The Frost of Springtime

by Rachel L. Demeter

  Aleksender exhaled a soul-deep groan and relaxed beneath the hypnotic ministrations. Two delicate hands joined together at the base of his neck, slipping down, down, down—passing over each side of his body and then back up again. Erratic breathing wafted at his nape in an airy tease.

  It was a fantasy. It had to be a dream, another cruel dream from which he would too soon awake. Her tentative touches, the scent of roses and wintertime … the sweet tone of her voice as she reassured, “My Alek, I am here. I am here for you.”

  I am here.

  Aleksender swallowed and inclined his head against the seat rest. “Sofia?”

  “Shh.” Ever so slightly, she bowed forward, brushed away fallen hairpieces, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Her lips lingered upon his brow as she cradled either side of his face. “I want you to just relax.”

  He stared up and muttered a helpless sound. Sofia closed his eyes with a sweep of her palm. Her fingertips eased over his chest in soothing, calculated strokes. The erratic beating of his heart was fierce beneath her hands.

  Hesitantly his eyes blinked open. He was afraid she’d fade away, afraid she’d transform into a dark shade of reality like in his dream.

  “Sofia?” His beautiful voice was laced with varying degrees of pain. “What are we doing?” He swallowed and shook his face. “What are we going to do?”

  The slightest grin formed on her lips. She gazed into the haunted depth of Aleksender’s eyes and reached for his soul. “Be true to ourselves.” A silence overcame them both. “Don’t you know? That’s the best that any of us can do.”

  Aleksender reflected her smile, yet the agony in his brow only deepened.

  Sofia straightened her posture and eased to the door. A beacon of light stabbed the box before the soft sound of footfall faded away. Wrestling with his thoughts, Aleksender stared into the surrounding blackness, numb and alone once more.

  Yes. This was how they both could heal.

  •

  A sunset lit the vast sky, wrapping Paris within a gossamer robe of blood red. Aleksender admired the spectacle as Elizabeth lingered close behind him, her figure wedged between the balcony’s two double-doors.

  It had been several nights since the traumatic episode of his nightmare. Elizabeth’s fears had gradually faded away and dissolved into a determined compassion. His suffering had penetrated her soul as she’d lay awake each night, witnessing the tragedy of war before her eyes.

  As much as she desired, after that terrible occurrence—a true brush with death—she dared not disturb him again. And, during their waking hours, neither Elizabeth nor Aleksender mentioned the recurring dreams that continued to plague them by night.

  “Oh, Aleksender, mon amour …”

  “Elizabeth.” A satin robe was fastened around her chemise, its elegant tail trailing behind.

  “Won’t you come to bed?” A dull silence swelled the air. “What is it? What is on your mind? Please. Will you not open your heart to me … or at least try?”

  Aleksender’s posture visibly tightened. Elizabeth sighed and stepped onto the balcony. She came beside Aleksender, demurely folding her hands atop the stone banister.

  “Forgive me. I’ve been terribly restless.”

  “Yes, I’ve felt the same,” Aleksender said.

  “The evening is still quite young! We could take a stroll through the gardens. If I’m not mistaken, the roses are in full bloom. Or, if they aren’t to your fancy, we may—”

  “Hush now.” Aleksender collected Elizabeth’s hand and brought it up to his lip, pressing his mouth on the underside of her wrist. Her pulse leapt beneath his touch. “Just find some rest.”

  Tonight, he’d be true to his heart.

  •

  A drifting haze obscured Aleksender’s vision, transforming the simple walkways into something hauntingly surreal. He surged Juliet forward at a steady gait, in tune with every curve, twist and bend. Draped beneath a heavy cloak and the fall of night, he appeared as just another shadow … just another tragic secret.

  Aleksender held his breath as the dwelling seeped into eyesight. Resembling a storybook cottage, the structure was beautiful in its bare simplicity. A little white fence rimmed the border, its tattered pickets swaying in the wind. Swollen streams of smoke ascended from the chimney. And every foot of the premises had been designed by none other than Aleksender—a phenomenon that had emerged from the tenderest depths of his imagination.

  In the front yard, a charming water garden buzzed with life. Nature’s music filled the air as the bullfrogs croaked, crickets sang out their merry songs, and fishes waded beneath the glassy surface. They darted in a playful dance, gliding in every direction.

  Aleksender dismounted and tethered Juliet to a nearby tree branch. An oversized crucifix was bolted to the front door. Sacred Heart Holy Convent and School was carved just below the emblem. Aleksender stared at the lettering as his gloved hand rapped at the wood.

  Muffled footfall resonated from within the home. Sister Catherine appeared after a brief wait. At the ripe age of sixty-five, she ruled Sacred Heart with a quite strict and severe disposition. Aleksender had always fancied Sister Catherine. Despite a rather stern façade, she possessed an unparalleled kindness.

  “Monsieur de Lefèvre! Many a night I’ve prayed the good Lord would embrace you in His safekeeping.” She paused to cross herself in a graceful motion. Her eyes grew heavy, weighed down with a mixture of sympathy and admiration. “Monsieur, I am deeply sorry for your loss. We have all mourned le comte’s passing, blessing his soul to the heavens.” Sister Catherine stepped forward, offering her comfort with a tentative touch to his forearm. “I am overjoyed to see you safe and well.”

  “You have my gratitude.” In truth, Aleksender felt far from gracious. Her condolences unsettled him. And all at once, a dark memory shadowed his mind.

  Be not afraid, my child, of those who kill the body. Fear him who destroys both body and soul in hell.

  Aleksender cringed at the distant imagery, fearful that the truth was finally fleshing out, fearful that the emptiness would soon be replaced with an unimaginably dark revelation.

  What, precisely, had happened all those years ago?

  Heart and mind racing, he searched his surroundings for distraction. “I am pleased to find the premises in such fine condition. I take it the young ladies have been progressing well?”

  “Yes. Wonderfully so.” Sister Catherine pressed a hand to her breast. Her eyes fell shut as though absorbed in prayer. “Your humble charity, your kindness. You have blessed their lives in every way. You, monsieur, have given them a true gift.”

  Growing increasingly uncomfortable at her praise, Aleksender cleared his throat and raked a hand through his hairline. Sister Catherine’s gaze fluttered open. Tears filled her eyes as a gentle smile touched her lips. She observed Aleksender’s hardened features with a small, almost knowing grin. “Well. I suppose you should like to have a visit with Sofia?”

  “If she is not in prayer.”

  She appeared minutes later. Aleksender stood paralyzed as he drank in the immaculate sight that stood before him. How beautiful his ward looked, dressed in a chaste white dress, her porcelain skin glowing beneath the moonlight. Lush, brunette curls were fastened back, tumbling down and over her slender shoulders, cascading to the very small of her waist. A scarlet ribbon was knotted about her hips, its material tied into a voluptuous bow. The shade presented a charming contrast to the tea gown’s creamy tone. And Aleksender longed to tug the bow loose and unwrap Sofia like a present. Pale lace, as delicate as the wings of a butterfly, outlined the gown’s edges, equipping her with a haunting degree of femininity.

  And the modest cut did nothing to curb Aleksender’s desires. He could not bring himself to move. Alas—he could barely bring himself to draw breath. She was nothing less than an angel. And, tonight, she would be his. Once and for all, completely and utterly his.

  A powerful intimacy pressed in the silence. Aleksender’s hea
rt sank. She resembled a bride.

  Sofia stared up at him beneath her lashes, completely infatuated. Drenched in varying shades of black, his tall form camouflaged with the night, those green eyes glowing with unmistakable passion. She scanned the impressive span of his height in wonderment. Aleksender was handsomer than ever. His breeches were deliciously snug as they framed the lean muscles of his legs. Provocatively draped over his backend, the tail of his double-breasted coat fluttered about in the breeze, accentuating the tender curve. And a cloak hung from the crook of his arm—its lush material folded up like a blanket.

  Sofia paid a quick glance over her shoulder and admired the convent—the only true home she’d ever known. Her stare returned to Aleksender. Beautiful and grave, he resembled a dark angel.

  This is how Lucifer must have looked just before he fell, Sofia mused in good faith. She approached him, feet carried by her soul, drawn to Aleksender in spite of all notions of right and wrong.

  A soft smile ignited her gaze. Sofia outstretched an arm and tentatively reached for his face. “You’re here. You came for me.”

  “I had to.” Aleksender dropped his eyes as his manly cheeks blushed a deep red. Sofia merely returned his innocence tenfold, a light tint searing the shaft of her neck. “You are beyond lovely.”

  Her head lowered at his praise. “Please. False hope is something I cannot bear—”

  “False is a far cry from what I feel for you.”

  Aleksender finally grasped onto her. He marveled at her brittle delicacy—the way his hands spanned the entire circumference of her waist, the way her eyes darkened at each little caress.

  A moment later she was lifted up and onto Juliet’s back. She stroked her mane, in awe of the creature’s mystical beauty.

  Aleksender mounted in back of Sofia and swung onto Juliet with heroic style. He leaned forward, the sweltering heat of his breaths scorching her sensitive skin. The hairs upon her nape stood at full attention. He gathered the tethered reins and deposited them in the cushion of her lap. She tensed as his arms claimed her, enveloping her body from behind and wrapping her within his essence.

  Fingertips lingering, Aleksender swept away a swarm of russet curls and whispered low against her neck—making love to Sofia with the sultry accent of his voice. “Tonight, I am yours and you are mine.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A violent rain began to fall by the time Sofia and Aleksender reached the de Lefèvre carriage house. Inside the small structure, the swollen planks harmoniously gaped and moaned as they were assaulted by the storm.

  Sofia clutched onto Aleksender’s cloak and absently fingered the thick wool. Heaving a deep sigh, she wandered over to one of the walls. Out-of-doors, Chateau de Lefèvre stood in full view, appearing proud and impressively aristocratic. It towered against the bruised sky, a fortress of coarse stone ascending into blackness. Sofia cringed. On this night, it resembled the bastard child of a haunted house and medieval castle. A bolt of lightning split the night into two and set the monument aglow.

  Sofia couldn’t help but despair. The brutal weather felt akin to an ill omen. Thunderstorms were wildly uncommon during the month of May. She trembled as fat raindrops clubbed at the rooftop, banging with the audacity of defiant fists.

  “Most peculiar weather.”

  Distracted and tending to Mademoiselle Juliet, Aleksender merely grunted in reply. Sofia glanced over her shoulder. Amused, she watched as Aleksender was bombarded with tosses of Juliet’s muzzle, which demanded her master’s affection. He obliged with another irritated grunt. Sofia couldn’t suppress her grin. For the life of him, he was unable to resist the charms of a pretty female.

  “Why, Juliet! What a naughty girl, using your feminine wiles on Alek!”

  Aleksender couldn’t contain his chuckle.

  Sofia turned back to the chateau with a small and triumphant grin; she’d almost made him laugh.

  Familiar warmth played upon her back as Aleksender wrapped Sofia in the circle of his arms. He laid his cheek across her hair and fondled a loose, silky curl. The charming barrettes gleamed in the moonlight, clashing against the darkness of her hair.

  Guilt swelled Sofia’s chest as she thought of Elizabeth. “Do you love her? Elizabeth—do you love her?” Aleksender’s hand froze midair, the curl slipping between his fingertips.

  Silence seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Realizing her error, she stiffened against Aleksender and inhaled a long and unsteady breath. Her head was spinning. She inwardly chided herself. She was cruel to ask such a question. Aleksender was clearly ripped at the seams—torn between loyalty to his home and loyalty to himself. Unlike the rest of the world, she would not force him to choose. In the end, she knew it would break her heart. And it’d be a sacrifice she’d gladly spare for her Alek.

  “Forgive me. I—”

  “Tonight, mon amour,” came his smooth, hypnotic voice, “there is only us.” Jolts of pleasure shot up and down her spine as Aleksender’s lips ghosted across her nape.

  “Us,” Sofia echoed the magical word with breathless wonderment.

  She rotated in his arms and gazed deeply into the depths of his eyes; she felt as though she was seeing him for the very first time. In a painfully tender movement, she swept fallen hairs away from his eyes and unveiled the windows to his soul.

  “You miss your father terribly.”

  Saying nothing, Aleksender peered through the panels and gazed at his chateau. Sofia perched onto her tiptoes and soundly kissed his cheek. Aleksender inhaled a sharp intake of breath as her lips lingered.

  Slender arms encircled Aleksender as Sofia pulled him against her chest. She warmed his skin with her bittersweet words, “You are like ice.”

  The simple comfort she offered, her genuine compassion for his loss, affected Aleksender far more than he dared admit. Since his return, no one had expressed any form of sincere condolences—not Elizabeth, not even Richard. Cradled in Sofia’s embrace, a vulnerability overcame Aleksender that he hadn’t known he still possessed. The superficialities of his noble lifestyle vanished away, leaving his true identity and spirit in its wake.

  “I can only imagine your pain. I could never endure losing you.”

  Aleksender stepped back and out of her reach, his entire demeanor darkening. “I am not your father, Sofia,” he fiercely snapped.

  “No. No, you are not. You are my teacher … my guardian … and my best friend.” Sofia continued after a slight hesitation, a blush brightening her cheeks. “You …” Her elegant fan of lashes lowered, casting decadent shadows upon her pale skin. “You are my love.” Her gaze rose—brazenly consummating with the heat of Aleksender’s stare. “My lover.”

  Aleksender’s final defense broke. He would no longer deny himself. Sofia collided into the wooden panels as she was thrust backward in a jarring motion.

  He was upon her. Each of his arms were fully extended and propped on either side of her face, encasing her between sinewy muscles.

  Those wondrous, green eyes haunted her every dream—glittered in the darkness. They burned with passion and pent-up desire that equaled her own. The heat of his stare impaled her soul as Aleksender’s mouth descended, almost in slow motion, tasting the tingling flesh of her neck at a leisurely pace. He took his sweet time indeed. He would savor every moment to its absolute fullest.

  Sofia’s thoughts trailed as she fantasized about a rather scandalous story she’d once managed to get her hands on—Polidori’s Vampyre, the notorious tale of a Lord who delighted in seducing maidens, drinking their lifeblood from their very necks.

  She gasped aloud, weak at the knees, shamelessly leaning against the wall for bodily support. Aleksender’s lips crawled up her neck, pausing only to tease at her throbbing pulse. She squirmed against him, hissing between her teeth and near to bucking.

  “No,” she yelped, “s-stop that!”

  She felt it. Aleksender was grinning against her skin. “Forgive me. I’d forgotten your neck was ticklish.”


  “Lying is a mortal sin, monsieur.”

  He kissed one of her cheeks then the other—stopping mere inches from the dewy heat of her mouth. Their humorous exchange transformed into one of deep emotion.

  Sofia broke the spell and raised her defiant chin in an aggravating gesture. She moved her lips out of his reach, smiling from ear to ear. A primal sound rumbled inside of Aleksender’s throat as his teeth gritted in frustration.

  “Sofia, please.”

  “I’ve waited three years, Monsieur le Comte. I daresay you can wait a moment or two.”

  Three years?

  Mild panic rose inside of his chest. She had desired him since she was sixteen? This was wrong—terribly wrong. And yet, as she playfully shifted from the wall and moved away in a sly motion, he pursued her.

  Aleksender matched each of her footsteps with two of his own, mesmerized and seduced. Body and soul, he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. This seductive and teasing side of Sofia had been quite foreign to him. And now he found it be quite intriguing.

  “Don’t you know that patience is a virtue?” The door emitted a hollow creak as the curve of her bottom pushed against the aged wood, propping it wide open. “Indeed. Patience is passion tamed.”

  “And you, ma chérie, are a walking proverb.”

  Sofia discarded Aleksender’s cloak in a swift motion. She flung it over his head as if he were nothing more than a coat rack. Tangled and trapped inside, he battled the thick material in vain. Swallowed up by the wool, his muffled curses barely reached Sofia’s ears. She clutched onto her tummy, shamelessly enjoying the spectacle and unable to suppress a fit of giggles.

  “My poor, poor Alek!”

  After some moments, he managed to unwind himself from the cloak’s confines. He tossed it to the hay flooring and exhaled an exasperated pant. His eyes were steadily fixed ahead, glaring down the amused female.

  Sofia gasped, alarmed and enticed by the gleam in his stare. She hiked up her skirts and bolted out the door. The fine material flowed behind her as she fled the carriage house, a wide, nostalgic grin stretching her lips. In her younger years, she and Aleksender had occasionally frolicked in this way. Those moments were some of her most treasured memories. But now, she found that their game was exceedingly far from innocent.