Hidden Worlds

by Kristie Cook

  “So are you twenty-one now?”

  “My age is irrelevant. I can be whatever you’d like me to be.”

  “Well, I’m eighteen, almost nineteen . . .” I sucked in my breath as a thought occurred to me. “You know, you are quite the dirty old man!”

  He chuckled quietly in my ear. “I guess you could look at it that way. But I’d rather not. Let’s say I’m twenty, okay?”

  “Okay. That works for me. So, how’d you meet Mom? During the war, I mean.”

  “She was a nurse, I was a soldier.”

  “You were a soldier? You fought in the war? Wait . . . which side were you on?”

  He sighed. “I’ve fought in many wars and most of the time not on the side you would prefer. But, in that one, I was on the Allied side. The Daemoni had an ulterior motive for me with some American soldiers.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t know how to respond.

  “I never completed it, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “One of my . . . targets . . . was severely wounded. Sophia took care of him. I knew who she was, but I couldn’t bring myself to do what I’d been created for. She was so tender and caring. She didn’t know this guy at all, but she showed so much . . . love for this complete stranger.” He paused. “That’s when I first started to comprehend the action of love—not the emotion, but at least what it looks like in action. I’d always hated the way I was, but I didn’t know any other way. Not until then. So I left her alone, left him alone. He became an influential reverend and then U.S. senator—that’s why I was supposed to take him out. So, I considered leaving the Daemoni then. I started thinking about whether I could be any different. It took nearly forty years, though, before I knew for sure I could change—the next time I met Sophia, when she took me to the Amadis.”

  Wow. Tears filled my eyes. “She saved you,” I whispered.

  “Yes, she did. That’s how I knew I was okay with her—I could be around her without any of those . . . urges—and I just had to worry about you. I knew she wanted me to stay away from you, but I couldn’t, and it was difficult to defy her like I did. I owe everything to Sophia—more than just my life. So much more.”

  We lay there silently for a minute or so. I thought he was done, but then he continued. “When I joined the Amadis, I shed that old life permanently, Alexis. It was like a rebirth. I took the name Tristan Knight and started a whole new life, never looking back. I need you to understand that.”

  “I know already,” I said quietly, squeezing his hand. “And, in that way, you are only around twenty.”

  “Yes, that’s how I like to look at it.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Now, can we change the subject? Or go to sleep?”

  Sleep? Yeah, right.

  “If you wanted to sleep, you should’ve gone home.”

  He chuckled. “Then ask a different question. Preferably, something about the present. The past is gone and I’d rather you not think of me the way I was.”

  “To me, you’ll always be my Tristan. I love the person you are now. We can leave the past where it belongs.”

  He hugged me tighter in appreciation. I kissed his hand while I thought about an easier topic.

  “Do you really do all that stock market and consulting stuff? Or was that just a cover?” I finally asked.

  “No, I do that. I tried to be as honest as I could with you. The consulting I do is for the Amadis. And one of my abilities is I can open my mind to see all the possibilities in a situation and identify the best solution or path to take, as long as I have the facts. So that stuff is easy to me.”

  “Wow. That must make school easy. But why do you even bother with school anyway?”

  “Right now, as I said, to meet and get to know you. And it’s an appropriate thing to do at my age.”

  “Isn’t it boring? I mean, surely you’ve learned all this before, especially these lower level classes.”

  “If I’m actually going for a degree, yeah, some things can be repetitive. But many things have changed so much over the years that much of it is new to me, too.”

  “How many degrees do you have?”

  He chuckled lightly in my ear. “Three bachelor’s—finance, engineering and architecture—and an MBA. I’ve done the medical thing a couple of times, because medicine really has changed over my time.”

  “Wow,” I breathed. “That’s . . . incredible. You don’t act or talk like you’re so educated. I mean, not that you act stupid or anything, you just don’t . . . talk down to me or the others, I guess.”

  “I adapt, remember? I become the person I need to be for the situation.”

  “Hmm . . .” This bothered me. I couldn’t help but wonder how much he’d adapted himself to be the person he needed to be for me.

  He seemed to read my mind. “Don’t worry . . . I’m still me. Well, the me I want to be,” he said. “I just meant the way I talk, the words I use . . . . The reason I said soul mate earlier—that I believe we are meant to be together—is because, first of all, you are the only one who has made me capable of loving, and secondly, because I can be the me I want to be and it works with you.”

  “It works very well,” I agreed, comforted. “Tell me about this healing stuff. I mean, how you can heal other people. Mom and I can’t do that. Well, I don’t think Mom can.”

  “You won’t know what you can do until after the Ang’dora. But, for me, every ability I have is more powerful than anyone else’s. The healing ability is strong in my DNA, so, in my saliva, in my blood . . . .”

  “Ah. So what are your other abilities? What does it mean to be the ultimate warrior?”

  He sighed. “It means they designed me to be nearly perfect in mind and body to win any type of battle . . . mental or physical. They gave me the best offenses and the best defenses. But, I’m not completely infallible. I have my weakness . . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “My kind?”

  “You specifically . . . in so many ways.”

  “What do you mean?” I wanted to turn over, to see his face, but he held me tightly.

  “You not only tempt my innate inhuman urges, but also my very basic, human desires. We are hazardous to each other. And I am weak to your happiness, so anything you ask of me, I will probably give. But the worst of it is if others—the Daemoni—see my love for you, they will know they can use it against me . . . which means hurting you.”

  “That’s why they can’t see us together. Why we had to stay away from the media tonight.”

  “Exactly. This is a dangerous love we share.”

  “So they’ll come after us?” As soon as I asked I wondered if they already had come after me. I almost asked if he knew anything about that night in Arlington. Had they been Daemoni? Impossible. They weren’t even real. I’d convinced myself it was just a dream. A tremble of fear shook me anyway.

  “It’s okay, ma lykita. You have me—your ultimate warrior. I’m kind of created to kick some serious ass.” Although he lay behind me, in the dark, I knew he was grinning. I relaxed in his arms.

  We lay in silence for a while. The green numbers on my clock glowed 3:14. I started to feel tired and my mind finally wound down. The electric currents had settled down, too.

  “Tristan?” I asked, wondering if he was still awake.

  “Hmm?”

  I almost didn’t ask . . . it would be embarrassing if he didn’t feel it, too.

  “Um, do you still feel that electric current between us? It seemed like you did before, when we first got together.”

  He chuckled. “Definitely.”

  “Do you know what it is? I mean, is that part of . . . you? Who you are?”

  He didn’t answer at first, seeming to be thinking about it. “I honestly am not sure. I think it’s part of who we are . . . but I haven’t figured that one out yet. But I like it.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” I said with a grin. “Are you glad it’s all out now? I mean all the secrets? Because I am. It’s a relief to finally talk about it.”<
br />
  “Now that I know you love me, yes, I am. I knew it had to happen and part of me couldn’t wait to tell you everything. Do you remember when you threw the dart at me?”

  I snorted. “How could I forget? I was mortified!”

  “I saw it coming as soon as you let go. I could have plucked the dart right out of the air before it got close.” He snapped his fingers in the air as if grabbing an invisible dart.

  “Why didn’t you? I was so humiliated!”

  He chuckled. “You were adorable. And that’s why I didn’t. I decided in that moment your reaction to super-human reflexes could be worse than to my ability to heal, since you can do that, too. So I made the safe choice. But you didn’t even notice.”

  “I did notice the hole in your skin was pretty tiny, but I didn’t know what would’ve been normal. I generally don’t throw darts at people.”

  “Just me, huh?”

  “Yeah, you’re special.” I giggled, giddy from exhaustion. “But you didn’t say anything about healing then.”

  “No, I let it go. I decided it was too soon. And I haven’t said anything since then because I’ve been afraid I’d lose you forever and I didn’t know if I could handle that.”

  How ironic that I’d been feeling the same way and my secrets were nothing compared to his. I realized how difficult it must have been for him, not just tonight, but since the day we met.

  “I love you, Tristan,” I whispered.

  “I love you, too, ma lykita,” he murmured into my ear. He kissed my hair and I felt myself relax into him and let sleep take over.

  Chapter 14

  The next month blew through like a fast-moving hurricane, with school, helping Mom at the bookstore, finals, the holidays and Tristan swirling around me. I hardly had time to take care of necessities, like sleep, let alone write between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I didn’t even feel the void in my life as the manuscript waited patiently on my computer. There was too much going on and my brain was too full to think about that whole other fictional world.

  It felt like a strangely normal life, putting aside all the peculiar things. Sometimes, especially when I was alone in bed at night, I’d think about what Mom and Tristan had told me. Questions floated lazily in my head just before I’d crash from exhaustion. I usually forgot them by the time I had the chance to ask. Mom shut me down on the few I did ask her—they weren’t relevant enough for her to give me answers. Tristan was more open, as long as they were about him, but not about his horrible past and definitely not about the Daemoni. Because of his willingness to tell me so much, I opened up to him, too. We started building a real relationship.

  On the Sunday before Christmas, finals out of the way and only the holidays to worry about now, Tristan and I went for a ride on the Harley to Gasparilla Island. We hadn’t been there since that one extraordinary weekend that now felt like a lifetime ago. It wasn’t quite the same as I remembered—like anything you hold in your memory as a special treasure, built up over time and looked forward to with great anticipation, it’s never quite as special as the first time. But it was still a favorite place. The air was cooler than it had been in October and the breeze stronger. We didn’t dare kick off our shoes and walk on the cold, wet sand. So when we stopped to enjoy the view, we watched from our perch on the bike, my body leaned against the back rest and Tristan’s against mine, my chin resting on his shoulder.

  “So, I was thinking . . . ,” he started to say as we gazed over the beach.

  “Uh-oh,” I teased. “That can be dangerous, you know.”

  “Hmm . . . I’ll try not to hurt myself.”

  I smiled at the thought of this genius hurting himself because he was thinking too hard and skimmed my lips across his cheek.

  “You’re trying to distract me,” he murmured.

  “Maybe.”

  “Seriously . . . I’ve been thinking about what to get you for Christmas.”

  “Ah. It’s less than a week away, you know. You should have started thinking a long time ago.”

  “I did, as soon as I realized you and Sophia celebrate Christmas. I think I have the perfect gift, but I want to know what you want, just to be sure.”

  “I have what I want right here.” I ran my lips over his cheek again.

  “Hmph. I’d like to give you something you can keep with you to remind you of me when I’m not around.”

  “Like I can ever forget you.” I kissed his ear and he sighed. “Well, before you do hurt yourself over this, I need to tell you the house rules. We only give gifts to each other that have significant meaning. So they can only be something we, ourselves, love dearly and are willing to give to the other, or something we’ve created with thought and love. Does that make it easier?”

  “Hmm . . . then, yes, it’s perfect.” He relaxed. “Any other rules I need to know about?”

  I told him the traditions Mom started when I was young.

  “Huh. That’s interesting. I thought Christmas was about Santa Claus and presents and watching football on TV.”

  I chuckled. “Not the way we do it. So, you game?”

  “Definitely. It sounds . . . fun.”

  I kissed his cheek again and then brushed my lips down along his jaw line and back up to his ear.

  “Thank you for today,” I whispered. “I needed it.”

  “It’s not nearly over. I’m taking you someplace special for dinner.”

  “Oh,” I said, stiffening. “I should get home to change then.”

  “No, not necessary. You’re fine . . . well, maybe overdressed.” He smiled.

  I furrowed my brows. I wore a long-sleeve cotton shirt and jeans. How special can this place be? When we returned to the Cape, he didn’t take me home. We traveled on unfamiliar streets lined with royal palms and obnoxiously huge houses with canals in their backyards. I hadn’t been in this part of town, so I had no idea where we headed. We came to the end of one of these streets and, although the view was blocked, I knew the beach and the Gulf spread beyond the other side of the foliage lining the dead-end. He pulled into a wide, private driveway leading to a large, concrete-and-glass structure overlooking the water.

  “This looks fancy. You said I was overdressed,” I whispered when he cut the engine to the bike.

  He chuckled. “This is my house, silly.”

  My mouth dropped. He’d never brought me to his house; we’d never had any reason to come here. I’d imagined he lived in a small, bachelor-pad type of place . . . like where a twenty-year-old college kid would sleep and shower because he was never home for anything else anyway.

  The entire lower level appeared to be nothing but garage from the outside, with four full-size overhead doors. Tristan poked some buttons on a keypad by one of the doors. The door opened as he came back to the bike and started it up. We pulled into the garage and parked next to the crotch-rocket.

  “Holy crap, Tristan.” I giggled, nearly at a loss for words as I looked around. “This is . . . outrageous.”

  “I told you I like toys.” He laughed and closed the garage door while I walked around, admiring the “toys.”

  One side of the garage housed a speed boat, a Waverunner and other water sports equipment. On the other side, besides the two motorcycles, were a big, metallic-blue pick-up truck, a shiny black Mercedes convertible and a hot red Ferrari Spider—which I only knew after caressing my hand over the shiny emblem.

  “You don’t even use these . . . do you?” I’d never seen them before.

  “Not so much. I prefer feeling the freedom on the bikes. But when I want them, they’re right here waiting. And they’re nice to look at.” He’d come up behind me and put his arms around me, pulling me close to him. He murmured in my ear, “Almost as nice as you.”

  Heat rose to my face . . . in both embarrassment and excitement at his breath on my ear. He brushed his lips down my neck. Goosebumps rose on my arms. Then he took my hand and led me upstairs to the rest of the house.

  From the stairs, we came into a
large, open room with floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite wall, overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. Low sunlight streamed through the windows. The dÉcor was sparse, looking more like the lobby of a business than a home. There was a sitting area in the east half, at the top of the stairs, that included glass end tables, a boxy, black-leather couch and loveseat sitting on a white, shaggy rug. Various paintings hung on the walls and an easel with a half-finished image stood at the window-wall. Long tables displaying what looked like doll houses edged the western half of the room.

  Tristan picked up an electronic gadget from one of the tables and when he touched the front of it, the screen glowed. He touched it several more times and some lights came on in the house and music started playing through speakers in the ceilings.

  “Another toy?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. He just grinned.

  “Come on, I’ll show you around before I start dinner,” he said, taking my hand again and leading me down a hallway off the living room.

  The first room was an office with a large, chrome-and-glass desk, three computer screens and two walls lined with glass shelves full of books. Calendars and various charts hung on a third wall and the fourth wall was windows, facing the Gulf. An oversized, white suede chair with fat cushions and an ottoman squatted in front of the windows. I imagined curling up in the chair with a book, reading until I fell asleep.

  “This is where I spend the majority of my time when I’m not with you,” Tristan said and then he led me to another room, across the hall. “And this is where I am the rest of the time . . . unless I’m at the big gym.”

  It was a home gym, complete with weight machines. A large, thin mat covered half the floor, where various sized punching bags hung from the ceiling along one edge of it. The walls were bare, except for one picture. I took a couple steps closer to it and realized it was a beautifully hand-drawn picture of me, framed and matted.

  “Tristan?” I asked, not able to pull my eyes away to look at him.

  “It’s a reminder of why I need to improve my self control,” he explained quietly.

  “You drew it?” I looked at him with awe.