“You know, my father always told my mother she was as beautiful as a rose. My father worshipped my mother. In the night she died, just before the end, she whispered another message for him in my ear.
'Tell your father I never wanted to be a rose, only ever a night-scented gilliflower, and his moon was my sun.'”
A huge, dirty lump closes off my throat and again I feel like I'm suffocating. Panic rises within me. Air! Air! Damn it, I can't get any air. Suddenly I feel Noah's arms around me. They hold me with a light pressure and his whispered words are calming in my ear. Words which again mean nothing to me, but which my body still seems to understand, since the blockages in my throat and chest dissolve. My gasping and panting turns into rapid breathing, which becomes slower and calmer by the second, until I recognize by the even beating of my heart that the panic attack has passed. I take in the distinctly salty scent of ocean air once more, which fills my lungs with every breath.
“I understand your pain and your loss.” His eyes darken. “My mother died giving birth to me and it was my fault my father died.”
“Your fault?” I repeat in disbelief and he nods.
“Yes, I was still young and in spite of my father's warnings I wasn't careful enough. Two watchers tracked me down and in his attempts to save me, he was destroyed. To this day I feel guilty my father died because of me, as did my mother, and I – I'm alive. Still. A goddamned eternity.”
The look in his ice-blue eyes pierces me right in the heart and now it's my hand which lies upon his.
“That's exactly what your father and mother wanted. For you to live. You don't have to feel guilty about it.”
“Don't you understand? My mother was the first person who died in my presence, and my father – he ordered me to run away when he started fighting the watchers. Even though I didn't want to leave him alone, I did what he told me to in the end. But when he died, I was still close enough. I was still close enough.” His lids drop, and for a few seconds his eyes remain closed, while his features reveal a deep pain.
Slowly understanding trickles into my awareness, and I comprehend what he has just confided in me. The death of his father fed him. As did his mother's. For a moment I'm stunned, because I can only imagine how awful that fact must be for him. I wrap my arms around his neck and press my cheek against his.
“You couldn't help it. It's not your fault,” I whisper in his ear, although I suspect he will never completely accept this excuse.
We are silent for a few minutes, and I simply listen to his heartbeat and the sounds of the night. The harbingers of the coming earthquake vibrate incessantly along my nerves, gradually growing stronger, and then I feel Noah tense his body, straighten his spine and breathe deeply.
“Let's go,” he says softly, and I nod.
19
Amkaya
Calm like a glassy lake, I lie in his arms as the first light of day slowly pushes through the cracks in the blinds. Pleasantly relaxed and totally tranquil, I feel his warmth at my back while his hand rests on my stomach. If I had to describe my state in a single word, then only the word 'contentment' comes to mind. Contentment simply must always encompass happiness, because I can't imagine any state more desirable than this deep inner peace.
After we arrived here in the night, got undressed and into bed, we didn't speak another word to each other. It wasn't necessary to talk, since a perfect, meaningful silence had settled on us. We simply lay quietly in each other's arms and felt unspoken words so much more intensely than any language could have expressed, and even sex couldn't have brought us closer.
Noah moves slightly, but his breathing and heartbeat reveal that he's still sleeping. The desire to look at him forces its way obstinately into my thoughts, and I can't but give in to the urge, turning carefully toward him. Even though his dark, tousled hair covers part of his face, my gaze still catches enough of his relaxed mien, whose beauty overwhelms me for a moment, as if I'd never before noticed it. I catch myself beginning to paint him in my mind. Engrossed, I follow the contours of his lips, his cheek and jawbones and his eyebrows. I almost want to jump up and fetch a paintbrush and canvas to capture the sensual image presented to me.
A yearning within me laps gently like a wave on the shore and draws further waves in its wake. Breathing in deeply I tense my muscles briefly to control my longing, but that only agitates the yearning even more.
“Hey.” His sleepy greeting, along with the smile he gives me, is ravishing.
“Hey,” I reply, and notice my cheeks reddening slightly at the thought he might see in my eyes what I'm feeling. “You're staring at me,” I say.
“You'll have to get used to that.”
“And what other things will I have to get used to?” I ask boldly.
Whereupon he raises his torso, rolls onto me, propping himself up with one arm, and playfully rebukes me from above. “When you've just started reading a book would you really want to know what happens in the end?”
Heavens. Between his naked body and mine there is nothing but the thin sheet down below.
“I admit, there have been times when my curiosity got the better of me.”
“Bad girl. Admit it, it ruined it for you.”
“Well, a little maybe,” I confess, as the noticeable pressure of his naked body and his irresistible scent stoke the coals of longing in me. He smiles, clearly amused, yet surprisingly quickly his expression changes and his deep blue eyes look at me earnestly and pensively.
“What's wrong? What are you thinking about?” Of course, I had to ask him one of the most clichéd questions of all times. My tongue was once again faster than my brain.
“I just had this feeling and it made me think of a poem by Rilke.”
“A poem?” I'm surprised. “Which one?”
“You want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I'll recite it if you don't move while I do.”
“It's a deal,” I assure him, surprised but nonchalant, and look at him expectantly.
“But you can't move a muscle while I recite it.”
“No problem. That should be doable. Begin.”
“As you wish.”
In a flash, he lifts his body, pulls the sheet which is still between us aside and without hesitation lays himself completely on me. Gently he penetrates me, which automatically makes me groan softly and open my legs for him. I'm suddenly aware once more of the difference in our body temperatures thanks to the penetrating warmth.
Only once he has completely taken possession of me does he pause and look at me challengingly, with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Don't forget – don't move.”
“You bastard,” I let slip. “Now you're playing with me.”
“Does that mean you want me to stop?”
“No,” I moan quietly and clench my hands into fists, fighting the urge to move.
'How shall I keep my soul from touching yours?'
he whispers slowly in my ear in his warm and slightly husky voice.
Oh, damn it, it's already so hard not to move. I think every muscle in my body is tense.
'How shall I lift it out beyond you toward other things?
Ah, I would like to lodge it
in the dark with some lost thing
in some silent foreign place
that doesn't tremble when your depths stir.'
Stirring depths. How appropriate. I suppress a groan, because it's not only feeling him inside me that almost drives me crazy, but his whispers too. His words, which also penetrate deep inside me.
'Yet whatever touches you and me
blends us together just as a bow's stroke
from two strings draws one voice.'
The words reverberate like an echo through my head and unite in an inexplicable way with my body, which I can barely keep still any longer. I feel like something inside me is simmering far more intensely than in the layers of earth beneath the city. If he moves now, just twice, three times, then I'm done for. Onc
e more his husky voice penetrates my ears:
'Across what instrument are we stretched taut?
And what player holds us in his hand?
O sweet song.'
His lips seek out my neck and kiss me there emphatically, as if he wanted to conclude with a full stop.
“Are you done?” I ask through my teeth, struggling for self-control.
“With the poem, yes,” he murmurs in my ear, pulls his pelvis back and begins moving slowly within me. Even as I release the muscle tension from my body, I press my fingers deep into the skin of his back. Searching for something to hold on to, because a tidal wave within me is slowly but inexorably stealing away any control I have over my body. There is no stopping now. In a moment of complete abandon, I break my banks, flowing to a far off place, only to then drift back again and sink into my darkest depths.
A sound penetrates the silence. I can't place it. I open my eyes with difficulty and hazily see Noah moving through the room, tense and lost in thought. Back and forth. He seems to be worried. But what is this? I don't believe my eyes, since protruding out of his back are two mighty wings which surround him imposingly and rustle softly with each of his steps. Even at the slightest movement. That's the noise that woke me. The rustling I've heard once before but couldn't explain.
I stare in disbelief at the countless feathers, whose white color runs downwards through gray tones into black. Beautiful and yet alarmingly disconcerting. Turned away from me, he sits on the edge of the bed. Naked, with only these huge, fascinating wings on his back I'd love to run my fingers through. But I can't move. Even my attempt to talk to him fails, since I can't get a sound out.
The rustling of the wings becomes quieter and my eyelids heavier and heavier. It's as if the darkness wants to forcibly pull me back to it. No, damn it! I want to stay. Determined, I fight it, but I can't keep hold of the view and have to close my eyes in defeat.
***
“Finally!” The blue of Noah's eyes shines at me.
He pulls me into his arms, kisses me tenderly on the forehead and then holds me tight.
“Damn it, you were gone for so long and it happened so insanely fast. I almost went crazy here.”
The light that falls through the blinds tells me it must already be close to evening. My hands stroke his back.
“Your wings. Where are your wings?” I murmur with a dry tongue. For a moment he seems stunned by my words.
“You saw them?”
I nod, and he looks at me, his forehead creased in thought.
“There is a space in which life and death run into one another. A kind of waiting room with doors to both sides. In this limbo, my true form is visible to others. You must have been there.”
He hands me a glass of mineral water, which I take gratefully and empty in a few gulps. One thing's for sure – dying really makes you thirsty.
“So I didn't dream them?”
“Probably not.”
“Why couldn't I see them the other times?”
“I imagine those times your passage from death into life and vice versa was seamless.”
“So you can fly with them?”
“Yes, fly and travel.”
“By travel, you mean how you beam yourself to another place, right? What's that like, when you travel? How can I picture it?”
“When I lift my wings, tense them in a certain way and hold my breath, the next moment I'm where I want to be.”
“Anywhere on earth?”
“Yes.”
“So that means – you can fly, travel and make yourself invisible?”
“I confess, it sounds better than it is.”
“What else can you do?”
“I can kiss incredibly well.” His cheeky grin is infectious. “But in case you didn't notice, I still need a bit of practice.” He moves a little closer and kisses me tenderly.
“Uh huh, that's not bad.” I smirk, and then can't help but think of his wings again. “You know, I wish I could have touched them. They're very impressive. The angel blood in you seems to be quite dominant.”
Noah gives a quick shrug. “I told you already – you're much more angel than I will ever be. And you even really fell from heaven,” he reminds me of the plane crash with a wink.
“Yeah, yeah, an angel. For you maybe.”
“Exactly. My angel.” He lifts me up in his arms and kisses me.
“I'd love to see them again,” I admit quietly and stroke my hands over his back once more, which shows no sign of what it hides. And yet somewhere in there are breathtakingly beautiful wings and no matter how surreal it may seem, I saw them.
“I can make them visible by materializing them, but it takes a lot of energy. Even if it doesn't have the same strong flare effect as angel blood does, there's still the danger it would make me easier to locate. You don't really want to invite a horde of watchers who are out for my blood into your bedroom do you?”
“Not really.”
“I sure hope not. I don't want to put you in unnecessary danger either.”
“So you like poetry?” I change the subject. The memory of his unusual recital makes my skin tingle.
“Yes, I do, every so often, and pardon my saying so but I got the impression you did too.” His eyes twinkle with amusement.
“Our little trip into the world of poetry was indeed very exciting,” I admit and stretch a little. Only now do I notice how stiff and sore my body is feeling, and I inhale sharply through my teeth from the pain.
“What's wrong?”
“I think I'm just a bit stiff. My arms and legs hurt. This time it really went fast, huh?”
“It seems to be unpredictable, how fast it happens and how long it lasts.” He looks sad.
“No feeling guilty, you hear me? It's my choice. One I make afresh every time.”
“And yet I kill you every time, and even feed off your death,” he says, head hung.
With my forefinger, I lift his head so he has to look me in the eyes. “You don't kill me, Noah. The opposite, in fact. Only since I've known you have I lived. Since then, I even feel the air I breathe. And when, in this exceptional way, you devour me twice in one go, I hope I at least taste divine.”
I kiss him tenderly on the mouth and then continue. “And I have plenty of time. If I'm ever 'away' a little longer, it's not really that bad. As long as I know you're nearby and it doesn't reach Sleeping Beauty-like proportions.”
“Don't say that,” he groans softly. “But I'd even wait a century for you.”
“I should hope so,” I say, putting on a serious face. Then I laugh and suddenly feel ready to confess. “I waited 133 years for you too. It wasn't a joke.”
“Wow, would you look at that! Then I really did lead an innocent angel who fell from heaven astray.”
“Or I led you astray?” I say and smile.
He lays his hands on my waist and looks at me. “Seriously?”
I nod.
“Why?” he asks. “You have to admit, it's unusual to wait so long.”
“If you unintentionally kill someone you love, I guess it can get you off schedule,” I say and climb out of bed. His thoughtful expression doesn't escape me. “I'll tell you the story sometime, but now I need to stretch my legs. I'm kind of hurting all over, and I desperately need a hot shower.”
“Do you need a hand?” His mouth moves seamlessly into a suggestive grin and I shake my head, laughing.
“No, thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I think I'll manage alone.”
20
Amkaya
“Miss Álvarez, I have to speak to you urgently.” I run into an agitated Wilson on my way to the first floor, where I'm headed because I can't find Noah now I'm out of the shower and I hear voices downstairs.
“I wasn't permitted to see you while you were sleeping and I urgently needed to speak to you. Your brother called several times asking for you. I wanted to inform you myself, but Mr. Sandman said you didn't want to be disturbed, and now he's mucking about in
the kitchen in inappropriate attire. Can you please tell me what this is all about?”
He seems to be trying hard to sound collected, but I hear the indignation behind his words, and the red blotches on his neck and his elevated heart rate also give away his agitation.
“It's okay, Wilson. I trust Mr. Sandman implicitly.” I lay my hand soothingly on his upper arm. “I appreciate your concern, but it's unwarranted. For reasons which I don't want to go into right now, I sometimes won't be available to speak to in future, even in urgent cases. But if you let Mr. Sandman know, then I'll get in touch as soon as I can.”
“Your brother asked me to call him as soon as I saw you.”
“Just tell him everything's okay and I'll get in touch with him shortly. First I'll take care of Mr. Sandman in the kitchen. Oh right, before I forget, I told Mr. Daniels I'd put together a few paintings for an exhibition which can then be picked up. Will you help me with that later?”
His face brightens from one second to another, and he cocks his head again in his typical way as he smiles.
“I'd be happy to. I'm so pleased your meeting was successful.”
“Without you, the whole thing would never have happened, Wilson. I'm so grateful to you for that. That and everything else you do for us.”
“You know I like being there for you,” he says and tugs a little awkwardly on his jacket. I give him another smile and head toward the kitchen again.
“Miss Álvarez?” He calls me back.
“Yes?”
“Some more flowers were delivered for you. They're in the library.”
“Who are they from?”
“Shall I take a look? There's a sealed envelope with them.”
“No, it's okay. I'll do it. Thanks, Wilson.”
The sight of Noah when I enter the kitchen is heavenly. Naked, covered only by an apron, he's standing at the stove messing about with a pan and a spatula. His sexy bare butt, lovely sight it is, is exposed for all the world to see. No wonder he threw Wilson off a bit. Who wouldn't be affected by this view?
The Night Within Us: Dark Vampire Romance Page 13
