fluttering and billowing so wildly, they had covered her face and temporarily obscured her vision with their flimsy fabric. The unexpected squall ended as mysteriously as it had begun, however, and left her wondering whether it, like the unusually dark sky, sought to convey some cosmic message.

  She shook her head and rolled her eyes at the thought of cosmic messages, and guessed that nerves, and nerves alone, were responsible for such thoughts. After all, neither the elements nor the cosmos cared whether she went or not. Her father would, though. She was sure he would not appreciate her skulking off in the middle of the night to meet Kevin. And if she were caught doing so, he would not trust her again anytime soon.

  The thought of losing her father’s trust halted her, but not for long. Her phone beeped again as if impatiently urging her on. Without further thought and despite her reservations, she climbed out of her second-story window out onto the frost-coated roof of the garage. She slid down its length on her backside until she reached the edge. After carefully avoiding contact with debris in the gutter, she grabbed hold of an outstretched tree limb. The limb belonged to an old oak that grew alongside her house. She climbed onto it and began carefully navigating the network of branches deep within the tree until she reached the lowest branch and dropped to the frozen grass below

  She took a few timid steps and looked over her shoulder at her house. Save for the faint glow her nightlight radiated in her window, the house, and the tree, were enveloped in darkness. Cold crept up her body from the icy lawn. She turned from her house, wrapped her arms around her shoulders and wished she’d worn a heavier jacket, or perhaps had forgone the meeting entirely. Either way, she was out already and she did not turn back. Instead, she stole across her lawn and rushed down her street. She moved so quickly, she hardly noticed the humble, uniform houses on Blackstone Drive. Her own home, small and modest like the ones it neighbored, grew smaller and smaller in the distance until it disappeared. She neared the edge of her neighborhood in the unassuming community of Harbingers Falls, New York and immediately saw Kevin’s car.

  His sleek, black Infiniti G37 Sport Coupe was unmistakable. Undoubtedly freshly washed and waxed, she reached out for the passenger side lever, careful not to mar the flawless finish, and the internal lights illuminated the interior. For most, the overhead lighting would have been unflattering, but not Kevin. Kevin was arguably the most popular boy at Harbingers High School, and for good reason. He captained both the basketball and football teams, maintained a solid B plus average in his academic studies and was charming beyond his years. Women of all ages swooned and fawned over him. He was beautiful. He towered at six-foot-four-inches tall and weighed a substantial two hundred and twenty-five pounds. But despite his powerful physique, he was wide-eyed and fine-featured with looks that flirted with feminine prettiness. His eyes were a deep, chocolate brown and fringed with long lashes. He wore his sandy-blond hair styled expertly into a spiky faux-hawk. His face rivaled any movie star she had ever seen. And if his face and body were not enough to frenzy the women around him, his unique smile put them over the edge. When he spread his full lips and showed his blindingly white teeth, his smile revealed a single dimple in the center of his right cheek. This anomaly provided genuine character to his near-perfect appearance.

  He flashed his signature smile at her as she seated herself in the passenger side of his car. But something about the way that he smiled seemed forced, phony even. For reasons that were unclear, she found it cocky.

  Her guess was that his womanizing career had entitled him to that cocky smile. His reputation was no secret to her, or anyone else for that matter. But she had long since considered herself invulnerable to his lures, to his charm. Yet, she was sitting with him in his car on a school night when she should have been home sleeping. And she had defied her father. Her temples began to pound and she replayed his courtship of her, how he’d been so polite and sincere. He’d said all the right things, had expressed interest in her interests. He had sought her out, selected her over the multitudes jockeying for his attention. He had made her feel special. But she did not feel special any more. In fact, as he smiled at her, he seemed smug, and she felt certain she had manufactured most, if not all, of his sincerity.

  “Hey,” he said cheerfully. “I’m so glad you decided to come.”

  A moment of pure panic seized her. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to slip out of the car and teleport back to her house. Of course, neither was an option. Instead she muttered, “Yep. Me, too,” and stared at the clock mounted on the dashboard. It read 12:08 p.m. Her stomach sank to her feet.

  “You look hot. And you smell phenomenal,” he said and raised his eyebrows mischievously. He then surprised her by leaning across the center console and brushing his nose against the nape of her neck. He inhaled the sweet blend of vanilla, caramel and coconut, her signature fragrance, that she had applied perhaps a bit too generously. She supposed his gesture was meant to be some kind of seductive move to entice her. But she did not feel roused in the least. Rather, the fluid, flagrant way he flirted annoyed her. He was smooth, too smooth.

  “Thanks,” she replied halfheartedly. “So, where are we going,” she asked hoping to change the subject to a platonic topic.

  “I was thinking we would go over to the Rec Center and hang out, you know, and get to know each other better.”

  She shuttered at the thought of going there. By day, the East Fallkill Recreation Center was a designated area for activities. At night, however, it was a popular haunt for local teenagers. Beer and various other alcoholic drinks were brought and consumed in abundance, and sexual intercourse, in all its forms, invariably occurred. Melissa guessed that talking was the last thing that he wanted to do. She immediately tried to rebuff his invitation.

  “Why don’t we go to the diner in town? We can talk there, and eat. I’m starved,” she suggested.

  Kevin tipped his head imploringly in Melissa’s direction and pushed out his lower lip in exaggerated disappointment.

  “I was really hoping we could talk privately. You know, just the two of us. I want to be with just you.”

  He reached his right hand over the center console and gently squeezed her knee. Instead of promptly removing it though, he let his hand linger a moment too long. She felt her stomach churn nervously. She wanted to tell him to forget about it, that it was the diner or home for her, but felt powerless to reject him outright. Doing so would instigate social repercussions she did not want to endure. His reputation for womanizing went hand in hand with one that was less familiar, and not discussed as often. His penchant for revenge was eclipsed only slightly by his flirtatious ways. She felt compelled to agree with him.

  “Fine, I mean, whatever,” she heard herself say. “The Rec Center it is. But I can’t stay long. If my dad gets up and sees that I’m gone, he’ll ground me until graduation.”

  “Wow. He sounds tough.”

  “You have no idea. Since my mom died, he takes the whole parenting thing way too seriously,” she chattered nervously. “I mean, it’s like extreme parenting or something. He has to know where I am every minute of the day. He worries so much.”

  She felt like she had to exaggerate her father’s protectiveness to set some kind of time constraint on their time together at the Rec Center. Her father was a perfect excuse.

  “I’m surprised you came out tonight. All the other times I asked, you said no,” he said ignoring the comments about her father.

  “You can thank Daniella for that. She talked me into it.”

  Daniella, one of Melissa’s best friends, was largely responsible for her agreeing to meet Kevin. Daniella, ever the romantic, had helped convince her that Kevin was something he was not. She would not blame her friend in the morning
, but intended to dispute her every fanciful idealization of him.

  Thoughts of the next morning, and yearning for the evening to end already, swirled in her head. She did not dare speak of them. Instead, she sat quietly as he drove, and became increasingly uneasy as they approached their destination. When he finally pulled his car into the driveway of the East Fallkill Recreation Center, her stomach roiled anxiously. He tested the engine of his sports car and sped down the long pathway past tennis courts, baseball fields, a stout concession building and a football field, before reaching a play area. Just beyond the playground, the pavement extended into an expansive lot. Both the lot and the playground were poorly lit and provided little exposure during the infrequent police patrol spotlight searches.

  He slowed then stopped and shifted the car into park before switching off the headlamps. She felt nauseated and dizzy, and contemplated calling it a night when he leaned toward her without warning. She did not know if he was moving in for a kiss, but was relieved when he rested his elbow on her arm rest. He touched his index finger to her chin and smiled his blindingly white, single-dimpled smile, then said, “Hey, I’m sorry about your mom. How old were you when she died?”

  She stiffened at his touch, at his mention of her mother. Her mother was not a subject she was comfortable discussing in general, much less with someone unfamiliar. She reluctantly answered, “I was seven.”

  “Huh. That must have been rough. I bet she was as beautiful as you are.”

  Melissa felt her cheeks flush and was grateful for the extraordinarily dark night sky. She did not like shameless flattery together with mention of her mother. She contemplated a curt response, but came up empty. Try as she may, the words she longed for, ones that would put him in his place, would not come. As she tried to formulate a retort, Kevin surprised her. Without warning, he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers.