by J. A. Saare
I wondered if I was hearing voices.
His laugh echoed in my mind. "No, you are not hearing voices, just mine."
"How do you do that?" I thought back, wondering if he'd hear me as well.
"You said not to listen, remember? And yes I can hear you," he teased, answering, “It's as simple as a thought directed to you."
"Is there anything else you can do?” I didn't bother trying to hide what I was thinking. He would already know. And I was curious.
He shrugged and smiled. “I have to keep a few secrets. Otherwise, you'll lose interest."
Don't get any ideas buddy, I'm taken.
The thought was intended as my own inner dialogue, but he heard it anyway. His eyes shifted to me, aqua shimmering, pinning me in the seat.
He leaned across, reaching over my body for the empty glass. His chest was mere inches away from my own, that angelic face tuning everything out. The breath caught in my throat, my breathing stunted when I stared into his eyes.
"If you say so." He sound amused.
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Chapter 19—Heartbreak
Caleb's hands grasped me tightly, impatient fingers pressing up and down the length of my body. I groaned, pulling him closer, eager fingers tracing the smooth outline of his back. Our lips met, caressing and brushing softly.
"I missed you,” I whispered thickly, eyes tightly shut, bringing my hand up to twine fingers through his hair.
I frowned as my fingers brushed through the super soft strands. The hair wasn't long but short, my hand resting against his bare neck. Panicked eyes flew open, seeking out calming beautiful indigo. Shock flooded my system, my heart pounding achingly inside my chest. Pale aqua eyes stared back at me.
Trent leaned in and kissed me deeply...
I woke up startled, breathing raggedly. The dream so real it took several moments to register that it was, in fact, not.
I glanced around the cabin.
Trent was gone.
I drew in a huge breath, relieved he wasn't present to read my mind. My hand was trembling as I tucked my hair behind my ears and pressed back into the seat. I wanted that phone number. I had to speak to Caleb soon.
Trent and I boarded a private jet hours before, flying to a location I never imagined I would see in my lifetime.
Scotland was a place I'd envisioned but never dreamed I'd visit. When I inquired about the reasons behind all the secrecy, Trent explained families moved around often, residing in different properties across the world. It was safer that way and it also kept things spontaneous. An eternity of life would get monotonous without a little change of scenery every decade.
Trent's tall form appeared from the front of the plane and I fought back the blush creeping into my cheeks.
"Sleep well?” he asked politely.
I couldn't tell if he had read my mind or respected my wish for privacy. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt—until he gave me a reason not to.
"Yeah.” I stretched, straightening and clearing my throat.
He changed while I napped. His suit was gone, black slacks and a baby blue long sleeved dress shirt in its place. The top buttons were loose, revealing a patch of alabaster skin at his throat. He sat across from me, relaxing into the leather reclined seat.
"So, here's how it's going to work. We'll be landing shortly and a car will arrive to take us home. We'll be traveling to your Father's private residence. It's a long trip, but well worth the privacy it permits. You won't be taken to meet the rest of the family until you are ready. There is no rush whatsoever. The next few days are intended for the sole purpose of acclimating you to all of this."
"Days?” I shook my head in the negative. I didn't want to be gone for days. “I don't think this will take that long. I'm here for answers from my Father, nothing more. And let me be honest here, I'm not joining up with the family. My decision has already been made, sorry."
Trent's eyes tightened and his mouth formed a harsh line. “You would be wise not to make rash judgment decisions, Emma. A smart person would wait and gather all the facts beforehand. And basing your decision around a wolf you barely know is beneath your intelligence."
One second he was across from me and the next he was kneeling between my legs. His cool fingers wrapped around my wrist, electrical current passing through the smooth skin. The pressure built—humming and flowing under my skin, up my arm, into my shoulders, chest, and finally my legs—all of my body coursing with the strange tingling.
"This won't go away, even if you deny us,” Trent whispered forcefully. “We can teach you how to harness it, so you can use it in situations when you face potential harm. But even then it's weak, fed off of the strength of others. If you consider the smart alternative, you would never have to fear psychopaths like that mongrel I killed. You could destroy him yourself."
The energy was all around me, my hair standing on end. I couldn't sit still, shifting uncomfortably. Trent didn't move or let go. It increased, building, sharp stings like needles trying to press out of my skin.
"See, even now you don't know what to do,” he spoke softly, bringing his hand up and along my hair, following the movement with his eyes.
"Stop,” I whimpered. My ears were humming now, my teeth clattering as I started to tremble.
"Just return it to me,” he instructed, his ice blue eyes observing me closely. “See yourself giving the energy back. It's the same as speaking to me privately. Will it, Emma. Will it to happen."
I did, picturing the trickles in my skin running from my wrist and back into his hand. At first, it was a redirection of the energy through my body. I felt the vibrations traveling back up, out of my legs, past my chest and shoulders, and down my arm. My wrist began to burn, as if over an open flame.
"Yes,” he encouraged. “Like that."
The burning increased and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. The lick of heat, burning in long stretches that extended between our bodies, was agonizingly strong. The final bursts of electricity passed out my body, leaving me weak.
My boneless body tumbled forward, crumbling into his waiting arms. My head lolled on my shoulders, exhausted eyes searching for and finding my wrist. The skin was inflamed, marked with bright red welts, the outline of his fingers easily identifiable.
"When you learn how to control this, it won't be so painful, and you won't be so fatigued. But you have to give yourself time. That's all we're asking for, Emma, time."
He stood, carrying me as if I were nothing more than a child. He rested back in the recliner, situating my body so my head nestled comfortably in the crook of his shoulder. I tried to move and couldn't, my limbs refused to cooperate, languid and spent.
I closed my eyes and the world went dark.
When I lifted my heavy lids I felt leaden, my body stiff and achy. Solid arms held me close, keeping me upright. I shifted with each bump, opening my weary eyes. We weren't in the plane any longer, traveling in the confines of a car.
I tried to speak but my mouth was dry, so I reached out, thinking instead. “Where are we?"
"We're almost there.” Trent's hand brushed across my shoulders in a soothing motion. “How do you feel?"
"Like shit.” I could hear his laughter in my mind. “How long do I have until this passes?"
"Not long, you slept most of it off."
His fingers raked gently through my hair, flittering through the strands to my back, sending shivers down my spine. I knew I should tell him to stop, or attempt to move from of his embrace, but I was too tired.
"I want to speak to Caleb."
"After you meet your Father, I'll hand you the phone personally,” he promised, continuing to stroke my hair gently.
We drove for at least another hour in silence, the dark sky visible from the window informing me it was indeed night time.
I shifted in my seat, pulling free from Trent's chest. He moved away and I pushed my body across the seat, putting safe distance between us, grateful my st
rength had finally returned. I glanced out the window, unable to see anything.
"We're home,” Trent announced, offering a slight smile.
The driver pulled the car into a gated area, the black metal fencing lifting to the sky. My stomach was uneasy, full of butterflies and nausea. I thrust my thumb along my finger, reminded my ring was no longer there. I comforted myself with the knowledge that soon I would return home. Soon I would be with Caleb.
Soon this would all be over.
Someone opened the door of the car, stepping aside. Trent offered his hand to help me from the back. I swayed on my feet, standing on numb legs.
He didn't touch me, motioning to a huge set of stairs that led to an enormous door. I climbed up the stairs, stopping in front of the large door that appeared to be crafted from some sort of metal. Trent pushed it open, standing aside to allow me to pass.
"Welcome home, Master Trent,” the man at the foot of the stairs bowed at the waist, speaking in a thick Scottish brogue. His suit was clean and pressed and his brown hair was slick across his head.
"Thank you, Keith. Where are they?” Trent asked, coming to stand beside me.
"In the study sir.” He motioned to my right with his arms.
"Can you inform them that we'll be in momentarily? The young lady needs to refresh herself after our journey."
Keith bowed in deference and hurried away.
"Come with me,” Trent said quietly, leading the way up the staircase.
The ceilings were vast and intricate, reaching impossibly high. I tripped several times as I gawked at my surroundings. The paintings, furniture, carpets and rugs, reeked of wealth and affluence. The staircase veered in two at the top, carved rails splitting left and right.
Trent turned right, leading us past several doors.
"In here.” Trent guided me into a room, closing the door behind us.
The huge glass window was the first thing my eyes rested on. It was almost as large as the wall itself, framing the sky perfectly. A canopy bed was placed against the wall, the matching dresser and vanity on the opposite side. Trent walked to the left, opening a door.
"Come here, Emma,” he said, stepping inside and immersing the space with light.
I followed him inside the largest closet I'd ever seen. The walls were lined with dual racks. Chairs and stools sat in the middle, a rack lined from ceiling to floor with heeled dress shoes and loafers just across from us. He started rifling through the clothing, making his selections carefully. He brought them to me, pushing the items into my awestruck arms.
"That should do it. I'll be right outside.” He exited the closet without another word, closing the door behind him.
I stood stunned and shocked, eyes going from side to side. I lifted my arms and glanced at the clothes. The blue sweater was the softest material I'd ever touched. I flipped the neck to look at the tag—cashmere. He'd also chosen a pair of jeans.
I shrugged out of my clothes, pulling the pants on first. They fit wonderfully, stretchy and long around my feet. The sweater came next, so soft I wanted to sleep in it. I stroked my fingers along the sleeve, bringing it up and rubbing the soft material across my cheek. I slipped on my loafers, stepping to the mirror to take a peak. I looked the same, the clothing in the same vein of what I wore normally, only crafted from better and much more expensive materials.
Trent knocked on the door, his muffled voice still melodious. “Are you decent?"
"Come in,” I answered, combing my fingers through my hair, grateful I had the foresight to dry it straight.
"You look wonderful.” He nodded approvingly, mouth curving at the corners.
He hurried to the vanity and reached inside the drawer, removing a brush. He stood behind me, combing the bristles through my hair. I couldn't retain the sigh that escaped my lips. It was the first time someone other than my Grandma had ever brushed it.
"A few things,” he said, gently tracing the brush strokes with his fingers. “Please listen to what your Father has to say before jumping the gun in there. Remember, you are not the only one that is nervous. And please refrain from the potty language. I know you were around undesirables before, but in this family, we reserve colorful talk for special occasions."
"Where did all of these clothes come from?” I glanced into the mirror at Trent.
He grinned, not deviating from the task at hand. “As soon as it was decided you were coming home, we prepared everything for you. You didn't need to pack anything. That's why I requested you only use the carry on. I knew everything was ready for your arrival.” He finished, handing me the brush for the last detailed touches.
"Are you ready?"
"As ready as I'm going to be,” I answered truthfully, biting my lower lip.
My heart was stammering as we left the room and descended the stairs, beating so frantically inside my chest I thought it would burst. I passed all the furniture and exquisite rugs in a haze. My mind chaotic, questions flowing, fear overriding my earlier confidence.
We passed through the left corridor with hallways lined with massive pillars. The floor beneath was constructed of an expensive stone, gold and cream marble swirled together. I counted each step, trying to distract myself.
"Breathe,” Trent offered encouragingly.
I deferred to his advice, taking deep calming breaths. I was more anxious with every step, each one bringing me closer to a moment I was certain I would never experience.
We stopped at two double doors on the left of the hall. Trent pulled them open and I stepped inside, waiting for him to close them behind us. The room was surprisingly bare, a few pieces of opulent furniture scattered about.
Directly across the way were two chairs, each occupied with a body. I squinted, unable to see clearly as the light at the door wasn't very good, the lamps and fireplace were further inside. Trent placed a reassuring hand on my arm, guiding me toward the chairs. My throat tightened and I felt sick, my hands clammy and shaking.
They stood in unison and my eyes drifted to the one on the left that stepped forward. He was tall, with thick black hair and slate grey eyes like the sky following a storm. Emotion seemed to cross his face, vanishing in the instant it appeared.
His broad body fit inside the dark sweater and slacks easily, his shoulders hovering only inches above my own. I couldn't tear my eyes away. This was the moment I'd imagined since I was old enough to conceive of his absence. This was my Father.
"Emmaline,” he spoke my name reverently, stepping forward. His voice was the barest of whispers, a Scottish accent discernable even still.
I stood uncertain. I swore that I would hate this man. That I would listen but I wouldn't cave. The heartache of an abandoned childhood had kept me going, nourishing my sense of betrayal. I wanted to wash my hands clean of him just as he had of me and my Mother, bringing him to suffer just as we had.
I'd replayed this exact moment over and over in my head, in a million different places, in a million different ways. But now that I was faced with the reality, it wasn't as simple as I'd convinced myself. I didn't even know how to address him. I didn't know what to say.
His eyes swept over me before resting on my face. He stepped forward again, stopping inches away. It was odd, he appeared only years older than myself, his change to vampire freezing him indefinitely in time.
He was handsome. The dark hair on his head combined with those eyes and that brogue...my Mother never had a chance. A fierce protectiveness surged within, reigniting my anger with a vengeance. My jaw clenched tight and I felt myself flush.
"Welcome home, daughter.” He attempted to hug me and I stepped back and away from him, bumping into Trent.
"Don't!” I demanded in a shaky voice. “Don't do that."
His face dropped, hurt replacing his excitement. I expected guilt to surface but it didn't, just the intense anger remained, a fire burning within.
"I came to listen to what you had to say to me. I promised that much. But this isn't a happy family reunion. Don't
pretend that everything is suddenly hunky dory because you've decided to play Daddy,” I told him evenly, body trembling.
"I understand,” he said sadly. “I don't expect anything more from you, I never have. But your Mother—"
"Don't,” I snapped, my temperature rising with a newfound animosity. “Don't bring her into this. You don't have the right."
"If you would just listen—” He started and I cut him off again.
"No, we will not discuss her. What gives you the right? What kind of person leaves behind a woman who's pregnant with his child anyway? What kind of man are you?"
"Emmaline.” He tried again.
"No,” I cut him off a third time, bitter and resentful. “Answer that question first. That's the million dollar one and the reason I came here. Tell me, was it easy for you? Did you even shed a tear when she died?"
"That's quite enough.” A feminine voice spoke from behind, coming around to stand beside him.
I felt the floor rock under my feet but I remained standing.
She hadn't changed—not really. Her face was smoother, the skin luminescent and pale. Her features were more defined and beautiful, yet exactly as they were in that picture taken on the porch years ago.
I knew every detail of that face by heart, had them ingrained in my memories. How many hours had I spent staring at family albums, trying to get to know her through stories and shared memories? Her hair was still long and mahogany brown, hanging in long shining waves down her back and across her shoulders.
I looked into her face, meeting my own eyes.
"Mom?” The word came out hollow and disbelieving.
"Emmaline.” She said my name softly, flashing her dazzling smile.
I stumbled, unsteady on my feet, blackness threatening to overtake me. I lost my balance, stepping back. Trent's arms came around, scooping me up effortlessly. He strode over to a chair and I clung to him, unwilling to let go. I needed something solid to keep me grounded.
"It's okay, Emma,” he soothed. “I'm right here."
He bent down and placed me into the chair. I watched them approach with confused eyes; my Mother and Father, side by side.