by Maya DeLeina
Steffan reached for his vampire, lifting him from the ground.
In one sweeping motion, Steffan took to the sky with his newborn safely tucked in his arms.
Chapter Four
Anya Evans’s long, slender legs wrapped around the instrument as her fingers graced the strings of the cello. Bach’s cello “Suite No. 1 in G major” filled the room with a heavenly sweetness. As the last rays of the sunset spilled through the windows, the golden hues glistened against her olive skin and bounced off the movements of her bow. Her last student of the day had cancelled the early evening lesson, and since she still hadn’t heard from Ryan, she spent the time enjoying the way the acoustics seemed to carry each note and suspend in the room with an undefined enchantment. She closed her eyes and let the music flow through her body.
The beauty of the melody transported her and rejuvenated her spirit.
Hours passed, and Anya packed away her cello safely in its case. She walked the width of the room, listening to the resonating tones each footstep made against the wooden floor.
She settled at the window and gazed at the scenery outside.
Steam emanated from the long stacks of the cooling towers of the nearby power plant. The white clouds hovered over the building and slowly separated, taking on various forms and shapes. Against the darkened sky, they looked like large apparitions, morphing eerily as their shades of white were highlighted by the moonlight. She reached for the red jasper that hung from a delicate, black velvet cord around her neck and stroked the polished stone with her thumb and forefinger. She fell deeper in her gaze, leaning her forehead against the cool pane of glass. A light snow flurry was now discernable. The purity of the snow, its delicate, lacy quality, suddenly changed the mood. The scene outside seemed to evoke romance, altering the ghostlike clouds to take on a much different form. The clouds now looked like two lovers in an embrace.
She was captivated with the sight.
Anya lifted the stone, pressing it against her lips, and smiled as she reminisced about the first intimate exchange with her husband.
“Ryan!” Anya whimpered in the heat of passion.
Ryan reached up, tracing his thumb against her lips.
Her breath was hot and erratic. Her long hair swayed back and forth with her rhythmic movement.
She rode him, naughty and wild.
“Jesus…you’re so beautiful,” Ryan moaned, his breathing labored and lustful.
Anya knew he had waited for this very moment. After all, he courted her months on end, doing and saying all the right things. In the end, it was something as simple as a conversation about his family tragedy some fourteen years ago that finally won her over.
As he wanted, she was on full display for him.
With each move, Anya lured Ryan into a hypnotic spell.
She was creative, vibrating and swirling with undulating moves. She enraptured Ryan as she performed a slow and erotic grind down his shaft. She lifted her arms, running her hands sensually through her hair and then traced back down slowly, cupping her breast in an offering gesture to Ryan.
“Kiss,” Anya begged.
Ryan lifted and brought his mouth to her breast. He wasted no time in any delicacy. He took her in, sucking hard.
Ryan lay back down, laced his hands between the intricate carvings in the headboard, and focused on Anya.
“Make me come, Anya,” Ryan demanded as he remained motionless under her.
Anya leaned forward, her fingers splayed across Ryan’s chest, bracing herself for her devouring. She looked down at him, melting in his stare.
Ryan was beautiful.
She had never used that word to describe a man before. Beauty was typically reserved to describe traits in a woman. Yet somehow, beauty captured everything about Ryan—his curling eyelashes, expressive, brown eyes, unblemished, white skin, perfect bone structure. He was a picture-perfect sight. His look undoubtedly required effort, but the results were nothing short of impressive.
Anya lifted from him, just enough to expose the tip of his cock. Teasingly, she held still for an excruciating moment and then slid down, engulfing him fully. She gained momentum, each movement growing more obsessive, more needful, and more intense. Anya thrashed about, her hair unruly, her breasts wild in its display as she fucked Ryan like an animal.
All at once, Ryan sat up, wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, and shot his release deep inside her.
A thunderous moan resonated deep from his core, signaling his pure satisfaction.
Still planted at the window, Anya snapped back into reality and sighed.
Ryan may have not been the most attentive lover when it came to her needs, but at least he had an undeniable excitement and passion burning for her…back then.
Anya clutched the red jasper tightly and closed her eyes. How she would give anything for just a trace of that physical connection with him. For months now, Ryan had seemed withdrawn mentally from the marriage, and as it stood in the present, physical connection seemed to fall by the wayside as well.
“Michelle,” she said to herself as she opened her eyes.
Her best friend Michelle owned Mystic’s Mirth, a metaphysical shop in town. The shop was situated in the quaint town of Manitou Springs. The area was a tourist attraction, known for its natural springs and their powers. Various spigots that allowed sampling of the healing waters dotted the sidewalks. Each spout was decorated with a distinct flair. Some were designed as bronze sculptures while some were shaped as a wishing well. Michelle’s shop sat in direct line with one of the spigots, an advantageous locale along the main thoroughfare. She would brief the tourists on the healing properties associated with the natural springs along with the rocks and crystals that were mined locally and sold in her shop.
Anya reached for her cell phone that sat on the music stand and dialed Michelle’s number.
“And why are you calling me? Is Ryan not home yet?”
“Is that how you answer the phone? No hello?” Anya asked sharply.
“Hello.”
She laughed and shook her head. “I haven’t heard from him yet. I’m still at the studio.”
“You haven’t left? You know, it’s getting nasty out there and as far north as you have to drive, the roads are probably a bit more slick and snow packed.”
“I know. I know.” She cradled the phone with her shoulder to free her two hands to search among her belongings. “I got everything packed up and I am heading out. Wasn’t it just forty-nine degrees yesterday, and now we’re at twenty-one?
“C’est la vie! Anya, you lived here long enough to know that you never know what you’re going to get with the weather out here in Colorado! It’s too unpredictable—especially for October.”
Anya stopped fiddling with her bags in an air of defeat. “Damnit, I wasn’t thinking and only brought my shawl with me.” She readjusted, grabbing the phone with her hand to relieve the ache in her shoulder. “Anyway, I just wanted to call and thank you for the stones. They arrived yesterday. I have one around my neck and I hung the other from Ryan’s rearview mirror this morning. You didn’t have to deliver them, you know, I could’ve stopped by the shop.”
“I know. I wanted to surprise you with them. Aren’t they beautiful?”
“Very beautiful. The crystal vein running through them is neat.”
“And, what did you tell him about it?” Michelle questioned. A singing quality lingered in her words.
“Like you said, that red jasper is a very protective stone…”
“What about the other metaphysical properties?”
“Michelle, he doesn’t believe in that kind of stuff. And you know I’m not too convinced of these things myself, but I’m willing to try anything at this point. Besides, how would I have put it to him? Here, honey, Michelle gave us red jasper because it is said to have powerful sex-magic properties that can arouse extreme passion in lovers. See, I told her about our nonexistent sex life lately, and she just wanted to help…”
&nb
sp; “All right, point taken. And you were right. I really just wanted to help. You’re in the prime of your sex life. For you and Ryan to be…dead in that department, it’s not natural. I’m just saying…”
“I know.”
“Don’t forget, you both have to be ‘like’ in mind, in spirit for the stone to work. It doesn’t work if it is just one-sided. Find a way to him.”
“Michelle, that is exactly why I put the stone in that beloved car of his. That’s the only thing that seems to excite him lately. Maybe that excitement will evoke something in him for me.”
“I hope so, for your sake and your vajayjay!”
“You are so gross, you know that?”
“Hey, I just say the things you were already thinking.”
“Okay. Well, I better get a move on and try to beat the weather before it gets any worse. Wish us luck for tonight.”
“Will do. Drive carefully. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
* * * *
Anya locked up the studio, made her way down the hall to the elevator and headed out to the parking lot. Michelle was right, the snow was heavier.
Just what I needed.
She wrapped herself tight in her wool shawl and headed for the car. Instead of running, she took her time. Walking heel to toe, she purposely planted each step with a marked firmness. The crisp sound of the gravel and snow crunching under her heels was like music to her ears.
She threw her purse on the passenger seat and carefully packed her cello and music bags in the car. As she slid into the driver seat, she reached for her purse in search for her phone. She glanced at the call history.
No missed calls.
She tossed the phone back into the passenger seat.
It had been weeks since Ryan had come home at a decent hour. She tried to calm herself by rationalizing that this was to be expected. After all, he’d explained his firm was working on an emerging energy deal that was going to require much of his time and attention. Somehow, though, she thought she saw a flicker of lust in her husband’s eyes earlier in the morning that caused her to be filled with hope and anticipation for tonight.
Disappointment washed over her. She had a sinking feeling that the evening would not turn out they way she had hoped.
She started the car and turned the heaters and seat warmers on high. She fiddled with her iPod, perusing her playlist selections for a bit, trying to find the best mood to set for her drive. Driving in this weather made her uneasy, and she needed all the help she could get to calm the raging nerves. She settled on a collection of ethnic instrumental music to carry her during her journey.
Outside, it was brutal.
The snow blew sideways, clinging to the windows of the car like magnets as the ice lathered itself on the roadway, lurking, making it barely visible. Inside, the flavor of the spice, the aroma of the incense and the passion of the sitar danced in the air. She imagined herself gliding through the open air market, barefoot, feeling the warm earth scrunching between her toes, massaging her with every step. She captured the sensation of her hair caressing her barely clothed back, her skirt’s lightweight, flowing, and breezy fabric weaving between her legs with the wind. She may have been in Colorado Springs, in the midst of a snowstorm, but the music was entrancing, taking her to the middle of a gypsy market along the Mediterranean Sea.
Morocco, Cyprus, Egypt, or Turkey…it didn’t matter. Anywhere was an improvement to where she was right at that moment.
Right on mark, the wind intensified as she merged onto the interstate. Visibility decreased the further north she drove. The SUV made its way from the freeway exit through the forest suburb and climbed up the long driveway to the home she had shared with Ryan for the past five years. Breathing a sigh a relief when she arrived home without incident, she released her white-knuckle grip from the steering wheel, unclenched her teeth, and gathered up her belongings in the front seat.
She opened the entry door that spilled into a circular foyer. A gush of wind and snow blew into the house, scattering pieces of mail to the floor. She threw her purse, aiming for the wingback chair, but missed. It sailed to the ground, spilling its contents. With haste, she ran back to the car to retrieve her cello. The wind tossed her hair, whipping it against her face as she tried to control the upward movement of her long skirt.
She ran back into the house with her cello in hand and fought against the strength of the wind to close the door. Wiping her windblown hair out of her face, she slid the dimmer control up to bathe the entire area with a bright light. She moved to pick up the pieces of mail that lay on the entrance floor. She crouched down to her purse and dug for her phone to see if Ryan had called during the commotion.
No missed calls.
She sat on the floor and leaned her head back against the curved wall to catch her breath. She opened her eyes and brought her head forward. She examined the foyer and hall for any missed pieces of mail. She noticed an envelope resting against the foot of the console. It was square in shape, not matching any of the elongated envelopes of the other pieces of mail that routinely included bills and credit card offers. Puzzled, she crawled to the envelope, picked it up, and rested her back against the console. She turned over the envelope to examine the address. On the front, it simply read, Anya.
She tore open the envelope.
A fiery ache traveled from the pit of her stomach and permeated her chest. With each word, sentence, paragraph revealed, a stinging sensation crept through her ears and nasal passages and settled to her eyes. Her body shook as the letter narrated in Ryan’s voice, the pain intensifying as his parting words echoed endlessly in her mind.
I am truly sorry. But, this is what I want.
Clutching the letter, she tried to release her pain in a cry, but the emotion came out like a silent scream. Tears began to fall as the haziness in her mind cleared, slowly comprehending every word she just read.
She let her body tumble carelessly to the floor.
As she drew in a deep breath, the agonizing, raw sound of heartache finally broke free and engulfed the house.
* * * *
It had been almost two weeks, and she had yet to receive some sort of contact from Ryan. No apologetic phone call. No visit to the house to collect his remaining belongings. No meeting scheduled to discuss division of property. No divorce papers served. In fact, he’d made no attempts to contact friends or business associates.
The grief from the loss of a lover was a deep-seated hurt, but the grief of the utter silence was numbing.
Anya walked around house wrapped in her soft white robe, clutching a hot cup of tea. She turned the handle outward, allowing her hands to freely engulf the sides of the mug and take in the warmth of the liquid. Sunlight peered through the openings of the closed drapes and bounced off the glass handle of her mug. The light filtering through the glass caught Anya’s attention as it created a rainbow prism on the living room wall. She leaned against the doorframe and moved the cup slowly up and down, sending the prism of light dancing on the wall and eliciting a slight smile in her expression. The prism’s dance landed on the metal object in the wall. Anya lowered the mug. Her eyes fixed on Ryan’s golf club that was embedded in his 60-inch, wall-mounted, flat-screen television.
The smile disappeared instantly from her face.
She turned to walk up the staircase and headed down the long hallway. Light strategically washed over the walls from the wire track system above. The light captured the memories of their life that decorated the walls. Wedding portraits and vacation photos were carefully patterned, allowing for expansion. The collage was a dedication and symbol to their love, spirit, and hopes for the future. Now, the pictures staring back at her were soulless, merely pieces of decor to adorn the wall. Glass crunched under her house slippers as she walked past the damaged photographs to the bedroom.
In the closet, Ryan’s suits had been reduced to scraps of material, decimated by the sheering of sharp knives. The remains of designer shirts were
crumbled into balls and stuffed into several garbage bags. The bags were filled, stretched past their capacity, and the contents were beginning to spill out of the top of the drawstring ties. The bags sat under Ryan’s bare hanging system that now only held a few empty hangers.
Anya stood motionless, sickened with the destruction left in the wake of her wrath. She walked to the master bath and sat her cup on the counter. She stood clutching the counter’s edge as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes flowed with heavy tears that clouded her vision. She knew it was time to begin the healing process and move on with her life. Slowly, she slipped off her wedding band and tucked it away in her jewelry box. Her chest went hollow, and she fell to the ground, sobbing wildly.
The next few weeks turned the pain of Ryan’s abandonment into pure desolation. Living in the house, with so many memories, so many hopes, was insufferable, but she had nowhere else to go.
Online banking statements showed that their shared banking accounts remained untouched by Ryan, but the investment income that supplied the accounts had been greatly reduced, and her weekly allowance supplied by Ryan’s company had stopped. A trip down to the bank revealed that Ryan had emptied out the emergency cash and jewelry that was in the safe-deposit box as well.
Ryan managed all their finances, and she was beginning to uncover that much of their assets were in his name, entity names or had been simply transferred from their joint ownership to various accounts slowly over the last couple of months. She had no access rights to any funds. In fact, she had no rights to account inquiries, either, but most of the information she had uncovered had been made inadvertently by inept bank personnel.
The drive home left her to analyze her finances.
How could he leave me in this financial state?
She pounded her palms into the steering wheel.
This was a thought-out process he was planning for months!
Questions swirled endlessly in her head as she drove.
How could I have allowed this to happen? Why didn’t I insist on a more active role in the handling of the finances? Where am I going to get the money to pay for everything?
