by S. J. West
Kaylee crooks her index finger at me, silently beckoning me to come closer to her. I lean forward so I can hear what she wants to say over the loud music reverberating against the walls of the nightclub.
“There is a gorgeous guy behind you who hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you since we got here,” she informs me, lifting her eyebrows suggestively as she attempts to play her role as Cupid.
I lean back on my stool and turn a little in my seat so I can take a sneak peek at the man Kaylee is eyeing as a potential suitor for me. Before I even locate him, I know without a shadow of a doubt that he will be the same person whose emotions I can’t keep out of my mind.
The room is dark, only lit by the multi-colored lights flashing chaotically across the dance floor. The rhythm of the music seems to beat in time with the hammering of my heart as I slowly turn my head to look where I know he’s standing.
I see him leaning against one of the concrete pillars in the room, his arms crossed loosely in front of him. He’s wearing a dark grey button-down shirt and black jeans. If I were to say he’s just handsome, I feel like it would be an insult to his beauty. The confident way he holds himself gives him an air of royalty. He reminds me of an Eastern European prince with his dark, short-cropped hair and perfectly pale skin. He has a strong face with a full bow-shaped mouth and hauntingly dark deep-set eyes. His forehead is slightly wrinkled in a troubled frown as he continues to meet my steadfast gaze. The longer I stare at him the stronger his disapproval with me grows. I suddenly feel like a kid who has done something wrong. For some inexplicable reason, I don’t like feeling as if I’ve disappointed him.
Most people will give you some sign to acknowledge your presence when you catch them staring at you, but this man doesn’t even flinch or try to look away. He just continues to stare at me without any hint of apology or embarrassment. The longer we gaze at one another, the stronger his need to be closer to me becomes. His emotions are so raw and open they almost overwhelm me. There is something so familiar about him, yet strange and mysterious at the same time. The rapid beating of my heart causes a tightness to form inside my chest, making it difficult for me to take in a full breath. I’m the one who ends up looking away first, trembling slightly from the encounter.
Kaylee touches my arm, breaking the spell the stranger just cast by forcing me to look up at her.
“Are you ok?” she asks, obviously worried about my reaction to the man.
I nod my head and try to smile reassuringly. The doubt in her eyes tells me I’m not fooling her for one second.
“Well, try to pull yourself together because Mr. Gorgeous is heading this way.”
I didn’t think my heart could hammer against the wall of my chest any faster than it is, but somehow it finds a way to add an extra beat. I can physically feel him get closer to me. With every step he takes the connection between us becomes more solid, like there’s an invisible string tethering us together, growing more taut the closer we come to one another. Oddly enough, I feel myself begin to relax. The anxious feeling I’ve been living with for the past two weeks slowly begins to dissipate.
I know the exact second he’s standing behind me and can’t stop myself from automatically turning around to face him.
He leans forward and whispers into my ear, “Come.”
He holds out his hand to me, not worried in the least bit that I will refuse his order.
Normally, I would have just laughed in a guy’s face if he had said such a thing to me. But with him, it’s like I don’t have a will of my own. I find myself placing my hand into his, eager to follow him wherever he wants to go. I can only imagine this is what it must feel like when people are hypnotized.
His skin is cold to the touch, like he’s been standing inside a walk-in freezer for hours. Yet I don’t flinch away from his frigid caress. In fact, I feel myself wanting to melt into him, providing him all the warmth my body has to offer.
Without saying another word to me, but keeping his dark brown eyes fixed on mine, he leads me onto the dancefloor where the music suddenly changes to a slow song. He wraps his arms around my waist and I drape mine over his shoulders, clasping my hands loosely around his neck. We sway to the music for a while, just staring in each other’s eyes. There’s a soft protectiveness in his gaze that makes me feel inexplicably safe. For some reason I can’t fully understand, I know I can trust this man with my life.
He slowly pulls me in closer to him. His cold cheek brushes against mine as he whispers in my ear once again.
“You need me as much as I need you,” he says with a husky yearning, making my body shiver with anticipation of his next words. His voice sounds so familiar and yet completely foreign to me. He has a slight European accent I can’t quite place. It sounds like a mixture of various dialects. “I know you’ve been feeling like there’s something you need to find. As if a piece of you is missing. I am that piece. I’m what you’ve been searching for these past two weeks. Don’t try to fight it, Sarah,” he murmurs before kissing the tender flesh just below my ear. He proceeds to kiss his way down the side of my neck, resting his lips on the pulsating artery just below the thin layer of skin. His breathing becomes labored as he opens his mouth and tightens his lips around my throat. The sharp edges of his teeth gently graze my skin, as if he’s testing how tender the flesh is in that spot. I feel slightly drunk on the intoxicating aroma surrounding him, a mixture of chocolate and cinnamon. I want him to do something to me, but I’m not quite sure what that something is supposed to be.
Finally, he raises his head and looks in my eyes.
“Find me, Sarah…”
When he pulls away and leaves me standing on the dancefloor, I feel completely bereft by the suddenness of his departure. I feel light-headed from the encounter, almost like his touch was a drug. I don’t want him to leave without me but am unable to make my feet move to follow him. Every cell in my body yearns to chase after him and demand to know who he is and why he means something to me. Maybe if I at least had his name I could find him again. What he said to me was the complete truth, not a boast.
I do need him.
I just don’t know why.
I know the moment the stranger leaves the nightclub. The anxious feeling I’ve been trying to temper for the past two weeks somehow triples in intensity. I feel like someone who was given the cure to a debilitating disease only to have it snatched out of my grasp before I’m able to take it. Frustrated, I clench my hands into fists and notice that the palms of my hands have become cold and clammy. I feel light-headed and realize that’s because my breathing has become extremely short and labored.
I’m not sure what just happened.
All I’m certain of is that my life has just been set on a course I’m completely helpless to control.
After a few seconds, I finally regain the use of my legs and walk off the dance- floor. Still feeling shaken by my encounter with the stranger, I sit down heavily on my stool at the table next to Kaylee. She immediately waves a hand at me, telling me with her gesture that I need to come closer. It’s the only way for us to hear each other over the volume of the music playing.
“Holy cow, Sarah, I thought he was going to eat you alive!” she says excitedly. “What was that all about anyway? You never let guys touch you like that in public, not even when you’re dating them.”
I pull back slightly to look in Kaylee’s concerned eyes. I can’t even entertain the thought of telling her the truth about what just transpired, yet I don’t want to lie to her either.
I shake my head a little before leaning back in to tell her, “I don’t know what happened to me. It just felt right.”
“Did you at least get his name?” Kaylee asks eagerly. “Or better yet his phone number?”
“No,” I tell her despondently.
Kaylee sighs in clear disappointment. “Well, if it’s meant to be, you’ll see him again.”
If I don’t see him again, I’m afraid she’ll end up having to visit me in the loo
ny bin.
“Do you think we could leave?” I ask her, still feeling a bit jittery from the encounter. “I’m really not feeling well.”
“Ok,” she says with a small, sympathetic smile. “You’re the birthday girl. We’ll do whatever you want.”
Now she says that…
Once we’re on the road back home, Kaylee’s pregnancy kicks in and she quickly falls asleep, sparing me from having to answer any more of her questions about my unusual experience in the club. The drive back gives me time to mull over what the stranger said and attempt to formulate a plan of action.
Why did he tell me I would know where to find him? I don’t even know his name! How am I supposed to figure out where he lives? I spend a few frustrating minutes wracking my brain in a vain attempt to decipher his cryptic statement. Then it hits me. The mansion on Bayou Road that I was drawn to earlier that day. Could it be possible that he lives there? Maybe that’s why I felt such a strong compulsion to go into the house that afternoon. It’s as good a place as any to begin my search. For the first time in two weeks, I feel excited. I have a plan, and every cell in my body tells me I’m right.
When we get to my apartment, Kaylee is still asleep. I ask Ben to tell her that I’ll call her the next day. Perhaps by then I’ll have the answers I’ve been searching for these past two weeks. I pretend to unlock my front door until I’m certain Ben has driven away. As soon as I see the back lights of their Durango heading down the street, I get into my car and drive a little faster than the law would like to the house on Bayou Road.
The interior lights of the old mansion are all on. It’s almost as if the house is anxiously anticipating my arrival. I park directly in front of the home and turn off my car’s engine. I sit there in the dark, staring at the door, suddenly second-guessing my rash decision to come here at such a late hour. Should I go in? Is he even here? Am I completely delusional? Should I have brought a gun?
Unexpectedly, my mind is made up for me. The front door opens and out steps a classically-beautiful older woman. If I were to guess her age, I would say she’s in her late sixties. Her snow-white hair is cut into a stylish bob that gives her a youthful appearance. She’s dressed in a simple white silk blouse, dark blue slacks, and black heels.
“Well,” she calls out to me from the open doorway, bending slightly at the waist in order to see me through the passenger window of my car. She has an expectant look on her face. “Are you going to sit there all night, dear, or are you actually going to come inside the house?” she asks with a cultured British accent.
I take in a deep breath to help steady my nerves and open my car door to step out onto the circular concrete driveway. I push the door closed behind me and slowly begin to make my way to the front porch, where the woman is patiently waiting for me.
“Hello, Sarah, my name is Helen.” She holds her hand out to me as I step up to her. I shake it, wondering to myself how it is she already knows my name. Her hand is soft, warm, and silky-smooth. There’s a faint scent of lavender surrounding her, which gradually calms my nerves. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Well, now, let me look at you.” She studies my face with a critical eye. I involuntarily straighten my shoulders as if she’s a drill sergeant and I’m a cadet under her inspection. “You certainly take after your mother, thank goodness,” she observes, nodding her head approvingly. “Same intelligent eyes and expressive face.”
“You knew my mother?” I ask relaxing my shoulders. I’ve never met someone from my mother’s past before now.
“Of course,” she says, as if it should have been common knowledge to me. “I’ve known your family for generations. In fact, I helped raise most of them.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t confuse her just yet, Helen.”
I know that voice. How can I not? I haven’t been able to get his words out of my head since we danced together. Danced…that word doesn’t adequately describe what happened between us at the club.
I look past the front door’s threshold and up to the top of the stairs leading to the second-floor landing. The stranger from the nightclub stands there looking just the same, but this time he isn’t frowning at me, not exactly anyway. He’s able to keep his facial features completely expressionless, but his eyes betray him when our gazes meet. Even more telling, to me at least, are the emotions he’s feeling. Without him having to say or visually express it, I know he’s happy to see me. If I’m being honest with myself, I’m happy to see him, too. I’m nervous because I don’t understand what’s going on between us, but happy all the same.
He walks down the stairs with a confidence I envy, like he owns the world and doesn’t care what anyone else might think of him. The closer he gets to me the less anxious I feel. His presence acts as a balm on the anxiety I’ve been feeling lately, yet being near him again also causes an excited flutter in the pit of my stomach.
“Welcome, Sarah,” he says with his unique accent, coming to stand in front of me and keeping my gaze trapped with his. I wasn’t able to see his eyes clearly in the dim nightclub, but now I see that they’re a warm hazel color. “I’m glad to see you trusted your instincts.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” I reply, which is true. It was either come here or live in torment all night long, wanting to come here.
“Well,” he says, obviously pleased with my honesty, “I guess you have a lot of questions for us. Why don’t we all go into the living room where it’s more comfortable?”
Helen leads the way into the house. She veers to the right in the foyer and passes underneath an archway, which leads to a well-appointed living room. It’s decorated a bit too old-fashioned for my taste, with a floral settee in the center, flanked by two beige, wingback chairs over a Persian rug on the wood floor. There’s a fireplace on the far wall with a white painted mantel and two in-wall bookcases framing it on either side. The walls in the room are painted a pale yellow, which imbues it with an air of springtime. Scattered around the room are crystal vases holding various flower arrangements composed of white daisies and coral roses. A white baby grand piano stands in front of a bank of encased windows. A set of French doors lead out onto a patio where I can see the faint glistening of moonlight in the water of a large pool just beyond the doors.
Helen sits on the settee and pats the empty spot beside her, silently inviting me to sit down. The stranger sits in one of the wingback chairs across from me. I suddenly realize I can’t keep calling him ‘the stranger’.
“What’s your name?” I ask him bluntly, not seeing any sense in beating around the bush. I have questions, and he has the answers. “And how do you both already know mine?”
“My name is Julian Movila, and I knew what your name was going to be even before you were born.”
What he says doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. He isn’t that much older than I am. How could he have known my name before I was born?
“What’s happening to me? Why do I feel so connected to you? Have we ever met before?” I ask in a desperate rush of words, needing answers.
Julian looks at Helen like I’ve just confirmed some suspicion that they both shared about me. He is definitely feeling disappointed again, but this time I get the distinct impression it’s not me he finds fault with.
“Your mother never told you about her family’s history with me?” he asks, keeping his growing frustration simmering just beneath the surface.
“No, she never talked about her family, and I never really thought about it too much. At least not until she and my dad died, and I had no family to take me in.”
“I see,” he says, casting his eyes away from mine as he considers my words. His hands, which have been resting casually on the arms of his chair, involuntarily seem to clench into fists. Even without that physical tell, I would know he’s angry with my mother. The feeling surrounds him like a barbed wire fence.
“Are we related?” I prod impatiently, because he isn’t providing me with answers as quickly as I would like.
�
��No,” he answers resoundingly. When he looks back at me, he doesn’t bother to hide his frustration. “We are most definitely not related, but we are bound to one another by blood.”
“Ok, you just lost me,” I confess. “How can we be ‘bound by blood’ if we’re not related to one another?”
“I thought Clarissa would have had the good sense to explain things to you when you were a child,” he says, far too rudely for me to ignore.
“Don’t talk about my mother in that tone of voice,” I warn him tersely. “She was a wonderful woman who loved me more than anyone else in this world. If you can’t speak civilly about her in my presence, I will leave here and never come back. Do we understand one another?”
Julian feels a moment of panic after hearing my threat, but it quickly changes to a feeling of acceptance. I know he won’t be losing any sleep over my idle threat. Even if I wanted to, I’m not sure if I could do what I just said. My compulsion to be near him is too great, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t give it my best try.
“The situation would be easier for you to understand if she had told you about your heritage instead of having a stranger explain things to you,” he replies, choosing his words more carefully.
“Just tell me what’s going on,” I implore. “I haven’t been able to eat or sleep properly for two weeks. What’s happening to me?”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Sarah, but two weeks ago, your grandfather passed away in his sleep,” Julian tells me.
“Grandfather?” I had a grandfather. Why didn’t my mother at least tell me about him?
“His name was Nicolas Voss.” Julian attempts to hide the impact my grandfather’s death had on him, but I can sense how deeply the loss still affects him.
“I’m sorry to hear that he’s gone,” I say, trying to be sensitive about the situation, “but what does his death have to do with the way I’ve been feeling?”
“When he passed away, the bond he and I shared was transferred to his closest living relative. I assumed it would be your mother until I realized she had also passed away.” I can tell he’s genuinely sad about hearing of my mother’s death. Even if I didn’t have empathic abilities, I would have been able to tell that from the shadow of sadness in his eyes. “But it didn’t take me long to discover the bond had been passed on to you instead.”
