by Carol Oates
Eventually she got tired waiting. Candra took her chance when Lofi was preoccupied with questioning Father Brennan about something she wasn’t listening to during English, and Candra slipped Ivy a note pleading with her to distract Lofi, even if only for a few moments. Ivy looked at her with questioning eyes before she nodded, indicating she would help her.
Candra thought she would simply distract Lofi by chatting, but when class ended and the other students began to scurry toward the door, Ivy tripped accidentally. At least, it appeared to be accidental, resulting in a scuffle of people, Lofi included, rushing to help her while Candra slipped out the door.
She knew she only had a minute or two to make her escape, so she headed straight toward the exit, bursting out the exterior door to come face to face with Flame-hair.
With the sleekness of an alley cat, she slinked her way to Candra, a sneer barely concealed on her ruby lips. As usual, she was clad head to toe in leather, accessorized by towering stiletto heels.
“Well, well, it’s about time,” Ananchel observed scornfully.
Candra approached her with her head held high. There wasn’t a chance in hell she would ever show Ananchel any weakness. From what Candra had learned about her so far, she thrived on it.
“I’m not here to make pleasantries, Ananchel,” Candra countered brazenly. “Just take me wherever I need to go.”
Ananchel arched one perfectly manicured eyebrow and waved her hand, indicating for Candra to walk ahead. It was then that Candra saw Sebastian watching from the other side of the street, his face a hard mask of discontent. His brown eyes blazed with a terrible rage like she had never seen in him, and she wasn’t sure if it was directed at her or Ananchel. It made Candra nervous about what he was capable of if crossed.
A mist shimmered over his shoulders and rolled downward at his back before his exquisite gold-tipped wings ripped through his clothes, flexing at mid-extension and stretching out to their full terrifying expanse. He looked furious; he looked like a man hanging onto his last thread of reason or an angel about to dispense a brutal, vengeful wrath.
“Hmmm,” Flame-hair purred. “He always was rather excitable.”
Candra struggled to draw her eyes away from him as she climbed into the waiting red Ferrari. The heavy, carved wooden door of the school swung open again, and Lofi raced out, calling to her. Candra ignored her and closed the passenger door, looking down to her lap.
“Your boyfriend needs to learn to control his emotions.”
“He is not my boyfriend,” Candra snorted, completely paralyzed by her need to not see Sebastian’s face in that moment before they drove away. She knew and fully accepted he would take this as a betrayal of all of them.
Ananchel snickered and pulled away from the curb, the screeching, spinning tires leaving a trail of smoke and burning rubber behind them.
She had to do this, Candra kept telling herself as they speeded through the streets, and she scolded herself internally for the guilt that settled over her like a black cloak. Right or wrong, what she was doing was the only way.
Chapter Eight
Ananchel’s eyes burned into Candra every now and then, although Candra purposely ignored her glare. Instead, she watched the city whizz by with a phony intense interest. It was the strangest sensation because as quickly as she memorized each turn, each sign, each distinguishing landmark, it slipped from her mind like sand from an hourglass. She tightened her eyes, concentrating harder on the blurring buildings and side streets. But no matter how hard she tried, her brain simply refused to retain even the smallest measure of information.
They pulled into the entrance of an underground parking garage. It looked just like every other one Candra had ever been in, except this one had an unusually high number of expensive hi-spec cars and classic models.
“I wouldn’t bother your pretty head trying to remember any details,” Ananchel advised coolly, exiting the car with a swish of her long hair. Candra got out and turned to look at her over the top of the gleaming red paintwork. “You won’t be able to find your way back here. We have certain abilities.”
Candra didn’t make the effort of a response, simply returning her nonchalant smile and shrugging off the idea like it had never entered her mind. Ananchel’s pouting red lips parted, allowing her tongue to peek out and flick across her bottom lip, leaving a moist glistening trail. Candra shuddered inside, keeping her outward reaction guarded. Ananchel looked…hungry. Candra had a moment of internal battle before she managed to stifle the desire to flee.
“Are you going to stand there staring at me all day or do we actually have somewhere to go?”
Ananchel laughed lightly and slammed her door with a loud clank that Candra felt clear on the other side. “You’ve got Payne’s fire, I’ll say that for you.”
“Don’t ever talk about my father,” Candra warned her blackly. A cold shiver ran down her spine at the same time her cheeks flared with a sudden anger. She didn’t know where it came from or why it so suddenly erupted.
Ananchel raised an eyebrow, totally unperturbed by Candra’s sudden outburst, and nodded for her to follow. They walked toward an elevator, keeping as much distance between them as politely possible given the circumstance. Of course, it wasn’t like Candra was well-versed on the etiquette of meeting an angel who probably rained fire and brimstone down on every other creature like her. A nasty queasiness bubbled in her stomach as the doors slid open with the cold harsh sound of metal dragging over metal. She really didn’t know who it was she was about to meet. She didn’t know where she was or if she could trust this person—but then, who could she trust? It wasn’t exactly like an old western where the good guys wore white and the bad guys black.
The vacuum-like popping of the door closing made her jump despite her best efforts to appear unaffected by nerves. Ananchel snickered knowingly, gaining Candra’s attention enough that she observed her from the corner of her eye.
“It may surprise you to know your father and I were once friends.”
It did. Even though Candra was unsure if she meant friends as in real friends or as in the friendship she had with Sebastian. She denied the urge to turn and ask Ananchel to explain herself, or to make any move at all.
The bell pinged, letting them know they had reached their destination, yet none of the floors were numbered. The door slid open.
“We are not all as we appear to be, Candra. I think you will discover this soon enough.”
Candra decided to place that particular comment in her memory vault for another time. As far as it referred to Ananchel, Candra knew as much as she wanted to know about her. She had already weighed, measured, and judged Ananchel. They were never going to be friends.
The elevator opened into a massive hall with dark-paneled walls that had no windows but were covered in tapestries of images Candra couldn’t make out clearly. Again it was like her eyes could see but her consciousness couldn’t digest. A fire roared in a huge, elaborate marble hearth on the far end facing onto two high-wingback leather chairs. There was a man there, staring into the flickering flames. His broad shoulders were relaxed, and although Candra couldn’t see his face, his demeanor seemed casual. She had to admit, the view from behind wasn’t entirely unpleasant. His white button-down shirt was cut perfectly to his lean upper body and stopped just short of his narrow hips and a firm rounded ass covered by faded denim. Even from a distance she guessed his clothes were probably expensive. She was surprised to notice his feet were bare. It didn’t seem fitting, given the setting.
Candra’s shoes padded on the intricate parquet wooden floor as shr made her way forward, each step echoing around the room. She noticed there were several doors dotted along the way, as well as the three at the end of the room, almost blending into the background where she had entered. The room was dimly lit by crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ornately molded ceiling. It was clearly a ballroom.
Beside her, Ananchel walked silently, apart from the melodic click click of he
r heels. Combined with the crackling of the wood fire, it created delicate relaxing music—in an odd, am-I-hallucinating? kind of way.
As they got closer, Candra began to get a sense of déjà vu. Something about the man, who she presumed was Draven, tugged at her memory. She’d heard overheard Gabe and Brie whispering about him, although nothing more than his name and that he was not someone to meddle with lightly. She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing his long fingers tapping on the mantle and his dark hair gleaming richly in the glow of the flames.
They stopped barely ten feet away as a deep foreboding washed over Candra. Her fingers began to tremble, and she closed them tight, distracting herself by digging her nails into the palms of her hands. His movement stilled, and she felt a sudden rush of adrenaline and butterflies.
“This is Candra.”
He turned slowing, keeping his hand on the mantle.
“My Candra, we meet again.”
I knew it. “Draven,” she uttered, releasing a fast breath, surprised at herself for not realizing it sooner. Somehow she had known at the party. She’d sensed there was something different about him but hadn’t attributed it to the possibility he could be one of them. It was the eyes that had thrown her off. All the others she’d seen had gold flecks that caught the light and were mostly brown, although some had different colors. Draven had looked at her with the same navy eyes, except now the gold in them caught the light—at the party he must have worn contacts. It was obvious now that he had been there checking her out, not stalking her in the same manner as Sebastian, but seeking information under false pretenses nonetheless.
“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Candra grumbled. “You people seem to be capable of almost anything.”
Ananchel chuckled and was immediately silenced by a deadly flash in his eyes. “Leave us.”
She bowed and left, closing the heavy door with a clank that reverberated through the warm air in the ballroom. There was a shift in his expression when he looked back toward her. He dropped his hand by his side as he observed her with a reserved interest. His head tilted to the side a little as he spoke.
“Not what you expected?”
“I could ask the same, I believe,” she retorted, watching his lips widen to a smile and his dark eyes lighten.
“Touché.” He gestured with a wave of his hand for her to sit.
She kept her eyes trained on him as she moved to the seat. He was inquisitive; Candra could tell that much. Maybe because he was as interested in figuring her out as she was of him. “So what do I call you, Daniel or Draven?” She stopped short of sitting and raised an eyebrow in question, waiting for him to take a seat first. She wasn’t stupid and wasn’t going to give him the tactical advantage of standing over her.
He paused and then, understanding why she was waiting, took the other seat, interlacing his fingers across an incredibly flat stomach.
“Draven is fine,” he conceded.
Candra found herself gulping as she sat. “You wanted to see me?”
He was right; he wasn’t what she was expecting in the slightest. She had no idea why her mind had conjured up the image of a much older man, someone hardened and physically ravaged by time. He smoldered with an extreme charisma, and he had an authoritative air about him, almost regal. Of course he would be beautiful…in a different way from Sebastian. His eyes weren’t tormented, and he looked older by maybe a few years. That was something she hadn’t noticed at the party. As soon as Candra began to compare him to Sebastian, guilt distracted her from her purpose. She wondered where Sebastian was and if he was upset with her—well, more upset than usual—but she quickly remembered it was his and the others’ lack of answers that drove her here in the first place.
Draven waited patiently, as if he could see the conflict on her face. A rush of heat flooded her body as she remembered how his touch felt the last time they met. Despite herself, she had the desire to reach out and assure herself he was real.
“You wanted to see me too, I think?” he asked.
Candra nodded and ignored the smug lilt of his smooth voice. She was well aware that he was letting her know that he knew she found him physically attractive. Maybe he and Sebastian weren’t so different in their manner, after all.
“Maybe I did.”
He smiled conceitedly, and she felt the heat of her blush rise upward from her neck—which was exceedingly unhelpful in this situation. The more Candra thought about it and him and the way the tight, defined muscles of Draven’s thigh were clearly visible under the fabric of his jeans, the worse it got. He was aesthetically exquisite, even more than she remembered.
“Are you too warm?” he asked politely.
“I’m fine. I’m not here for pleasantries, but thank you for the hospitality you have shown me by agreeing to meet with me today.”
“What are you here for, my Candra?” he enquired curiously after a few seconds pause, holding her steadfast gaze.
Candra’s stomach clenched at the declaration of ownership belayed in his words. What was it about everyone wanting to own her?
“I don’t like when you call me that. I don’t belong to you or to anyone.” She felt the harshness in her voice but didn’t waiver.
He smiled silently, and Candra got the distinct impression she was merely being indulged.
“I want answers,” she said directly.
“You will need to be more specific.” He laughed lightly.
“Tell me what you want.”
His expression was carefully guarded, made to appear honest, but already she knew any truth she received here would be far from complete. It was as much to Draven’s advantage to keep her in the dark as it was to Sebastian’s.
“I would like you to be mine.”
“Yours?” She wasn’t sure she understood.
“I want you with me, Candra. I want you to give yourself to me.”
Candra stood abruptly and glared at him in disgust, which was difficult since he didn’t disgust her in least little way, the opposite in fact. “This conversation is over.”
While remaining seated, he grabbed hold of her wrist; his fingers locked around her skin like a cast iron shackle, tethering her to the spot. He didn’t look up to her, but he did release his grasp a little, lifting his other hand to trace the thin blue network of veins on the back of her hand with featherlight strokes of his fingertip.
“Please.” Candra whispered a plea, knowing her voice would sound tiny in the vastness of the space. “Let me go.” She didn’t know what she was asking for. She had wanted to come here, but now a terrible fear bubbled inside her that Sebastian was right and she had made the wrong decision.
“I can’t,” Draven responded just as quietly. “It’s already too late, Candra.”
She silently watched as he turned her hand over. The only sound in the ballroom was the crackling and hissing of the fire nearby, and the warm spicy fragrance of his skin mingled with wood polish filled her head with an almost visceral need to hold very still. His finger moved purposefully, skimming over the creases on her palm down to her wrist. Very carefully he lifted her hand and tenderly pressed his lips to where her pulse drummed with a steady beat. Something about the action was so chaste and yet undeniably erotic.
Every nerve in Candra’s body came alive at his touch, as if her body was an empty vessel before him, vacant and waiting to be filled.
“Your body recognizes me, Candra. I’ve been waiting for you.”
She jerked her hand away and cradled it to her chest as if she had been burned.
“Please sit,” he requested, smiling. The navy in his eyes glinted in the flickering and flaring orange glow of the fire. “Ask me a question, and I will answer it.”
Well, that was the best offer she had gotten in a long time, and it would have been silly, not to mention insulting, not to take him up on it.
Candra retook her seat, tentatively resting her hand across her lap in an attempt to look casual and not give away the shivers racing through
her entire body.
Draven leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and pressing his hands together in front of him. He rested his chin on the tips of his index fingers and entwined the others. His eyes narrowed with a look of intense interest. It was difficult to know if it was genuine.
“Tell me what you know,” he said.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and cleared her throat before beginning. More than anything she wanted to be able to make an informed decision about her future, and that required answers only Draven seemed willing to give her.
“I know about the war…and the covenant.”
“Sebastian told you that much?” His eyes widened a little with surprise.
“No,” she admitted, feeling a strange pang of some alien emotion in her chest. “Lofi…Lofial told me.”
“Ah,” Draven sighed in understanding. “It would have surprised me greatly if he had been the one to tell you, but then, Ananchel informs me that you and he have grown close.”
Candra snorted very ungracefully, earning a startled chuckle from him before he observed her with a raised eyebrow.
“You’re kidding me, right?” She snickered.
Still, he looked perplexed, and suddenly it didn’t feel so funny to Candra.
“You’ve been misinformed. The very last way I would describe the relationship between us is close,” she finished seriously, trying to keep the bitterness from her tone. She had tried to meet Sebastian halfway; it was him that wouldn’t budge.