“What did you two do to her?”
An angry voice stirred my peaceful slumber which had been fraught with the happiest of dreams.
“It’s Cora’s fault. She couldn’t keep her mouth shut.” Another angry voice broke through the diminishing haze.
“I didn’t mean to upset her,” a trembling voice added. “She was fine one minute, and went out cold the next.”
I didn’t want to open my eyes. I knew there’d be multiple pairs of sapphire and pale blue staring down at me anxiously; but I knew the pair I loved the most would be nearest, and with that reassurance, I opened them.
“I didn’t think Immortals could pass out like that,” said a husky voice, which sounded like Nathanial’s.
A loud, rolling laugh—definitive of Patrick—roared. “Hey William, I think I’ve figured out what Bryn’s gift is.”
William ignored him, and relief soothed his wrinkled face when my eyes fluttered open.
I couldn't let Patrick’s comment slide like the saint looming above me could. "Hey Patrick," I called out, and the surrounding laughter was instantly silenced when everyone heard and saw I was awake. "If my talent is passing out, what's yours . . . being the most obnoxious Immortal in existence?"
William was the first to erupt in laughter, and the rest joined in soon after. I was pretty sure I even heard Patrick join in about mid-way through.
"Actually, smarty-pants." Patrick walked over so he was in view. I’d been laid out on a sofa and a pillow was positioned under my head. "My gift—or talent you might call it—is casting a hypnotic spell on beautiful young women with my good looks and debonair charm." He smiled his most charming smile, as if to prove his point, but it had no affect on me.
All I could do was roll my eyes and return them to the man I loved, still hovering beside me. When I looked at him, I was reminded of the many times he'd put me in a near hypnotic state, and knew Patrick was wrong—it was his older brother that possessed this talent.
"How are you feeling?" William's hands ran over my face as a mother might search for a fever on her child.
"Stop fussing over her, she's fine," Patrick directed, taking a seat on the fireplace edge. "She's back to her sweet old self—verbally abusing me every chance she gets." Patrick formed his mouth into an overstated pout.
"I'm fine,” I assured the face hanging above mine. “I can't believe I went out like that. I'm sorry you had to come back so soon." I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair.
"Don't worry about it," he reassured me, as he reached for my hand and drew it to his lips. "We were on our way back anyways."
He pressed his lips into my palm. "What happened?"
The reminder of the knowledge I'd acquired before my body shut down from the overwhelming joy that had flooded it, caused all the euphoria to return. The muscles in my cheeks ached as they pulled my smile wider.
"Dinner's ready!" Abigail called around the corner before I could answer his question. "Don't even think you're not going to sit around the table with your family tonight, William. It's been months."
I saw William's mouth open in objection, but I raised my finger to his lips before he could offend his sister-in-law. I wasn’t going to give her another reason to not like me, and William didn’t look like he was planning on leaving my side.
"Let's go, that banana bread has been calling my name all afternoon." I swung my legs around and stood up without a problem, but William couldn't resist the urge to assist me in everyway possible. He practically carried me into the kitchen, needless as it was.
"Let me know if you need any more help there, William. She's looking a little pale again,” Patrick called out as we rounded the corner.
William turned his head, examining me carefully for signs of another swoon on my horizon. I scowled at Patrick as he took his seat at the table and stuffed his mouth with a heavily buttered piece of bread. He met my scowl with his own toothy smile, continuing to chew through it.
William sat me down in a chair at the end of the table and he took his seat at the head. Nathanial sat opposite him at the other end. When everyone was situated and sipping their coffee in between mouthfuls of the bread that tasted even better than it smelled, and laughing merrily as a family should, my eyes fell on the quietest member of our party of seven.
Abigail’s eyes sparkled as she gazed with love at every member of her family sitting around the table, minus me, the wannabe Hayward. If William was the head of this family, Abigail was the mother. Her maternal instincts were apparent in the proud gleam of her eyes, to the way she made sure everyone else was taken care of and eating before she took her own seat. This family was her life.
The informal dinner continued; endless stories were told, and retold, and the eruption of laughter was infectious. I found myself laughing close to tears on several occasions. My favorite part of the whole gathering was witnessing the light-hearted joy that flowed from William. With his family, his smile was as easy as Patrick's and as brilliant as Joseph's.
His laughter rang throughout the entire house and reverberated off the walls. It was the purest sound I'd ever heard. The family ties were strong, and given these two couples would split their time in two locations just to see their single brothers on occasion, their love and commitment to one another was without question.
We were finishing up dinner when William squeezed my hand. "Do you mind if I steal you away for awhile?" He lowered his voice. "I've been dying to get you alone all day, and it doesn't appear they're going to let that happen unless I grab you and escape." His pale blue eyes sparkled with excitement, causing my mouth to go dry. I'd been wondering—more like hoping—we'd have some time alone to ourselves soon.
"Steal me away," I whispered back.
William smiled and stood up, pulling me with him. "Thank you so much for the amazing dinner, Abigail." Her face lit up at his thanks. "But if you'll all excuse us for awhile, Bryn and I are going for a walk."
As soon as he'd made his announcement, a chorus of objections was yelled, Joseph complaining the loudest. "Come on, William, you're not doing this to us again. You know the tradition—dinner, followed by a game . . . and it's my turn to pick!"
It was comical how serious Joseph was—he was truly upset his big brother was ditching out on the tradition of a game of Charades or Scrabble . . . whatever they played.
"Let him go," Cora soothed her husband. "They need some time alone." She probably figured her revelations to me today were the reason we needed this.
"Oh, pleeeeease . . . my big hero of a brother who I idolize, and look up to, and dote on." Patrick pulled his best vocal impersonation of Joseph. "Why would you want to leave with a beautiful woman to take a romantic moonlit walk when you've got board games and family waiting?"
Patrick continued his whining impersonation of the youngest Hayward brother, until William signaled to Joseph with a wink, and in a split second they charged Patrick and tackled him onto the loveseat behind them. Nathanial couldn't contain himself, and another second later he was on top of them all, sandwiching the beautiful, dark-haired brothers between he and Patrick.
Cora, Abigail and I watched with grins on our faces, enjoying the camaraderie of the four brothers and cheering for our own Hayward boy. It was hard to tell who won, or if any of them had, but William was the first up. He ran to me and grabbed my hand, while his three brothers continued their brawling on the assaulted loveseat and the overflow of the floor.
"Come on, let's go." He pulled the slider door open and we ran at a full sprint— leaving the cheer and warmth of his family and the cedar-planked cottage—for the sparkling, white sand and the ocean striped by moonbeams.
We didn’t stop running until we were a good mile down the beach. William obviously wanted to put some distance between us and his family, in case his rowdy brothers decided they weren’t going to let him go so easily. Slowing to a walk, we sat down to remove our shoes.
“Your family is amazing. They adore you,” I said.
We stood up and walked down to the surf’s edge, carrying our shoes in one hand and holding hands with our other.
“I don’t know about the adoration part, but they’re certainly wonderful. They’ve been there for me through many hard times.” His eyes squinted as if he was remembering something from his past. “They never gave up on me—loving me far more than I deserve.”
I squeezed his fingers. “I highly doubt that. It would be impossible to love you more than you deserve.” I stared up at the moon; it was high and bright tonight, and the way it highlighted the planes of William’s face made me feel I was hovering in a dream as opposed to real life. His thumb massaged gently into the side of my hand, and I closed my eyes so I could experience nothing but his touch and the current that he emitted into me: steady, gentle and intimate.
“So,” he said hesitantly. “You were going to tell me what happened before you passed out tonight. Would you mind telling me now?” he asked so shyly, it would have melted any resolve I had against telling him.
“Of course, I’ll tell you.” I didn’t admit to him if he used that same tone with me again, he’d be able to derive anything from me he wanted. “Cora was telling me some stories—stories about you and your history.”
“What stories?” he asked slowly, stress lines forming on the outer corners of his eyes.
“The one about your visions of me.”
I was relieved to see his anxiety melt and a slow smile pull at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, that one.” His eyes looked deep into mine with mind-numbing wonder. “I was really hoping I’d be the one to tell you that one,” he said, looking a little regretful, but his smile did not falter. “That’s actually what I had planned for this evening’s agenda.”
“Tell me anyways.” I jumped in front of him, stopping him with my hand.
“Please . . . I want to hear it from you.” He hesitated, looking thoughtful. “Please,” I begged again. “It would mean a lot to me.”
He lifted his hand to my face, and I molded my cheek against it. “Of course, I’ll tell you. I will never keep anything from you, but it appears even if I wanted to, I’m completely unable to say no to you. You’re either incredibly convincing, or I’m a hopeless pushover.”
“Sorry, it’s in the blood. If you were born into the Dawson family you didn’t really have a choice in which career field you went into. You had Harvard Law or Stanford Law—that was about the only choice,” I joked as he pulled me down with him onto the shimmering sand.
I heard the grin in his voice as he curled his arms around me. “Thanks for the warning. It’s a good thing I’m on your side.”
He let a few moments pass in silence where I could feel him putting together the details of his story.
“I don’t want to go into a lot of detail about the darkness that was in my life before you were there, Bryn. It was an unimaginable time for me, and it’s difficult for me to think about those early years, let alone talk about them.” He exhaled forcefully through his nose. “Besides, the critical piece to my story is you—none of the blackness or evil held sway once I saw you for the first time.”
He paused, and his head tilted back, as if he were examining the constellations he probably knew everything about. I kept my eyes on the white, frothy waves hurling themselves against the shore. “You were my light in the darkness. So many think of light as something that merely helps balance out the darkness, but if that light doesn’t overtake the majority of the black, then the darkness still holds the most power in one’s life . . . but that’s not the way it is at all. Once you’ve lived in nothing but darkness, when a light suddenly shines through—even the faintest glimmer—it’s all you see, all you focus on, and the only thing you live for.”
My eyes followed William’s upward gaze. A white streak burst through the sky the moment I looked up. I watched the shooting star until it burnt to its end, vanishing into the dark night sky.
“Seeing you freed me from the clutches of the darkness in my mind. They were still there, and always will be, but they don’t hold power over me any more.” He leaned his face into the side of my neck, whispering in my ear, “You do. I’ve lived every single day of my Immortality—for more than two centuries—seeing you, searching for you, and loving you.”
I struggled to restart my stalled heart.
“Does that sound crazy?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.
I pushed out of his arms and twisted around to look at him. “Don’t you ever say that . . . none of that sounds crazy. That’s pretty much the most romantic thing you could say to me.”
His eyes drowned in their relief.
“And while it tears me apart knowing the pain you’ve gone through, and continue to go through, knowing you loved me generations before I was even born fills me with the most indescribable happiness.” I was almost guilty of gushing by the time I’d finished, but I didn’t care.
My gushing complete, something important occurred to me. “How did you find me?”
He chuckled. “It wasn’t by mere coincidence I can assure you.”
An extra tenacious wave hurled against the shore, spreading its liquid plane up to the ends of my toes. “Will you tell me?”
He smiled, looking at me through his black fanned lashes. “I found a photo in the sports page of a California newspaper of a high school tennis champ . . . the woman I’d spent my life searching for.”
I remembered it. It had been taken the fall of my senior year after I’d won the conference match. “You just happened to fall upon this photo?” I asked with a teasing undercurrent in my voice.
“Not exactly,” he replied, sounding apprehensive. “In my spare time I sorted through newspapers, yearbooks, school photos—”
“In your spare time?” I said with awe, positive he was underemphasizing again. “How did you know I was in California?”
“I didn’t,” he said, his apprehension more pronounced.
“What . . .” I muttered, not understanding.
He responded quickly, “Let’s just say I had my work cut out for me. The internet was a godsend.”
“Wait,” I said, not believing the conclusion I’d just arrived at. “You’re saying you scoured through every newspaper in existence . . . and threw in a few yearbooks and school photos to boot?”
“Yes,” he said, looking sheepish. “In addition to several other sources . . .”
“Other sources?” I mumbled, more to myself than to him.
He opened his mouth, probably to go into more detail, but I raised my hand to it. I still couldn’t come to grips with him perusing random newspapers looking for a photo of me that would have never been printed had I not fired an ace over the net at game point that last game.
Serving had always come natural to me—like walking—and that serve might have had enough room for a hair to fit between it and the net. It was like destiny had been messing with that ball, willing it to hit the net so that photographer from the Santa Cruz Sentinel would never take my picture, and so William would never stumble upon it . . .
“That was two years ago,” I said, verbalizing my train of thought.
“It didn’t take long for me to get a little backlogged with the population boom and corresponding number of papers in circulation,” he explained, sounding ashamed.
He’d misunderstood my time reference. I was stunned he was only two years behind. Actually, I was lucky. With anyone less determined than him, they would have come across that photo of me decades down the road and found me a wrinkled, silver-haired woman.
“How did you find me at OSU?”
A grimace of sheepishness flashed over his face. “I borrowed some files from your high school.”
I raised my eyebrows in an attempt to look scornful, but knew the most severe I looked was mildly disappointed.
“That’s where I learned you’d gone to Stanford, and that’s where I borrowed more files from to find you’d transferred to OSU that last quarter.”
&nbs
p; His recollection had me understanding why he was so furtive and effective at Townsend Manor—espionage was another one of his specialties.
“And I just happened to be assigned as your last minute tour guide on a Friday night . . . since I already know you were never enrolled,” I said, smirking at him.
This time, his eyebrows elevated in a way that led me to believe he was impressed by my own information I’d dug up . . . or at least gotten from Paul.
“No, I actually arrived the Friday before and”—he cleared his throat, eyeing me cautiously—“followed you around.”
“Followed?” I repeated, thrilled by the idea he’d been with me before I even knew.
“Maybe spied would be the truer word.”
I shook my head, astonished by his dedication. “I can’t believe you spent all that time looking for some random picture of me you might never have come across.”
His forehead wrinkled. “What would you have done then?”
I looked into the face that had somehow grown even more beautiful from today’s revelations, and thought about what I would have done had our roles been reversed, and it was me having visions of him and trying to find him. What would I do? It didn’t take long to find my answer.
Anything . . . absolutely anything.
“I wouldn’t have done a single thing differently,” I said, causing his smile to burst. I reached up to touch his mouth, but my lips immediately became jealous, and I removed my fingers right before my lips crashed into his.
They barely grazed his lips before I pulled back, but his hands reached up and encouraged me back to him. With inhuman constraint I resisted, and his encouraging hands did not press me.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. His uneven breathing and moonlit eyes tore at my resistance. In terms of what he was asking, there was absolutely nothing the matter. My entire being wanted to be close to him—there was nothing wrong with him at all.
It was me. I couldn’t trust myself to stop when the time came; and the longer an intimate touch lasted, the more exponentially it crushed my resolve. By pulling away so soon just now, the scorching flame that ignited within me only had a second to make its appeal.
I looked down for a moment, embarrassed to admit my weakness. “Nothing’s the matter, I just . . .” I couldn’t find the right words to explain. I’d never had to breech anything close to this topic before. I witnessed the agony build in his eyes while I fumbled for the right words, and when none came, my frustration built, increasing the agony on his face. I wanted to tell him, but I couldn't muster up the courage needed to bridge this delicate topic.
"What is it? Please tell me,” he pleaded. His eyes begged me, and he kept his hands on the sides of my face, not allowing my escape.
I darted my eyes down and left them there until I was certain they were free of emotion, knowing he could easily call my bluff if my words didn't match the emotions playing in my eyes.
“I can’t talk to you about this right now.” His eyes continued to plead with me, begging me to let him in on the internal fight, so I shouted, “Please don’t make me talk to you about this!”
I leapt up, and ran hard and fast away from him, before he could witness the excruciating pain in my eyes that had peeled back the layer of nothingness. I knew he would follow me—that he wouldn’t allow me to be alone. In fact, I wanted him to come after me, because I didn’t want him to be alone either. What I did not expect was how fast he would catch up to me. I’d barely gone twenty strides before I felt his strong arms grasp around my waist.
“Please, Bryn.” He pulled me tight against him, my back pressed so firmly against his chest I could feel the frantic trilling of his heart, and it sickened me that it was not racing due to the all out sprint he’d just run, but because I’d confused him.
His heavy breath raced next to my ear. “I will never force you to tell me something you do not wish to. Please understand that.”
Why had I acted so idiotically? Of course I knew he would never do that. It could have been as simple as me telling him I’d rather not talk about this right now, and gone right back to lounging in his arms and gazing at the stars above.
I’d ruined the moment when we were finally alone, and there was no taking it back now. It made me feel even worse that he was acting so apologetic, as if he was to blame for my lunacy.
“But, please”—he turned me around so I could face him and witness the sincerity on his expression—“don’t make me walk back without being beside you, holding your hand.” He lowered one arm from my waist to draw my hand to his lips. “I’ve lived for two hundred years with only the imagination of what it would be like to touch this,”—he moved my hand over his mouth, kissing each knuckle—“to hold this . . .”
When my breath became weak, he lowered it from his lips, but kept it firmly in his hand. “Please allow me to escort you back to the house?”
The fact that he felt he had to ask formed a lump in my throat, making it impossible to respond, so I nodded my head and turned my face from him so he couldn’t see the tears forming.
He remained silent the entire journey back, content in just holding my hand in his. There was only the glow of one porch light as we approached the cottage. It appeared everyone else had already retired to their respective rooms for the night, tired of waiting for our return.
Before pulling open the slider, William smiled at me with such rawness in his eyes, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to bear it. Right before I threw my arms around him to beg his forgiveness and tell him about the torment that flamed within me, he raised his finger to his lips, and motioned with his head in the direction of the earlier brutalized loveseat where Patrick now lay.
He looked to be fast asleep, and his elongated frame hung ridiculously over the ends of the tiny couch. He wore nothing except for a pair of bunched-up boxers and was snoring with the expertise of an old man.
William guided me through the dark, quiet kitchen, and back to one of the closed doors. The door creaked open and he motioned me in, whispering, “It’s not much, but the bed’s quite comfortable and I promise Cora put fresh linens on the bed . . . so no need to worry about Patrick’s foul stench awaiting you between the sheets.” He attempted a smile, but it fell short. He looked positively lost.
I was a loathsome creature for creating so much unnecessary stress in his life.
“Can I get you anything?” He squeezed the hand of mine he still held in his. I shook my head and tried to keep my eyes from his so he could not detect the glossiness that was inundating them. I just needed the night to clear my thoughts, and then I would explain everything to him in the morning.
“Good night.” He kissed my hand. “I’ll be right next door if you need anything.” His voice was so filled with a mixture of love and sorrow, I couldn’t stop myself from sneaking a quick glance at his face. Even in his sorrow he was stunning. I murmured a soft good night before he shut the door behind me, leaving me alone to contemplate the insanity of my actions.
The distress I’d witnessed on his face tore at me, and I longed with every fiber of my being to throw open the door that connected our rooms, and cement myself to him forever; begging his forgiveness with each new breath I took. Yet I couldn’t, because I knew my weakness and desire for him would ultimately lead down a path that could destroy us both.
I drudged over to where Cora had placed my bag on the antique bureau opposite the sleigh bed, and pulled out the short, linen nightgown I’d packed with such high hopes for tonight. I peeled off the jeans and sweater I was wearing, and pulled the nightgown over my head. I could feel the electricity emitted from the man just one room away from me, and I could hear his healthy heartbeat. Its beat sounded like a siren’s song, beckoning to me with spellbinding force.
I sat on the side of the bed, farthest from the door adjoining our rooms, and closed my eyes. I focused on inhaling through my nose, and then exhaling through my mouth. I focused my mind on nothing but the continuous
intake and outtake of air, but I could not clear my mind of him.
He was more essential than the air I’d needed as a Mortal, and the air I now used to calm myself; or the blood my heart pumped. He was the essence of my soul, and to try to make him disappear from my thoughts was impossible.
As if confirming my epiphany, I heard his breathing intensify in the room beside me. Before I made a cognizant choice, I was across the room, placing my hand on the doorknob and opening the portal for which I knew could hold both unimaginable wonder and inescapable punishment. The punishment seemed insignificant at that moment though, and paled in comparison to the need to be with him as fully as tonight would allow.
The plank wood door creaked open, and I was sure he’d be alert and staring in my direction when I peeked my head around the door. To my surprise, once I edged through the open door into his room, he was lying still in bed with his eyes shut tight. The solo white sheet that covered his body was pulled to the bottom of his stomach, and the moonlight shining in through the tiny window behind him cast its pale light upon the bare, rippled planes of his upper body.
The rushed inhalation and exhalation of his chest positioned the rolling muscles below his skin in intricate and appealing patterns, and I could have stayed there all night admiring the beauty unveiling before my eyes, except the desire to reach out and touch it overcame me, so I took a step towards him.
The floorboards groaned beneath my foot and I froze, waiting for his eyes to shoot open. They remained shut, and the distance I’d closed between us allowed me a more investigative look at his face. It was pressed together in anguish, as lines of sorrow rolled between his forehead, his eyes, and then his neck. I guessed at the reason for his distraction and pain.
He was seeing a Foretelling—some Mortal’s death was flashing through his mind, sending him into the blackness he dreaded, yet had come to accept as part of his duty in the Immortal world. The horrors reflecting on his face had me reaching for my stomach, trying to steady myself from falling beneath the pain I felt seeing him this way. I remembered something he’d told me just an hour ago, and quicker than I could contemplate, I whispered his name—praying it would release him from the blackness that looked to be suffocating him.
His eyes flashed open, and he blinked several times at the ceiling, as if clearing his vision. Then he turned his head to me and his eyes lit up. “Bryn,” he murmured, his face flushed with happiness.
His eyes held me captive. “It’s even better than I imagined,” he whispered, as a wide smile crept over his face.
My eyes strained to keep away from his bare chest, as I inquired, “What is?”
He leaned up onto one elbow. “Being brought out of the darkness by the real you.”
I fidgeted from the words he’d just said, and the way they filled my heart beyond capacity, but mainly I fidgeted because of why I’d entered his room. I was glad I’d interrupted his nightmarish vision, but I needed to explain something to him, and knew if I didn’t tonight while my resolve was weakened, I might never.
I stared out through the picture window above his bed, and concentrated on the shimmering stars above as I delivered my message. “You know how I said I didn’t want to tell you what was bothering me tonight?” I kept my eyes on the stars, too much a coward to look at him, but I saw him nod his head.
“Yes, I remember.” The words came out slow and deliberate, as if they were traversing over eggshells.
“I don’t think I can find the right words to explain to you, but”—my fingers fretted over the hem of my nightgown, but using up my last reserves of courage I forced my eyes to meet his—“can I show you?”
The puzzled expression left his face as it went contemplative for one moment—looking as if he was thinking through something at lightning fast speed—and then he closed his eyes and exhaled.
When his eyes opened, they penetrated the physical control of my bodily functions: causing my Immortal legs to weaken, my lungs to labor to keep my short breathes coming, and of course . . . my heart raced with such acceleration it would have certainly killed me if I’d been Mortal. His eyes burned with a beauty and a need I wasn’t sure I’d ever understand.
“Please show me.”
I crossed the small room to his bed in three deliberate steps. His eyes never left mine, their beauty and need growing stronger as I got closer. He was still resting on his side, leaned up on one elbow, and if my eyes weren’t so content with the union of being with him right now, they would have professed their new religion to gazing in wonderment and memorizing every line, plane, and muscle of his upper body. His eyes held me though . . . at least for the moment.
I sat timidly on the side of his bed, and with less timidity, laid my body down beside his so I was facing him. Our heads shared the same pillow where our consumed eyes met, now only inches apart. I heard the acceleration of his breathing before I saw the visible signs of his chest falling harder and quicker above the pressing of his lungs, and I finally allowed my eyes to search over the dimly lit planes of his chest.
I reached one hand forward when my eyes could bear gazing no longer, and rested my palm on the area above where his heart was, fingering the skin around it until I felt goose-bumps appear. I let my hand lie still on his chest, reveling in the strength and speed of the blood pumping organ beneath the surface—its speed nearly matched my own. I could hear the pieces coming together in William’s mind, now understanding my explanation, but he did nothing to stop it.
When my hand was satisfied with the pounding of his heart, I traced my fingers down the deep crease in his chest and followed it down to the hard, etched planes of his stomach. I stared at William’s body in front of me—the rolling muscles beneath his flawless skin . . . like velvet covering hardened lava—and I knew I could never tire of staring at him.
While my fingers traced the rectangular muscles of his stomach, I saw his eyes close, as if no longer able to withstand the power of the current running through our bodies. My own hand was ablaze with the electricity of our energies colliding with such ignited might.
He trembled when my fingers reached the bottom muscles of his stomach, so I drew my hand from his stomach and ran it up his body until it rested on the side of his blushing cheek. I looked away regretfully from the perfection of his body, but it was forgotten once I looked in his eyes. The fire in them before had turned to a blaze—an unstoppable, manic blaze that could only be put out one way.
I smiled before I pressed my lips to his. He responded to the shyness of mine with his own apprehension. I ran my hand from his cheek to the back of his neck, interlacing my fingers through his long tufts of hair. In stride, his hand cupped behind my neck and he drew me tighter to him. Our lips responded simultaneously with the forced closeness, and soon they were moving over one another with strength; the prelude of shyness long forgotten.
I laid flat against the bed and pulled him with me so his upper half was positioned over me, and his lips reacted with the same intensity mine did at the volatile colliding of our bodies against one another.
Abruptly, he pulled his body back from me. The torture of the separation was physically painful, and I saw from his grimace that he felt the pain as well. Our labored breathing did not help the pain of separation.
“What are you—”
He cut me off before I could get my question out. “Is this what you’ve been having such a hard time with?” he asked, motioning between the two of us. “Is this what you didn’t want to talk with me about?”
The forced air sliding quickly in and out through his parted mouth sent a new stab of pain through me. I nodded my head and answered, “Yes.”
His eyes were gentle. “Why?”
“It’s hard to explain . . .” That’s why I wanted to show you, I thought. “It’s just that being with you in even the smallest physical way is sometimes hard to bear.”
I looked to the side and began tracing through the ripples of the sheet. “Even the smalle
st touch is torture, and then anything more”—my eyes widened and I sucked in a large breath—“is like some rare kind of sadistic torture.”
I saw him trying to smother the smile that was forming.
“Listen to you,” he said proudly, as he covered my hand that continued to trace the sheet with his. “You’re explaining this very well, and believe me”—he raised one brow for emphasis—“I know exactly what you’re talking about. The intensity of something as simple as this”—he led my eyes down to where his hand held mine—“is so perfect and ignites a longing that is difficult,”—he chuckled, tilting his head to the side—“if not impossible, to withstand.”
I nodded my head fervently, ruffling the pillow and causing it to swirl his scent into my nose. He’d said everything I’d been trying to . . . with far more eloquence.
“Why . . .” He raised his hand and affectionately cupped my chin while tracing the bottom line of my lips. “If you don’t mind me asking, didn’t you tell me earlier—or show me—how you felt?” he whispered, winking at me. “It’s obviously caused you a great deal of discomfort.”
I didn’t answer immediately. His eyes suddenly widened as he looked at me in disbelief. “Did you think for even one moment I didn’t feel the same?”
“No, that wasn’t it,” I assured him. “It’s just . . .” I stammered, as I gazed into the beauty and paleness of the very reason for my reservations. “You know why, William,” I whispered.
And the reason lay in my eyes as well—the pale blue reason.
“Oh, Bryn—I, more than most, know the laws we Immortals must follow, and the punishment dealt out to those you disobey, and I would—without a moment’s hesitation—go against this most ancient of Immortal codes for the basic right for any kind of being to be with the one they want more than anything, love beyond reason, and would happily give their life for.”
His speech left me wordless, and the pace at which it flowed made it seem as though he’d spent large sums of time contemplating this topic.
“I want you. I love you. I’d give my life for you. If this is truly what you want”—he smiled mischievously—“believe me . . . I want this even more.”
My face flustered, as did every surface inch of my body. While I hadn’t really doubted it, it was still a relief to know William wanted me just as much as I wanted him.
He leaned back down over me and laid one hand on my hip, as if testing the waters to confirm if his assumption was correct. His beautiful face leaned cautiously over mine, and his lips parted faintly as they prepared to cover mine.
I don’t know where the otherworldly strength came from, but I somehow managed to turn my head from his advance. The knowledge of what I’d just turned away from singed my tongue, throat, and lips—leaving an acrid taste behind.
“No.” I had to keep my eyes closed or else my strength would falter. “Please wait.”
I felt the air stir from the rapidity of his retreat, and I cursed myself again when what-could-have-been flashed through my mind.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, his breathing labored. “I misunderstood.”
“No!” My eyes shot open. “That’s not it.”
He was far enough away that I could allow my eyes to look upon him without giving into temptation. “I can’t imagine you not existing. I couldn’t bear what would happen to you if they found out,”—my voice waivered from the very thought—“and there would be no way to hide it.” My hands grazed over his eyelids, imagining the beautiful sapphire that would replace the present hue if we allowed ourselves the full expression of our love.
“Do you think I could imagine you not existing so much easier than you can me?” he asked, shaking his head. “I would never allow something to harm you, let alone threaten your very existence.”
I looked at him speculatively. What had he just been endorsing when his hands and lips reached for me?
Noting my confusion, he responded, “I have a plan in place, of course.”
“A plan?” I didn’t hide the dubiousness heavy in my voice. What plan would allow what we wanted—without a Council’s blessing of a Unity—without the sudden, severe condemnation that would follow?
He didn’t appear affected by my doubt-filled tone. “If this is what you want, this is what I want, and if this is what you want tonight”—he shrugged, as if the answer was simply obvious—“we run away tomorrow morning.”
“We run away?” I annunciated each word slowly, so I could register longer over what he’d just said.
“But your family, the mission you’ve invested years into . . .” It was too flabbergasting that he was so ready to give up everything he had to be with me.
“My family would understand,” he reassured. “They’re fully aware of my feelings for you and what I would give to be with you, and as for the mission”—his tone turned matter-of-fact—“the reason I took it no longer exists.”
“Why did you take it?” I questioned.
“As an escape from the watchful eyes of my family so I could find you, or, if my father was right”—he set his jaw and paused—“that I would never find you, then I knew the danger of infiltrating John’s Inheritor Alliance would someday result in death, and that would be better than the pain of never being with you.”
He reached his hand toward my arm, hesitating before touching it, and when I didn’t flinch away, he placed his fingers against my skin and brushed them up and down my arm. “It’s better than perfect—if there is such a thing—being here with you . . . loving you and having you love me back. It somehow makes the dreams of you that sustained me all these years seem so inadequate,” he whispered, looking at my arm where his fingers continued to brush. “They didn’t do you any justice to how I imagined you would look, and how this would feel.” A surge of electricity ran from his fingers through my arm, proving his point.
His face turned serious, and his hand tightened around my arm as he leaned his face closer to mine. The stare of his eyes was all-encompassing. “Is this what you want?”
And while there was no enticement or hint of seduction in his tone, I knew exactly what he was asking. I didn’t wait for my mind to object, or my body to course through the checklist of overreactions. My response was out before the air had a chance to cool from his heated question.
“Yes.”
And then his lips found their way back to mine, smothering them with the release of the restraint he’d built to protect us. A moment later, my mouth responded in equal. He sighed when I parted his mouth and touched the tip of my tongue to his. He rolled on top of me, holding his weight so as not to crush me, but I wanted his body crushing against me—I craved it.
The combination of William’s sigh, and his body fully elongated over mine, ignited the controlled fire inside me into an out-of-control inferno. My body burned for his, and I felt his reciprocation. I wrapped my arms around him; one running through his hair, trying to pull him closer, and the other gliding over the undulating smoothness of his back.
His mouth moved from mine to brush over the skin of my neck—I arched it closer, enticing his lips in their journey. I marveled at the passion ignited in him, and I was more in love with him than I’d thought there room for.
My body, mind, and soul were fully consumed and used up by my insatiable desire for him, so I don’t know where the faint glimmer of anguish came from, but as his lips progressed and our passions increased, the glimmer grew until it was casting a definite shadow on my euphoria.
He reached his hand down to caress my thigh, slowly making its timid way up, skimming under the linen of my nightgown. His fingers trembled when they reached my hip, and now—to add to the shocking electricity—was a tingling sensation concentrating over several locations on my body.
When his warm, quaking fingers hooked under the side of the satin material that I’d strategically exchanged for the usual cotton, the ray of anguish exploded and overtook everything with the intensity of an atom bomb.
>
“No, William.” My voice sounded like a scream in the sanctuary of the silence that held us. “Please stop.”
His hands were off me in an instant, and his body was a flash as he righted himself, coming to a standing position beside the bed, as concern, confusion, and remorse congealed in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I can’t do this right now.” I hoped the lie would not be detected by him, but his erratic breathing and worried pacing seemed to take up most of his concentration. The muscles beneath his skin tightened and defined under the pressure of his expanding lungs, and my body ached to have his next to mine again; but I couldn’t overcome the debilitating vision that had shown itself to me.
That vision being William’s life being taken from him—phased from eternal Immortal to decaying death—and the knowledge that my selfishness and desire had destined this fate. I could not allow this picture singed into my mind to ever become a reality.
I’d seen John and the Council surrounding his body, pulling the life from him without reservation, as his beautiful face became expressionless and lost forever to the clutches of death. There was no pleasure or desire that would ever be worth chancing this nightmare becoming reality. I would protect him at all cost, against all that threatened his existence—including myself.
He continued pacing; his hands on his hips and his face pulled into hard lines. He finally spoke, “I fully understand and appreciate you not being ready for this.” His pacing slowed, but his breathing did not. “But you must promise me Bryn, you must swear to me”—he kneeled beside me, commanding me with his eyes—“that you are not doing this because you are afraid of the Council or what they would try to do to me.”
He looked like he was fighting reaching out to me, still not sure if it was appropriate given my latest reaction, so I reached for his hand and pulled it to me.
He continued, “We should be free to live our lives as we choose. If you want me—in any way—we shouldn’t restrain ourselves because of some archaic law.” His fingers wrapped tightly around my hand. “You promise me right now you are not letting this come between us.” He didn’t blink or move while he waited for my response, ready to call my bluff for what it was if he sensed even a hint of deceit in my answer.
I’d not fooled him.
He’d felt the response and longing I had for him, and the liberation of one who knew there was no fault in what they were partaking. He’d felt my love for him as much as I’d felt his for me, and he wasn’t going to make it so easy for me to lie—but I had to convince him.
There was no way I could now enjoy this most sacred of experiences, when the gruesome picture of him falling into shadow played on repeat before my eyes. I would not allow this picture—nor the even more horrifying potential reality of this coming true—to taint my right to the paradise that should be mine when joined with him fully.
My eyes locked on his, and I felt my resolve return in heightened quantities as I answered, “I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a horrible tease tonight, and I’ll never forgive myself for the agony I can see I’ve caused you, but I’m truly not ready.” I held his unblinking stare and attempted a coy smile. “Not yet, anyways.”
His eyes stayed fixed on mine long after, still trying to find some fissure of weakness, some hint of a lie; but apparently finding none, his face softened.
“There’s no need to apologize. This has been the best night of my life,” he said, and then flashed his mischievous smile. “Up to this point, at least.”
He’d believed me. I couldn’t allow a sigh of relief, but I celebrated the success from within. I’d done my part to keep him safe—free from reproach or conviction.
“I’m in no hurry and will never pressure you.” He pulled my hand to him and kissed it. “It’s more than I could have hoped for, just to have you reciprocate my love for you.”
He looked at me for awhile, his smile never fading, and then stood up from his kneel. “I’ll let you rest. You look comfortable there, so I’ll take Patrick’s room for the night.” He turned to step towards the open door, which had served as the portico to a night of awe and almost realized perfection.
My hand reached for his as it departed from me. “Please don’t go,” I pleaded. I slid to the far side of the bed and patted the empty space beside me. “Just because I’m not ready for all the better, more pleasurable uses of a bed”—I flashed a knowing smile at him—“doesn’t mean I wouldn’t love to spend the night in your arms.”
I looked at him, waiting for his response—hoping he’d choose to stay, but understanding if the torture of unrealized hopes tormented him beyond repair when he was forced to lie quietly, and fully clothed, beside me.
His eyes flickered, and he leapt onto the space I’d created for him. He had me in his arms quicker than my overjoyed laugh could emit, and a moment later he drew the disheveled comforter over our intertwined bodies.
I rested on my side with my back against him, and found a deep pleasure in feeling the more relaxed, steady rise and fall of his chest against my back, and the warm, soft breath on my neck. Where these sensations would have earlier served as crushing boulders to my resolve—having now seen with amazing realness what would happen if I allowed what I wanted most—the satisfaction of being with him in any way possible was perfectly manageable.
When I felt his breathing and heartbeat return to a semi-normal rate, I pressed my leg back and intertwined it between his. I giggled with pleasure when I heard the instant and overwhelming jump in both the formerly normalized physical reactions.
“Temptress,” he whispered accusingly, not missing my enjoyment in his torture.
“Two can play at this game, though,” he whispered, with definite enticement this time into my ear, pricking up millions of goose-bumps on my body.
And our perfect night continued—restraining ourselves from what our bodies would one day fully enjoy if we both had our way, and the universe dealt us a generous hand.