by Karen Glista
She took a breath fighting for control, her heartbeat pounding her temples. She slowly turned to meet his eyes. “Is there anything you don’t know about me?” she whispered, eyes locked on his lips.
His affect shifted from sensual to drop dead serious. “I can’t read your heart, Donja. When it comes to your body, the physiological aspects of your anatomy, I can read you like a book, every sentence of every line, but your heart, your true feelings,” he paused licking his lips, “are your own…and that leaves me vulnerable.”
She swallowed hard, her fingers entwined in each other, his scent reminiscent of incense intensifying and his voice—my God it was powerful, but not as much as his eyes. She turned away and focused on her lap as he navigated the parking lot, then sped away. He stretched his arm, his hand hovering over her exposed thigh. “May I?”
She felt her body quiver.
“Yes,” she whispered in sweet surrender.
He slowly lowered his hand and when he touched her, fire leapt through her. He slid a finger beneath the hem of her dress and by no will of her own, a gasp escaped her. Their eyes met simultaneously as a palpable current spread between them. He withdrew his hand.
“I’m sorry,” she gushed, “it’s just that I’ve never…it was,” she stumbled over her words, “overwhelming.” She took a breath. “Please don’t think that I was offended, I wasn’t.”
“But I was,” he said, his voice revealing his anxiety which until this moment, seemed nonexistent. He exhaled, gripping the steering wheel.
“You were offended?” she murmured.
“Not by you, but by myself. It’s best to wait until I gain control, for the feel of your skin is so inviting.” He exhaled again, dramatically. “It’s more than I can handle just now. Give me time, Donja, to build immunity. You’re even more powerful than I imagined.”
“But you seem, stronger, I mean, you’re able to get close to me.”
“It’s a guise, believe me, it’s not real, just a potion I drank to give me immunity to your blood.”
“A potion?”
She waited for a response she somehow knew would never come. Reeling, with the magic of his touch, which still lingered forcing butterflies in her stomach, she watched as he opened the console between them and retrieved a silver flask. He opened it, tilted his head, and with one eye on the road, pressed it to his lips and quaffed it down. He capped the flask and returned it to the console, eyes back to the road as if it never happened.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Liquid courage.”
He turned onto the International Bridge, tires squealing as the Ferrari lunged like a bullet from a gun and though she loved convertibles, had dreamed of one her whole life, she was thankful the top was up, for she was suddenly chilled.
“Your temperature’s dropping,” he said. I can sense goose bumps erupting on your skin and it’s beautiful,” he whispered, relaxing with a slight lean toward the console as if the liquid courage had him back in control. She watched his hand resting atop the stick shift so broad and masculine with every nail clipped to perfection. He softly moved his index in a circular pattern over the chrome tip, lights from the console dancing on his olive skin and she thought she might scream. She looked up, the car cruising over the bridge and for reasons unknown found herself wandering in memory. “Why did you risk your life on this bridge? I almost hit you.”
“I was angry that the bastard wanted your body without the benefit of your heart. That’s not a good place to be because without heart, it’s all a waste of time.”
“That made you angry?” she asked searching his face.
“Yes, and something you should know about me is that I have a temper, vile at times though I try to control it, for once it takes possession of me, I don’t think clearly.” He gave her a look, his smoldering eyes all but forcing a gasp. “And just so that you’re aware, I can’t bear the thought of that bastard touching you, it makes my blood boil.”
With her mind spinning and his disclosure forcing palpitations, she searched for words. “Well, from what I have learned,” she whispered, “he just wants a child to make him invincible.”
“Your heart beats irregular.”
“I’m nervous.”
“I’m surprised you’re aware of his needs.”
“Well, he wants a child, does he not?”
“You’ve have been talking to Makayla. That could get her in trouble.”
With Makayla’s warning once more ringing in her mind, Donja leaned over and grasped his arm. “Please, don’t be angry with her. She truly loves Gage.”
“Are you quite sure of that?” he asked observing her hand on his arm.
“Yes, absolutely,” she said, withdrawing her hand.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he whispered, “because Gage has petitioned the Council to make her his consort.”
“Consort, is that like a wife?”
“Consort for my kind, wife for yours.”
Donja exhaled. “That’s wonderful, I’m happy for her.”
“Are you?” he asked. “Your pulse didn’t change.”
“Well…yes,” she said, “why wouldn’t I…”
“Because he’s not human,” he interrupted with memories of Anstosa, who hated Iridescents floating in his mind. “Doesn’t that bother you deep inside?”
“No, not at all. Love knows no boundaries, no color, creed, or race.”
“No Iridescent?”
“No, not if there’s love, but…” her words faded.
“But what? he retorted bluntly.
She swallowed hard, choosing her words. “It must be mutual, I mean, there must be understanding, full acknowledgment and the ability to make that decision to love an Iridescent without being coerced.”
“Are you tryin’ to tell me something?”
“I don’t know…maybe.”
“Then it’s time for you to learn about me and make your own decisions, but don’t forget,” he said, “that I am who I am, and nothing can change that. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Privé
Speeding down Huron Street, Torin took a sharp left, the Ferrari humming like a well-oiled machine. He parked and got out, opening her door before she could get her seatbelt off. He took her hand, assisting her from the car and she realized they were outside of Observers. He slid a hand to the small of her back, escorting her down the sidewalk. She glanced at his face, which revealed a prideful awareness she had not noticed before. At the door, there was a line, but Donja noticed that one of the bouncers raised his chin as if sniffing the air. He locked eyes on Torin as they approached, then stepped forward, giant that he was and moved the crowd aside. Torin met his gaze as he ushered Donja inside, bypassing the doorman who nodded his approval.
Carte blanche, she thought.
The music hit her, the bass vibrating in her chest, strobe lights flashing. The club was busy, though nowhere as busy as the last time. Torin steered her with his hand as if they were dancing and she noticed every man who saw him, acknowledge his presence. Traversing the crowd beyond the bar, which surprised her for she thought he would take her to the VIP section, he guided her to a wall of mirrors where two burly bouncers stood guard. Seeing them approach, one of the bouncers lowered his hand to the glass wall, and as if by magic, the mirror slid away and Torin ushered her forward.
Wow! A secret club?
When Donja stepped through the looking glass, the first thing she noticed was that the deafening sound of the electronic lyrics immediately ceased. Then she heard the soft romantic lull of music. She tilted her head, listening, but it was utterly foreign, and she wondered if it was opera. The room, which was half the size of the disco, was dimly lit by elegant wrought iron sconces equidistantly adorning mirrored walls. Tables were arranged in a half-moon pattern and dressed in shimmering satin. She noticed a bar, upholstered in leather, then shifted her gaze to a dimly lit dance floor where six, perhaps seven couples were lost in romantic embr
ace.
Feeling Torin’s hand in the small of her back, she took a few steps but just short of the dance floor, stopped, pivoted on tiptoes and looked up into his eyes. “What is this place?”
“It’s called Privé,” he said, “which in French means private. It’s exclusively for Iridescents who want their consorts protected from wandering eyes.”
“No observers.”
“Exactly.”
“But I’m not your consort.”
He ignored her, ushering her directly to a table. He took her clutch and laid it down, then led her to the dance floor, where he pulled her into his arms so tightly that she could not breathe. He danced slow and steady, so at ease with himself. She slid her arms round his neck, her chin tilted.
His lips found her ear. “I love this piece, it’s Roberto by Maximo Spodek,” he mused, his breath warm on her skin. “It’s one of my favorites.” He gently caressed her back, nestling his nose into her hair, “can’t you just see the ocean, the moon, ahhh…it’s all so enchanting.”
He held her tight and all she could see was him. She felt herself melting and with every breath the warmth between them intensified. She followed his lead and with the contagious music finding her soul, she closed her eyes, adrift in his arms. When the music stopped he slowly released her and his face, soft in the dim lights, was so damn handsome that she shivered. He led her to the table just as the music started again. He paused with closed eyes as if savoring the sound. “Champagne, he smiled, “another great piece,” he said lovingly. “Isn’t it beautiful?” he mused, “almost as beautiful as you.” He pulled out her chair, ornate and finely crafted in antique gold with a padded velvet seat.
So, this is the real you?
Donja watched him as he took his seat, his smoldering eyes locked upon her and as the music swelled, she found herself adrift and he was right—it was truly magical.
From nowhere a male waiter appeared in a dark suit. “We’ll have the usual,” Torin said without looking at him.
Donja felt an avalanche of emotions and for no reason whatsoever, Kevin flashed in her mind. Her jaw hardened. She cast a look across the table, past the enchanting flicker of the candelabra to Torin’s face.
“Our usual?” she questioned and in that moment, it occurred to her that he was just like Kevin, a lying cheating scoundrel.
He just stared as if she hadn’t spoken a word.
She bit at her lip.
He must have a mistress or even worse, a consort…wait, he did mention a wife. How could I have forgotten?
He exhaled, “you are so incredible.”
“You didn’t answer me,” she whispered fighting to control her voice. “What does our usual mean?”
He just stared with the flame from the candelabra reflected in his eyes.
“Torin, answer me,” she glowered. “Is the usual what you and your consort usually drink?”
His eyes narrowed.
“Answer me,” she snapped with the pain of betrayal once more ravaging her heart. “Are you confused which one of us you’re with?”
He strummed his fingers atop the table.
“You coward,” she breathed with a tight lip. “Admit it, I’m nothing more than your latest whore?”
He cocked his head as if oblivious to her misery. “Arrivederci Roma,” he mused as he closed his eyes.
“What?”
He met her fiery gaze. “The song that’s playing, it’s Goodbye to Rome. Would you like to dance?”
“No!” She slammed her hand to the table. “And why are you ignoring me? It’s annoying as hell!”
He lurched across the table and seized her arm. “Temper, temper,” he said. “Your pupils have dilated, and I can detect your pulse, its bounding.”
Donja dropped her head, fearful of her response. He was right, her pulse was pounding in her temples. She fought for control.
My God, what’s wrong with me? Do I have a scarlet brand on my forehead…use me…hurt me…? I’m…
“Look at me,” he said, drawing her from the depths of misery.
She raised her head and the seriousness of his face caused her breath to catch in her throat.
“My consort died two hundred years ago.”
The disclosure hit her like a ton of bricks. “Died?”
“Yes, and I would be still with her if she would have crossed over, but she refused to relinquish her humanity. So, put your mind at ease, I’m single and if I have breath in my body, you will never be a whore.”
Rueful, with the rug jerked out from under her, Donja dropped her head.
The waiter served their drinks in golden steins. Motivated by curiosity as well as thirst, Donja took a sip, sorting his words in her mind. Something felt off, it just didn’t add up. Fighting her insecurities, she took another sip. It was wonderfully minty with a particularly crisp taste that reminded her of a bright summer day. She held the stein to her lips, gazing at him over the rim and in that moment, she buried Kevin once and for all.
I will not be used…never again.
She lowered the stein, unsure what to say. Indecisive, she raised it and took another sip, and with his eyes upon her, asked. “What is this?”
“It’s my favorite drink, and I call it the usual.”
“The usual,” she chided, “I’m sorry but that doesn’t make sense. You said this club was for Iridescents and their consorts so—”
“If I don’t have a consort why would I come here? Is that what you’re asking Donja? Is it the thought of another female forcing the blood to pulse your jugular, because it’s beautiful, I won’t lie, it’s enticing as hell, warms my heart to think you feel that way, but let me assure you, it’s uncalled for?”
Taken aback that he could read her so perfectly, she dropped her head.
He leaned across the table and took her hand gently, his thumb stroking the soft underside of her wrist. “I come here once a month, alone for Council meetings and that waiter knows my preference. His name is Adam and his consorts a lovely girl named Loren. We socialize, his brother, Val, is my best friend. Should I introduce you, put your mind at rest?”
Remorseful, she shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary,” she whispered wishing she could take it back.
“I don’t know who shattered your self-esteem in the past,” he said, “but I’m damn glad he did because I get to pick up the pieces, and girl, they’re priceless. Look at me,” he commanded.
Donja raised her head and his eyes robbed her of breath. “You take a back seat to none and I know you don’t believe that,” he whispered, his voice wrapping around her, “I can sense your doubt, it’s measurable.”
Donja dropped her head.
“Don’t shut me out,” he said once more leaning across the table. “Look at me,” he said and his voice by no will of her own pulled her eyes to him. “Break down that wall surrounding your heart,” he said, the power of his eyes hypnotic. “Give yourself to me, all of you. Deny me nothing Donja. Let me in.”
Enthralled by the power of his voice and his eyes which were washing over her, she searched for words, but none would come. She took her drink and sipped, avoiding his gaze which she was convinced, held power over her.
What magic do you possess?
Finally, as her heartbeat lessened, she raised her head, shielding her eyes behind long lashes. She focused on the candelabra, avoiding his hypnotic stare. “This is delightful,” she whispered, her voice wavering.
“Look at me,” he whispered, luring her back to his web. She met his eyes. “The correct name is Mojito,” he continued, “it’s a perfect blend of white rum, lime, mint and sparkling water, but go slow” he said with a glint in his eyes, “the rum can sneak up on you.”
“Rum, hmm. Not good. I’m underage and if my mom finds out you’ve been plying me with alcohol she’ll kill me.”
He rocked his head and it was the first time she saw him laugh. Her pulse quickened and though she had no idea if it was the buzz of the rum, his powers or hi
s mesmerizing aura, she found herself spellbound as his ebony eyes sparkled and his perfect lips curled to a heart stopping smile.
How can any man be that handsome? He’s almost too handsome, too perfect.
“You’re a diamond, Donja, a Red Queen, wanted by so many,” he said, his contagious smile fading to seriousness which was demanding of attention. “Forget about your mother, for I suspect you’ll soon be a consort.”
They shared an intense look which lasted forever. Finally, Donja broke the tether and raised her drink, peeking over the rim and she wanted to ask, beg, plead as to what he meant, but she couldn’t.
Suddenly, his eyes widened. “Oh, please,” he said as they shared a look, “that song, so beautiful, it’s Torna a Surriento. Let us dance.” He sashayed around the table. He pulled her to her feet with half-closed eyes, lost in the music. Donja’s hands came to rest on his chest as his own found her waist. She glanced up to his face. “You are so different than I would ever have imagined.”
“Like I told you, I am what I am, but be careful of assumptions. You’ve thus far only scratched the surface. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, eyes locked on her face. “Magnifique,” he smiled with a thick accent.
On the dance floor, he held her like a delicate possession, eye to eye, his nose resting softly upon hers. He slow danced her around the floor, nuzzling her neck.
Lost in the moment, she tilted her head to one side, inviting the wolf to the lamb. She felt his breath warm on her skin. She shivered, her heart hammering her chest.
He placated her with kisses so tender and sweet that she found herself swooning and had he not held her tight, she would surely have fallen. She clutched him tighter, his lips to her ear, kindling flames.
Is this real…am I falling in love?
She opened her eyes and found his face which was as intoxicating as the rum. He pulled her tighter, so much so that she couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t care, she was lost…completely.
With their bodies tangled, Torin danced her into the shadows. Donja rocked her head and as his lips found her neck kissing her softly, she noticed a couple beside them. The man spun the woman with her red hair flying, then pulled her tight, her hands in his hair. Torin spun her and as her eyes came back to the couple, Donja saw fangs inching from the man’s mouth, golden eyes like a fiery lantern as he sank them deep in the woman’s neck.