He nodded, taking a wooden serving tray from the cabinet. “Confusion is more like it. I have all these questions and not one single solitary answer. And while my list of questions grows, my list of answers remains blank.”
She probed, hoping for answers of her own. “Are you looking for a permanent home?”
“Is there such a thing as a permanent home?”
She realized he wasn’t looking for an answer, so she remained silent and allowed him to continue.
“When I was young I thought my mother was permanent in my life, that she would always love me and be there for me. I never imagined her going away or being on my own. I think when I lost her I realized then that nothing was ever permanent. Not even a mother’s love.”
“Her love remains with you though she herself isn’t here.”
He shook his head in disgust. “I’ve heard it all before, but what good does her love do if she’s not here. I have only memories and they fade with time.”
Tempest thought of the memories she had shared with Marcus and how time had not dimmed a single one. “Memories remain as clear and constant as you choose.”
He shrugged. “Then maybe I don’t want to remember. Maybe it just hurts too damn much.”
“And is the reason why you can’t find the answers?”
“I don’t even know the damn questions anymore.”
She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Perhaps it’s time for new questions. The old ones grow worn and burdensome. If you discard them and search for new ones, perhaps then you’ll find what you look for.”
“You talk in riddles yet somehow make sense.”
“A compliment,” she said with a smile. “My thanks.”
He shook his head. “You’re unique, Tempest.”
She laughed. “A nice way of saying that you think I’m strange.”
“Well, we are having a campfire cookout in the living room.”
“And I can’t wait,” she said with excitement. “I love cooking over an open flame.”
“I have to admit that I’m a novice when it comes to campfire cooking.”
“I’ll have you experienced in no time,” she said with confidence.
Michael looked doubtful. “I don’t know.”
Her hand returned to his arm. “You must believe, Michael. Anything is possible if you simply believe.”
At that moment, looking into the depths of her pale-green eyes, he felt as if he could believe in anything. The feeling so overwhelmed him, consumed him and frightened him that he stepped away from her, needing to place a distance between them.
The distance did not prevent her words from ringing in his head.
Believe. Simply believe.
By the time Michael roasted the marshmallows he was a pro and not only proud but insistent on demonstrating his newly acquired skill.
“I’m stuffed,” Tempest said, holding her stomach that ached from the five marshmallows she had consumed and thoroughly enjoyed.
A flannel blanket had been turned into a makeshift picnic cloth. Empty plates, a near-empty bowl of popcorn and an empty bottle of wine attested to the fun time they had shared.
“This is really easy,” Michael said and blew lightly on the roasted marshmallow he had just removed from the open flames. “And delicious, besides. Did your parents take you camping?”
Her parents.
How did she explain two entities beyond the scope of mortal understanding?
She chose her words carefully. “My parents made certain I was provided with a varied education.”
“Are you close with them?”
“I only need to reach out and touch and they are always there for me.”
“You’re lucky you have a close family,” he said with envy.
“I could tell when I met your sister how much you meant to each other.”
“Yes, I love my sister dearly and I was concerned that she would find the right man to share her life with.”
“Dagon and she appears a good match.”
She brought her legs up to hug her chest and she smiled. “I was instrumental in bringing them together. I think they were made for each other.”
“They have a lot in common?”
Tempest laughed. “Not a bit. Actually I think she was completely opposite of what he was looking for in a wife.”
“Whatever brought them together then?” She looked at him oddly. “What usually does—love.”
“Love isn’t the answer to everything or all relationships,” he insisted.
“Love can overcome many hurdles,” she said, sounding like a teacher instructing a stubborn pupil.
Michael remained stubborn. “Love blinds.”
“Love doesn’t require sight.”
“Love hurts.”
“Love heals, people hurt,” she argued.
“Love gives nothing.”
“Love asks for nothing, but gives everything.”
He was prepared to continue the debate when she pressed a finger to his lips. “Love is what two people make of it. There is no right way or wrong way to love. Love simply is simple.”
He wouldn’t give up. He moved her finger away from his mouth. “Which means any idiot can fall in love.”
“You’ve never loved,” she said sadly.
“Once or twice I thought there was a possibility.” He shook his head. “I was wrong.”
“So you closed your heart?”
“And opened my eyes.”
She placed her hand to his chest, over his heart. “Then perhaps it’s time to thaw it out.”
His hand covered hers. “Think you can do that?” He didn’t need an answer. His heart had begun to thaw when he’d met her. His problem now was knowing how to keep her from breaking it because he was damn sure he was falling in love with her.
What had he said about idiots?
She answered on a whisper. “I think I have the power.”
He smiled; he couldn’t help it—she was so beautiful and so sincere. “I think you may need magic.”
“Let’s see what I can conjure up.”
He waited; his hand warm against hers.
And she took a deep breath and briefly gave thought to what she was about to do. The spell she was about to cast could evoke his memories, for she had recited the words to Marcus many, many years ago. But she cast it over Michael now and she hoped for a different reaction.
“Earth, wind, fire and ice; hear my wish for I ask it twice; free this soul of his tormented past; and send him a love that will forever last!”
He captured her eyes, and she watched in their depths how he warred with himself. Did he believe, or didn’t he? Did he trust, or didn’t he? Did he love, or didn’t he?
No answer emerged from his inner battle; his private war raged on. And as with any true warrior there was no retreat, no surrender. And he advanced on her, bringing his lips down to faintly touch hers.
Her finger intercepted the kiss. “Believe, Michael, please believe.”
He pushed her finger aside with a gentle annoyance. “I believe in this.”
He yanked her up on his lap and kissed her like a man consumed by lust. She didn’t protest; she surrendered just like she had done with Marcus.
o0o
Michael couldn’t get the kiss off his mind. He had turned his light off over an hour ago and he still couldn’t fall asleep. His thoughts continued to center on that damn lusty kiss. He had no idea what had come over him. It was almost as if Tempest had conjured up magic, and it hit him full force in the gut.
The desire to kiss her had been overwhelming and no amount of sane reasoning, or insane for that matter, would have deterred him.
He sighed, utterly confused by what he had felt, especially when he had kissed her. It was as if his senses were heightened to such a degree of awareness that he experienced her pleasure as well as his own. The two combined nearly drove him wild. Her blood rushed and heated along with his, their hearts beat almost in the same rhythm and the tas
te of her was pleasure at its finest and in its purest form. He wanted to believe, ached to believe, that what he felt was love, and yet there was something else there he couldn’t quite grasp, understand, make any sense of at all. And the strange sensation nagged at him relentlessly.
His dreams didn’t help any, either. They haunted him night after night, and he found himself becoming more and more consumed by them. The man fascinated him; though dark in character and form, there was an appeal there that made him want to take a closer look, become more familiar, and understand his power. And he certainly possessed a defined power. Michael could feel it radiate through him, and oddly enough, he felt as if his ankle was almost completely healed. He had thought about removing the cast in a day or two—that was how sure he was that the break had healed.
Of course, sane reason returned during the day, and he blamed his strange thoughts on his reading material. He spent a good portion of his time reading about witchcraft, warlocks, spells, potions and absolute nonsense, and yet...
He moaned. “Damn, but at times it makes sense.”
How could magic make sense when magic didn’t exist? And why did he feel an affinity with the Craft? Ancient rituals and practices had always fascinated him. It seemed every culture possessed some type of magical practice. Did that validate magic? Give it substance and therefore form? Did magic truly exist?
He placed his hand over his heart. Had her spell worked? Was his heart thawing or was it that she had made him believe it so? Or did he wish to believe?
He began to grow sleepy, his lids drooping and a yawn escaping. He longed for sleep to grab hold and whisk him away where he wouldn’t have to think, but then there were his dreams that waited.
The room was made of thick stone, beautifully crafted tapestries hung from the walls and a fire roared in a huge fireplace. Wooden chairs, a table and chests filled the stark space, yet added no warmth or welcome. Candles attempted to cast light on the dark, but darkness somehow seemed to prevail no matter how hard the numerous wicks flickered.
The man stepped from the shadows, though the shadows followed and lingered like sentinels around him. He reached out to the woman who stood a safe distance away from the blazing hearth, and she stepped out of his reach.
His laugh was low and chilling. “Why do you deny me when you ache for my touch?”
“Your heart is cold.”
“Warm it,” he challenged.
She cast him a skeptical glance. “How would you have me do that?”
“Cast one of your spells.” Another challenge issued.
“I do not need to prove my powers.”
He stepped closer to her. She stood as she was; her refusal to back down from him an obvious challenge.
He raised a hand to gently caress her face. “I can feel your power. It runs like a hot, burning river through me. It excites me and I ache for it to join with mine.” He reached down to take her hand and place it against his chest, over his heart. “Thaw my heart if you dare.”
“And what if I thaw it enough for love to flourish? What, then, will you do?”
“Love you, as you wish me to.”
She shook her head and smiled with a sadness they both felt. “You don’t believe me capable of thawing your heart and teaching you about love.”
His smile held confidence. “I will give you love if that is what you wish.”
“How can you give what you don’t believe in?”
He grew annoyed and stepped away from her with an agitated groan. “I believe in our powers.”
“You believe the opposite of me. I choose love, you choose power.”
“Love or power: either unites our extraordinary skills and creates a bond of such superior strength that it could never be matched or broken.”
“All this... if our powers unite?”
He approached her. “Think of the possibilities.”
“I am,” she said sadly.
He reached for her hand and once again placed it on his chest over his heart. “Thaw it if you wish.”
She could feel the cold, and shivered.
His laugh challenged. “Too great a task?”
She issued her own challenge. “What if I spark love in you.”
“Then it is yours. I give it to you freely.”
She nodded accepting his dare, and pressed her hand to his chest. A gentle heat radiated from her palm and penetrated his clothes and flesh to touch his icy heart. “Earth, wind fire and ice; hear my wish for I will ask it twice; free his soul of his tormented past; and send him a love that will forever last.”
His dark, brooding eyes reflected his admiration for her attempt.
“I have freed you to know love.”
“Good then it is yours; taste of it.”
His movement was sudden and unexpected and he had her in his arms before she could protect herself. His lips claimed hers with such force that she trembled and yet in seconds he had her surrendering completely to his dominating kiss. Giving what he demanded and aching for what he gave.
She tasted not his love but his power—vibrant, potent and tempting. He forced it on her, wanting her to feel its thrill and excitement, and she did. It prickled her skin, heightened her pleasure and drenched her with an unrelenting passion that she ached to taste and that turned quickly to a quench so strong that nothing could satisfy it except—
She ripped herself from his grasp and distanced herself from him, attempting to control her ragged breathing and control the rush of emotions that consumed her body. He purposely had brought her to the edge with intentions of forcing her to step off, to take a plunge that would forever unite them.
His cold smile made her shiver. “You will step with me into the darkness and enjoy it.”
“Only if there is love in your heart.”
“Thaw it and it is yours,” he said on a laugh that echoed off the stone walls.
“I already have,” she said, and with a snap of her fingers, disappeared.
The man stared at the empty space in front of him, his hand quickly moving to his chest in protection, rubbing at it over and over and over.
Michael twisted and turned in his sleep, rubbing at his chest repeatedly and trembling from the surge of power that rushed through him.
Chapter Fifteen
Tempest found him the next morning in the greenhouse sawing at his cast with the small tree saw. “Whatever are you doing?”
“Taking this damn cast off,” he said adamantly and continued to saw.
“You can’t,” she said with alarm. “You have another week before it can come off.”
He looked up at her with eyes that warned her he would have his way. “It’s coming off now.”
She attempted to reason with him. “And what if it hasn’t completely healed?”
“It has.” He worked diligently and with a precise rhythm.
“How can you be so sure?”
“I don’t know,” he answered curtly. “I just know that this damn cast is no longer necessary.”
Tempest grew concerned. Was this Michael being his stubborn self? Or was Marcus in there somewhere regaining power and control?
“At least give it another day or two,” she attempted to convince him.
“No!”
She jumped, startled by his forceful refusal. She heard the cast crack and realized her only alternative was to remain close by and use her healing powers if necessary.
The cast came off easily. Michael tossed the broken pieces to the ground and sat back in the chair. His foot remained propped on the low table.
His pause presented an opportunity for Tempest to run a gentle hand over his ankle and determine its condition.
“It feels fine,” he said in defense of his rash actions, though he had to admit her warm hand felt awfully good against his pale flesh.
“You haven’t stood on it yet,” she warned him, her touch tender and her examination proving that the break was well mended.
Actually it had healed considerably
well, and fast. He probably could have taken the cast off last week. Her determination surprised her and alerted her to the consequences of such news.
“I won’t have a problem,” he said with a confidence most would envy.
“Regardless, I would still be careful, at least for a day or two.” Rest wasn’t really necessary; he could probably dance a jig or two and it wouldn’t bother him in the least. But then that would also mean he was well enough to leave, and she didn’t want him to go.
The realization struck Michael as well and he suddenly wondered over his impulsive actions. He did tell her that he would make repairs around the cottage before he left, but there were no significant repairs that would detain him for more than a week or two at the most and that was working at a snail’s pace.
“Maybe you’re right,” he finally said, deciding that even if his ankle felt as good as new, it would be wiser to be cautious.
“I’ll do as you suggest.”
“Good,” she said with relief, and stood. “I’ll get you a sock and your other slipper and then you can attempt to stand, though not for long.”
He smiled at the way she took over his care and the sincere sound of concern in her voice. She actually worried over him, and that knowledge made him feel awfully good.
He expressed his appreciation simply. “You’ve been good to me, Tempest.”
She shook her head, though she smiled. “I ran into you with my car.”
“You didn’t mean to; the snowstorm blinded your vision.”
“I have menial driving skills at best.”
She protested his defense of her, though the thought that he chose to defend her warmed her heart.
“Your driving can’t be that bad. You got me here, didn’t you?”
She snapped her fingers. “With a snap.”
He looked at her oddly for a brief instant and she felt a shiver run down her spine. Had her action stirred a memory? She had to be cautious and more diligent in her efforts to discover whether Marcus lurked in the depths of Michael’s soul.
“Hurry with that sock and slipper, I’m anxious to walk normally again,” he said sitting forward in the chair.
“Don’t you dare attempt to move until I return,” she demanded with a pointed finger.
Magical Memories Page 15
