"Goodness gracious," she bellowed in joy. She reaches for the cord and plugs her cellphone, "it fits," she added.
Looking around her, she scans the area, looking in the distance and seeing nothing of her captor. Has she lost his daring gaze and grip? She hasn't seen him yet. She is safe for now. Her pendant isn't glowing, it is cold, and you could feel it like ice on your skin. She is safe.
Suddenly, her phone comes up after charging a little, after getting power from the divinely placed cable. She looks out again in attempts to search for her chaser, and saw nothing. She speed dials her Grams but gets through to a voicemail. She tries it again and gets hold of her.
"Becca, you are in grave danger," she says, stating the obvious.
"Grams, I know, thank you for telling me that already glaring fact! What do I need to know? What is going on?"
"I heard that a pure evil sealed away has broken loose and will come for you no matter what, if not stopped. I need you out of there now. It has to do with an old prophecy, get here now! No time to talk. Get here!" Said Grams, shouting furiously and hanging up.
The phone call turned to reassurance, she knew she had to return home to her fortress. Nothing beats the close watch of her Grams, she would stop at nothing to end the life of anything, or any creature who disturbs the peace of her beloved granddaughter. Grams, with her cute looks and seemingly young look, you would mistake her for a woman in her late twenties or thirties. Always in search of the next best thing when as regards tapping the fountain of youth, she does this with love and fear—what will happen to her Becca when she's no more. A young, old woman with an athletic physique always active, always training, always serious. Becca can't wait to go home to her Grams.
Her mind is made up, she must survive, for Grams, she must. For the real reason she is being chased, she must! Becca steps out of the booth, throws her phone in her bag and begins to run, in search of the nearest airport. It is almost daybreak and suddenly, the cloud in the heavens changes its fabric and turns dark grey. Not allowing the sun to rise, it starts to drizzle. The soft drops of rain on her hair give her a little calm and the little but steady drops create a puddle around her shoes. She steals a peek over her shoulders, trying to mark her chaser, Luke, but sees no one, and sighs.
She takes flight in to the highway, jumping over early morning rushers, not minding she could be knocked down, she jets on. She ignores every sign of taxi stopping for her because she can't trust anyone now. Who could be working for him, "that savage," she yells.
She gets to the airport, now walks to the hangers meant for private jets, all drenched in rain, lifts out her wet ID card and it read, Becca McCoy. First Class Pass. She is let through with a smile from the attendant, with a word, I will get you a change of clothes, Ma'am.
"I am only twenty for Christ sake," replied Becca in her mind, smiling to herself with a weird grin. "Thank you, that would be lovely," she added. The attendant, smiling, replies with a nod and with her left hand, she gives the direction of her seat. She made it there just in time for the next flight to Atlanta, Georgia.
Now feeling safer, she takes one last peek through the window and sighs a deep breath. Some short minutes later, she is handed over a blue denim trousers and red leather jacket with a cotton hand woven, innerwear.
"Here you go, ma'am."
"Thank you so much, I appreciate your kind gesture." She smiles. "Well, not my best choice of colors, but this would do, this isn't a fashion show, I am trying to survive." She smiles yet again at the attendant, who looked genuinely happy with all smiles as she rendered her services. You would almost mistake her for a young child who just met with Santa Claus or a fan who finally meets their celebrity crushes. Well, Becca is neither of those.
She walks down the aisle to the restroom, with a change of clothes safely held up under her arms. The toilet, like a tiny cubicle or room cut out from the rest of the jet, for its diminutive size, looks very comfortable. With a lever with indication, open, close, occupied, and vacant, you can let anyone know anything you want from the insides of the restroom. A tiny mirror just the size of a beverage tin, it leaves little room for anyone to see a full face or full-body, you would wonder what the idea of creating it in the first place was. Becca looks around, with little mobility, she scans the restroom for a first aid box to tend to her wounds. A less conspicuous cupboard close to the fluorescent bulb, looking different from the rest of the cubicle, is sighted. She reaches for its tiny door handle and sees a tiny box. She pulls it out and sees crested on the box, FIRST AID, in a fading red color. Smiling, Becca picks the lock and grabs an analgesic to ease the pain she feels, a ball of cotton wool, and a bandage. Slowly, she cleans the cuts of the shattered glasses and picks out the little pieces driven into her skin. With sighs imprinted on her red lips, she bites her lips as she pulls off her drenched clothes to change her clothing.
Becca is jolted again, and this time, she sees the suffering of Luke. In a flash, she sees his journeys, his capture, and his anguish from being locked away in the center of the earth. Back in an instant, she is brought back from her trance by an air hostess who knocks on the restroom door to inform her of the take-off. Gently, Becca examines her body, for more cuts. She is bleeding softly from her side, close to her breasts. With a methylated spirit and cotton wool in her hand, she cleans softly, the cut. The sting from the burning, cooling sensation from the kiss of the cotton wool doused in methylated spirit pushed her back to her trance, she begins to touch herself, seductively, with her hands cupping her breasts, she pinches her left nipple hard, leaving her nipples hard and pussy hole dripping juices of life slowly. She begins palpitating so profoundly, as she runs her index finger into her panties. The crown of her clitoris throbbed as she brushes the red lips of her pussy walls. Suddenly, Becca was kicked out of her fantasy. It is clear now; she is connected to Luke. "I can find out where he is, I just need to concentrate, I need to remove other thoughts, and I will find where he is, for sure," she whispers like someone was listening in her conversation.
"This is bad. What is happening to me? Why now?" She asks herself in confusion. The plane is about to take off, she quickly changes her clothes, and with difficulty, from fitting into the blue denim trousers. Her ass has been known to grow faster and more be prominent than the rest of her body. Her squats and lower body workout enforced by Grams ensured that. At long last, she pulls her trousers up and rushes to her seat.
Now feeling safe and homebound, she hears a voice through the speakers inform the passengers of the take-off.
"Please fasten your seat belts. We are about to take off. Do enjoy your flight."
The plane takes off and she sleeps with no worries, letting the serenity of the atmosphere take her worries away, as she forgets about her capture or the encounter.
CHAPTER 2
FATED MATE
She’s traveled miles and she doesn’t feel any sense of danger and she sighs deeply but softly, "thank heavens." Peeking through the window of the jet, all she could see was the wings of the plane gliding through the thick blue clouds and all she heard was peace and calm. The jet engines sounded softly and she convinced herself and the staff she was out of harm's way.
She began to wonder how she survived the ordeal she had just passed through on a completely empty stomach and body with little to no energy left. Her training surely made sure she survived, and her resilience, perhaps.
Beside her she heard a soft "Hi." Turning to her left, she sees Luke and she almost passes out. There was something different from the Luke of now, he was a different being. She could perceive his aura, and this time, it had a different kind of color than before. Rage was not the intent, love was but of course, rage settled down below, sleeping like a beast waiting to be put out if its eternal slumber. He stared down at her with an unwavering, unblinking gaze, she felt her confidence melt her onto the seat. Shouting and causing a ruckus was something she was taught never to do. Creating a scene was definitely her best game but being discreet wa
s the best bet now as they were airborne. Luke, without removing his gaze from her, he grips her hands, "you must know by now that you can never run away from me. You are bound to me," he said with a silly but serious look in his eyes.
"There are humans here, so please don't create a scene, no one has to get hurt." Luke added with pleas.
Becca stays still, and silent; all in awe of how she was tracked down. Something spells different even more with Luke. Like a gentleman he sits with his legs crossed, his gold hair combed and left to flow down his hand tailored black suit. He looked dressed and ready for a ball or about to meet a very important personality. His voice soft like a gentleman posed as a suitor, looking for the best ways to woo and court his beloved, his rage was sheathed and was close to nonexistent. His earlier ancient accent was masked under a polished beautiful British accent. She looks into his eyes and the crimson eyes glistened softly, you would think they twinkle as the stars up in the sky of a cool night. The moment there was close to perfect as the seemingly pure evil she felt was nowhere to be found. She has to be careful though.
She looks to him closely and his physical appearance, his mien, his masculinity well complemented his composure. He had a well chiseled jaw seated on a firm neck housed by a well built torso. His broad pectoral muscles defined him as a fully physically active creature. He looks and acts nothing like a human, he is divine. No human can be this flawless, she thought.
Luke's grip on her hand became more firmly as it was soft. He traced her veins, running his fingers up her arm to her neck. Her soft skin made his undead heart feel alive. The sweet scent of her cologne or her unique scent smelled very ripe and she looked ready for harvest. Seemingly soft movements of her blood made Luke want to suck her sweet nectar. Like a rose petal, he peels off her jacket covering her cleavage, exposing her huge breasts and a comfortably seated pendant between the succulent cracks of her inviting breasts.
On sighting the pendant, Luke pauses. He continues his “examining,” and slowly, the sharpness of his crimson eyes turned slightly dim as he mutters frantically but with a stinging fury, “what is this?” He says, grabbing her pendant and brushing her cleavage under his grip.
“I—I said what is this? What is this, I ask you? God damn it!” He said angrily as he yanked it off with little difficulty, leaving a bruise on her neck. Becca whimpers softly but doesn’t say a word. The rage in his crimson eyes grew. “What are you?” He lays his hands on her and drags her, leading her to the cubicle rest room. Now, the cubicle is surprisingly comfortable for the both of them to stand.
As his eyes turned bright red in an instant, Becca melts into his arms in total fear and still not saying a thing. With the rage and anger she felt from Luke, it was like her soul was going to leave her body. Now sounding less composed, he asks yet again, “What are you? Can you cast spells? What is this pendant?” He yelled. “Answer me right now!” He continued, with his face directly in front of her and just inches apart.
“I don’t know what that is, it’s a necklace. Just a normal necklace.”
“You lie! You lie to me. Don’t do that!” He said, rejecting her reply immediately. “Can you track? I saw the way you evade me, it was hard to get you, but I did. Who are you?”
If he is particular about the pendant, does that mean he knows what that is? What it is for? Who it was made for? Is he a witch too? Tracking was a way—it is mostly slang—vampire hunters get away when they are in a pursuit of a vampire or beastly creature. Does this mean he know what I am?
“I know what you are. There’s no mistaking it.”
He moves a step back, looks at her with so much hate and love at the same time, immediately, he raises his hand to the air. He leans forward to touch her, she moves back. He tries again to touch her, and this time, he grabs her neck, choking her softly. Instantly, he gets a hard cock, jerking inside his trousers.
With a firm hand, he twists her to the back, with just his left hand on her neck. His other hand on her waist, he runs it slowly on her thighs and belly. She moans under her breath, “please leave me.” Her body, like it was programmed for him, jerked to the movements of his hands. His breath on her neck was warm against her skin. She shuddered softly. The chill air the air conditioning rendered was powerless to him. The warmness his breath caused made her muscles relaxed to his rhythmic hand movements against her skin. She lost herself.
“Please stop, please, I beg you,” all in her head, she whispers to Luke.
As her body moved to the movements of his touch, he moaned and groaned softly. He pushed his hard cock through his trousers against her soft butt crack shielded by her blue denim trousers. He squeezes her athletic thighs, and her pussy juice trickled down, increasing smooth blood flow to her openings.
He softens the choke on her neck and slides down to her breasts and pinches her nipples hard. “Please, I will say the truth, I am.” She is stopped by aged long fangs on the back of her neck, she moans at the torture, forgetting what she wanted to say. With her hands on the wall, Luke tastes her blood. Everything felt right… he knew.
With turbulence from the airplane, he was pulled out of his reverie—deep fantasy—he never wanted to leave. Pulling off her leather jacket, more like yanking it off, and removing the inner wear she had on, revealing her breasts. He brushed her side boobs perfectly cupped by her silk bra with butterflies in the nipple area. She tries to release herself from his grip but she has been pinned down with his full strength. Her struggles meant nothing to him. He gave her a greedy gaze, raining and showering her with flirty stares at her now, naked breasts, he claws her breasts. This makes her shudder against the wall uncontrollably. The touch of his fingers on her succulent breasts caused her to feel electric-like volts around her areolas.
The pain he inflicted on her was so deep that it made her want to pass out. Not caring if she loses herself in the moment, he contemplates taking her right there, making her his own, or perhaps, drain her of her life juice. He rather looks at her, shakes his head softly, stares into her almost closing eyes and in an instant, Luke tears open his suit and shirt, leaving a bare chest and twirled her facing him, then pulled her to his body. As their bodies touched with her petite and cute, he moaned softly as both their hearts beat in synchronicity. Their heart pulsates to the sounds of their breaths.
Right there, Luke mutters the words, “finally, you are mine,” in her ears. At that moment, she doesn’t know what he says, or was saying. To her, they were sweet words, they felt tender to her. She was weak. She has never been in this position before. This situation was overwhelmingly exhilarating for her. Her legs went numb in an instant. She was a virgin all her life and wants to remain so till she finally will let go to the man of her dreams. Almost instinctively, she shudders in attempts to resist him. His look however, was smoldering and recoiling from his charms was a feat she already instinctively lost. That war was lost. Becca’s eyes closed slowly as Luke stroked her hair, running his hands through like a shy lover.
His hand cradled the back of her head as he moved her to face him. Lost in him, Luke stares at Becca as she is consumed of the fear of a fate she does not know of. She cries out, “please, let me please go unharmed.”
And in that instant, tears trickled down her cheeks, down his chest. They were cold as ice. As soon as he sees this, he exclaimed, “cold!? Ice cold? What are you?” Is she both a vampire hunter and a witch? Only witches cried cold tears in his time. They rarely cried except in dire situations and mostly when a loved one dies. She can obviously track, and certainly, it has been confirmed she knows who witches are; her pendant, her ice tears. At this point, his beloved fated mate became something he should be scared of. His kinds were mostly hunted by human—vampire hunter’s—werewolves, even by good old nature—the sun. His kinds were predators of the night but forces always came together in attempts to make his kind extinct. Now, he finds out his beloved, his fated love is a witch, vampire hunter.
Would he kill her now? Would he rip her neck open? Mayb
e he will let her go unscathed?
In his seemingly confused state of fear and rage, he shouts, “how come your tears are cold like ice? What is with this witchcraft pendant? Why do you lie to me? I have lived for many centuries, and before my unfortunate capture, I have seen, and came in contact with many witches and hunters than I can remember.”
Hate flooded his eyes and in a hurry, like something came over him, Luke, abruptly dresses her up. Returning her clothes, covering her flesh and removing his body from whence it was, the embrace of her body. Wearing his clothes instantaneously, “I want you to return to your seat and when this plane lands, you will take me to your home,” he orders. “I want to hear nothing from you right now.” He continued.
Knowing her true identity was compromised, she stuttered, “I, I do not understand what you mean,” as she strived to feign ignorance of what he meant by him knowing what she could do and who she was. Becca, amazed that she had been made, looking surprised, did as she was told; she walked out of the rest room, leaving Luke alone to himself.
Luke returns to the seat beside her and is agitated. Not looking at anywhere and anyone in particular, he speaks out loud, to himself, enough to be heard by Becca, “if I hear or see 'funny' movement, I will hurt everyone here as take you by force till we crash and we are up in flames.” Luke, after listening to what he had just said, laughed hysterically at himself. “Why will I want to die after just finding my fated mate well after centuries of being in captive and eternal torture?”
He tries to get some shut eye after bidding her to get some rest.
HOURS PASSED AND THE PLANE IS ABOUT TO LAND, in the domestic airport of West Georgia.
With eyes shut, a speaker blaring announcements about an impending landing, Luke’s eyes slowly opened to the bright lights of the lamps on the aisle. The plane lands and he signals to Becca with his index finger, “no funny business here.”
Fated (Of Blood and Magic Book 1) Page 3
