by Maya DeLeina
Steffan shook off the harsh recollection and focused on the beauty that surrounded him and the destiny he was about to fulfill.
The vehicle rounded the last curve of the mountain’s switchback.
The route that lay ahead would lead him directly to her.
Steffan’s demeanor turned edgy as he adjusted in his seat. The time was closing in. She was drawing near. The anticipation of this exact moment had tormented him since his turning in 1917. The feeling churning inside of him couldn’t be described. It was a divergence—an eternity’s worth of hope, despair, solitude, need, sacrifice, anticipation and love, all brewing inside one man. He was a bundle of nerves.
What would be the first exchange with someone you’ve waited your entire life for?
Steffan crossed the bridge that led to the downtown warehouse district. Rampant eagerness surged through his veins as he neared Anya’s studio.
In the rearview mirror, he caught a glimpse of the majestic peak. It was amazing. No matter how many times he gazed at the peak since being safely protected by Defender, the mountain range would always exude a different mood. One day, it would be an ominous presence. Eerie mist suspended in its surroundings would summon apprehension, anxiety, serve as a warning. On other days, the glow of the purple and pink hues would summon tranquility and inspire spiritual connections. And on days like this, the vibrancy of blue and green radiance would incite pure happiness and fulfillment.
He beamed ear to ear.
Fitting for the day.
He slowed the vehicle to a crawl and stopped. He leaned forward into the steering column to examine the building.
This is it.
Steffan looked at the adjacent parking lot next to the studio. Situated in a parking stall was a SUV with the plates CELLIST. Steffan let out a smile as he carefully guided Rhys’s vehicle in the stall directly in front of what could only be Anya’s vehicle.
Steffan glanced at his wristwatch as he stepped out of the vehicle.
3:42 p.m.
Perfect.
Her 3:00 p.m. appointment was a no-show. If she was anything like him, she would be seizing the opportunity to satisfy her passion for her music. He longed to hear the beauty she would create without inhibition, without reserve.
Steffan walked toward the building.
The gravel from the parking lot crushed under his shoes as he gazed up to examine the warehouse’s exterior. The warehouse had been transformed into commercial lofts over a decade ago, but a faded sign etched on the side of the brick exterior remained as a tribute to the building’s past, once serving as a fabrication plant for mining tools during the city’s gold rush era. Steffan stood at the threshold, pausing to take a deep breath in and prepare for the moment that lay ahead.
He pushed opened the substantial metal door and made his way into the building’s entry. Directly in front of him was the elevator access to the businesses. To the left of the entry lay the stairs and emergency access. The tenant directory was displayed on the exposed brick wall on the right. The large building housed only three tenants—a dance studio, a textile design company, and Anya’s Heartstring studio. Steffan opted for the elevator access to carry him on the last leg of his journey to Anya.
The elevator door opened, and a sudden flood of music permeated the air. The music was laced with competing rhythms and styles. Steffan walked down the hall as the muffled electronic beats resonated from the dance studio behind its closed metal door on the right-hand side of the hall. The pulsating bass grew faint as he delved deeper into the hall. Steffan passed the textile design company’s entry on the left, and the dark resonance of a lone cello triumphed over the remnants of chaotic mechanical beats from the dance studio.
Steffan stopped in his tracks.
The melody was haunting, stirring. She played with such beautiful emotion. It was Anya’s fingers gracing the strings, her legs stabilizing the cello and her soul pouring out with each note.
He quivered with excitement.
The metal sliding door that led to her was slightly open and lay just footsteps away. He wanted to rush through the door, but his body couldn’t bring himself to enter just yet. He started to shake as her music penetrated his soul. He propped his back against the brick wall next to the open door and closed his eyes, losing himself in the singing quality of her instrument.
He had waited his entire existence for this moment. And now that it was here, it felt as if he was floating through the motions, in a dream. The significance of it all crushed down on him. As he calmed his nerves, the anticipation churned and erupted in him. He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to see her, take in her full image.
“Control,” he whispered to himself, remembering the words Rhys had spoke to him earlier.
Steffan backed off the wall and stepped into the doorway. He slowly removed his shades and let the surroundings reveal themselves.
Large concrete columns lined the long studio, stabilizing the ceiling above. Exposed duct work, utility pipes, and intricate iron beams suspended from above. An expanse of industrial, grid-patterned windows lined the outer wall of the building.
And there she was.
Her warmth and brilliance ascended above the dull, cold atmosphere that inundated the industrial setting. Her delicious scent saturated the air. His eyes fought for clarity as the fragmented images that burned in his mind since the discovery of their connection were being pieced together in front of him like a 3-D puzzle. The time was here. The redundant countdown of his internal clock, the ache of solitude, they all stopped in an instant. Destiny’s weave of chance, fate, resolve, and longing all converged in this moment. The overflow of emotion took him by surprise, and he had to steady himself against the doorframe.
She sat facing him at the end of the long room. Her legs wrapped around the cello and were steadied by flesh-tone high heels. Her fingers caressed the strings as her deep, slow stokes of the bow infused sensuality in the simplistic movement. Her eyes were closed, allowing her music to flow through her body. Her long skirt was hiked up above her knees, allowing her unhampered access to the instrument. The skirt’s material pooled between her legs. The sun elongated its reach through the windows, and the rays highlighted every contour of her legs and exposed thigh.
How he longed for nothing more than to be the cello.
Random images of their passionate lovemaking that flooded his dream cycles played like a movie in his head.
He grew painfully hard in an instant. His pants strained from his engorged shaft.
“Please, control, Steffan. Not now,” he scoffed himself.
But, it was too late.
She opened her eyes. A look of shock washed over her.
Steffan’s gaze met hers.
Slowly, her expression transformed into one of reverence.
He stood there speechless and immobile, with a pronounced bulge in his pants.
Chapter Ten
The sound of her bow striking the hardwood floor echoed through the studio.
“Excuse me, I’m so sorry,” Anya said as she tried to steady her nerves. “I guess I didn’t hear you come in.”
My god, is he handsome.
The mysterious man didn’t murmur a word.
Feeling awkward in his silence, she searched for something to say. “Well, I’m guessing that you’re either very late or a little early for your lesson.” She was careful not to make eye contact for too long. Surely he would see right through her, the instant attraction to him, even in the distance between them in the room.
After another silent pause, he responded quietly, “I’m both, actually. I’m yours.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch what you said.”
He cleared his throat and spoke up, “I mean…I’m your 3:00-6:00 p.m. lesson. I apologize for being delayed.”
Was her mind playing tricks on her or did he have the most delicious accent like her dream?
Maybe it was the acoustics in the room morphing his voice into what she wanted to hear
.
“When your relative called, I just assumed it was a three-hour booking for three students. I typically do a one hour session, especially for beginners.”
Three hours? How can I make it through professionally for even one hour alone with this man?
He moved slowly into the room, not taking his eyes off of her for a second.
Following his lead, she stood and leaned the cello against the wall.
This time, she didn’t fight her need to gaze intently at him.
She made her way to him, not taking her eyes off of his.
Anya felt her long skirt gracefully sway in a bell-like motion as she moved. The sensation of the silk and lace material against her bare legs made her feel sexy. And as she tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, she saw his eyes do a quick scan of her body.
Then he blinked as if he had just looked directly at the sun.
It made her wonder if her Indian inspired attire that seemed to accentuate her curves in all the right spots, was sexy to him as well.
But he said nothing.
He remained eerily, yet deliciously, silent.
As she drew nearer to him, she felt herself grow weak in the knees and commanded herself to regain composure. She returned the gesture and scanned him from head to toe, making sure not to leave one inch unappreciated.
He completely towered over her petite frame.
His gray shirt complimented his silver eyes. Black, long-swept bangs framed his chiseled face. His collar lay open, affording her the beginning view of a well-defined chest, lightly pebbled with black hair. His shirt was neatly tucked in his pants and outlined the toned male physique that lay hidden under the confines of his clothes. He was clean shaven but still remained rugged, a delicious bad boy image down to his core. His presence exuded power, masculinity, and wild sensuality. Yet he moved fluently, with an unworldly elegance and a hint of nobility.
She returned to them once again, the eyes.
Luring and decadent, they called to her without speaking, warmed her without touch. They were mesmerizing pools of silver seduction, allowing her to drown in lust as he held her evaluating gaze. Her mouth went dry, her palms warmed with moisture.
Never before had she seen such a piercing and captivating stare.
She was mistaken in her earlier assessment of him. He wasn’t handsome at all, he was absolutely breathtaking.
“I’m Anya DeVera, and you are…?” Anya held out her hand to greet him as she suddenly got a whiff of his scent. All her efforts for composure and restraint escaped her.
Her legs gave out from under her.
He moved quickly to catch her. “Anya!”
Anya stared up at him, searching his eyes as he cradled her in his masculine arms. An ache shot through her heart.
It was the same scent of the man who haunted her dreams. It was the same accent and voice that pierced her soul.
How could this be happening? Who is this man?
“Anya?” He searched her eyes as he gently brushed back her hair. “Say something!”
“I’m fine. Just a little dizzy. And a lot embarrassed,” Anya said as she remained fixated on his eyes.
He pulled her in closer to his body. “What happened?”
Anya tried to think fast for an explanation. She couldn’t very well tell him that she would give anything to have him take her right there in the middle of the studio.
“Shoes,” she said. “My shoes, I just lost my footing, that’s all.”
“You think you can stand?”
“I think so.”
In one flowing move, he lifted her straight off the ground, cradled in his arms.
As he stood tall, he released her legs and rotated her body so she was up against the side of his chest. Her legs dangled below her, unable to touch the floor. She took a deep breath in and let his scent envelope her.
With one arm secured around her waist, he slowly slid her down the length of his body, along his outstretched leg until her feet touched the floor.
Safely placing her on the ground and keeping a steady hold of her waist, he asked, “Good?”
“Yes, thank you,” Anya replied.
* * * *
“Anya, I’m Steffan, Steffan Matthews.”
There is no room for games here.
For almost a century, he had searched for her. He was not going to waste any more time by skirting around the issue.
He needed her. She needed him. They needed each other.
He wanted to tell her everything in this moment, claim her now, and abandon all the words of advice from Rhys.
“Anya, I live in Ambrose Heights. I made the arrangement for lessons…so I could meet you. Truth is, ever since you moved in, I felt a connection to you that I can’t quite explain.”
Steffan inserted that little white lie at the end. Of course, it could be explained, but he couldn’t bring himself to reveal any of that. Not now at least.
“You mean you paid for me to spend time with you? For a month? What kind of services do you think I offer here?” Anya held her head as if nausea had struck her suddenly. “I think I need to sit down.”
Anya headed for the sitting area that sat tucked away in the far corner of the studio.
Ornate lanterns with intricate metal relief carvings suspended from the utility pipes above and hung low in varying length around a gold-leaf table. Around the table sat oversized, embellished floor pillows. A hand-carved screen sectioned off the area from the rest of the studio.
Steffan followed Anya, suddenly realizing the misconception in his explanation. “No, Anya, I am not paying for you. I don’t mean for it to sound like that. I mean, I did pay for your time. B–But it was strictly to compensate you, for adjusting your schedule with your existing students to accommodate my time frame. You know, just in case you couldn’t successfully reschedule them?” Steffan stumbled on his words and drifted from his usual charismatic and poised presence.
Anya sat on the floor pillow and bent her knees, bringing them close to her chest as she faced Steffan. “Well, thank you for your consideration. But, it still sounds like you were paying just to meet me. Are you even interested in cello lessons at all?”
Steffan sported a hearty grin as he took a seat on a floor pillow. He sat facing Anya. He eased into a comfortable position. “Actually, I’m very skilled at the violin and always wanted a cello partner. I’ve composed some pieces that would be complimented by a cello. You play…eloquently.”
Anya’s smile lit up her face.
Steffan reached out to cup her hands as they folded around her legs. “Anya, I know I this may seem strange. In fact, I meant to be here on time, but I agonized over this and needed more time before I walked into this room. I thought I was prepared. I had it all played out in my head. I need time to know what to do, what to say to you. I had already thought of ways I could come here and pretend I have no clue about playing an instrument or reading music, to go along with this charade. But I just couldn’t do it. I wanted you to know exactly why I’m here, even if it sounds creepy. I don’t want to play games.”
“Good. I don’t like to play games either.”
“Anya, I’ve seen you before I met you.”
Anya’s body stiffened in response.
“Wait, hear me out.” Steffan paused. “The day when you moved into Ambrose Heights and you pulled up to my driveway…”
“Oh my god, you knew I was there? You saw me? You’re the guy who lives in the castle?” Anya released her hands from Steffan’s hold and placed them over her mouth in sheer embarrassment.
“Yes, I live there. Eilian, my brother, he saw you in my driveway. I was in the house. I never saw you, but I felt you, Anya. I felt your presence as you walked up the driveway.”
Steffan leaned in and cupped her chin delicately with his hand. “After you left, brief images of you rolled in my mind. I saw your hair, your eyes, and your skin. I even heard your voice and could smell your perfume. And…” Steffan paused, unsure if he woul
d frighten Anya with his next statement. He released her chin and spoke. “…that tattoo on your shoulder. If I’m not mistaken, I believe it’s the Om symbol.”
Anya’s face turned pale.
You’re scaring her, he thought as he fought to refine his revelation to her.
“And since that time, you’ve been with me every day. I dream of you at night and think of you during the day. All of this and I never met you before. I never experienced anything like this. I found out that you teach here and work at Mystic’s Mirth, and from then on, I’ve been working up the courage and the strength to come and meet you. That’s why I’m here.”
Steffan searched for a reaction from Anya.
Please don’t get scared. Please don’t run. Please trust me.
Anya shifted her body toward Steffan and kneeled between his legs. She reached for the buttons on his shirt. One by one, she slowly undid them as she remained fixated on his eyes.
“No!” Steffan caught her hand and stopped her movement.” I want to. Believe me. I want nothing more than to be with you, but I didn’t come here for that. I came here to understand this connection I have to you.”
“No, you don’t understand. I need to see something right now. I need to see what’s on your left bicep and right shoulder.”
“My tattoos? How did you know?”
Anya gasped as she ripped at the buttons and tore Steffan’s shirt open, working the material down his arm.
There it was.
Steffan’s dark and delicious tattoos were on clear display.
Anya traced the design with her fingertips as tears welled in her eyes. She retreated back to her floor pillow and pulled her knees up tight into her chest. “I dream of you too! Every time I close my eyes, since that day I moved into Ambrose Heights, I dreamt of you! On this very afternoon, before I came here! What the hell is going on?”
Steffan leaned into Anya. He parted her knees and slid his body onto her floor pillow, placing her legs on either side of his. She bent her knees over the top of his thighs. He cupped her knees with his palms.
