by Debra Kristi
My spoon slips from my grip, my hand shaking. I can’t believe she just answered me like that. “Kaia is real?”
My heart beats like a team of wild horses stampeding. My hands thrust into my chest, attempt to steady the erratic beat. I need to reconsider everything my older sister has ever told me. Like trusting the old woman. I didn’t, and I deleted the emails.
“What does the seven moons mean?” I’m in a trancelike state, and the question comes from somewhere outside of myself.
One side of Mom’s lips twitches. It’s scarcely noticeable. “Seven full moons after your eighteenth birthday. That’s when you begin to come into your own. Seven is one of the most sacred of numbers.”
I thought all that stuff about sevens was created for movies. Never considered there’d be any truth behind the claims. I count the months since my birthday, remembering there’s one full moon per cycle. The seventh one would have been around the night Ry showed up at the school acting weird. The night of peculiar events—my computer, shadows at the school pool, the intense vision and attack. It sounds too crazy to be real, but at least Mom and I are talking, rather than arguing.
“What happens after the alleged sacred date?” I lean into the table.
“Minor changes.” She averts her eyes. “You’ll feel stronger. You may have more dreams, but life will continue pretty much as it always has.”
Riiigght. Just like you’ve never heard of Hiddenkel. Can I trust any of the information she’s feeding me? Seriously, what am I? I need to know. Need to find the answers somewhere. I’m not falling for her bait-and-switch game. I finish my soup and head toward my room.
Sprawled out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, I consider everything. Kaia is my sister. Wrap your head around that one, Ana. Kaia is real. Hiddenkel? Possibly. What of Dohlan? He acts interested in me and looks like a god. I have to be making him up. Don’t I?
I whimper and toss my head into my pillow.
Nothing but darkness. Without a point of reference, it’s impossible to judge how far or how fast I am falling. I call out. Scream for Kaia. Receive no answer. Her unfinished sentence still plagues me, frustrates me. Images of Dreya in both her incarnations—flaming red and blonde hair—crowd my mind. Her wicked laugh. The dagger to my sister’s gut. My lips purse, release a cry. The sound wretched, horrifying, sorrowful.
And still I fall.
Fear strangles me, a death hold collapsing my chest. My arms thrash, search, and find nothing. Nothing but air rushing past. There’s no light, no surface, only emptiness. Panic rises in my throat like bile.
“Anala!”
My body flails, twisting in my fall, and I try to find the source of the call. A familiar voice. And then I spot him. Jaden. He’s transparent, like a ghost, yet there nonetheless. He stretches his hands out to me.
“Quickly, Ana. Grab hold!”
My chin drops, leaving my mouth gaping. I snap it shut. Who is Jaden really, and what is he doing here? I hesitate too long. He vanishes from my dream, my forever fall. I can’t think. My thoughts are clouded and confused.
Without warning, I stop. Drop on my feet against an unforgiving surface. The vertigo overwhelms me. My head is spinning, and I can’t catch a breath.
My body gives in. I collapse. Strong arms and rich, exotic spices are immediately present. They enfold me, wrap me tight. The welcoming sensation of Dohlan’s breath tickles my neck. The warmth of his hand already sliding along the side of my face, caressing, loving, makes me crave more.
“Mmm, Ana. My delicious Ana.” The sound of his voice erases my worries. His breath, sweet and fevered against the curve of my chin, relaxes me. “How I missed you. Shall we discover the ways?” His voice lifts with challenge, and two of his fingers begin to creep up my bodice at a crawl.
Dohlan. His name plays through my mind with a sigh. Feels like ages since I’ve been in his arms. At the mere thought of him, of us, my heart tries to kickbox free. I have yet to open my eyes, and I’m already turning to putty.
My eyelids flutter open, and I gaze upon Dohlan, take in all his magnificence.
His smile is crooked, the best of devilish grins, and his eyes sparkle with mischief. “Always pleased to receive,” he says, suggesting he’s happy I’ve arrived, and teases the curve of my jaw with his lips.
“Have I been gone long?” I whisper, finding continued breath difficult.
“Ages.” His response sounds pained. Helping me up, he steps back and bows, like a proper gentleman. I play along, curtseying in return.
“Oh.” Surprise bursts from my lips.
For the first time since arriving, I realize I’m wearing an elegant gown with a tightly cinched bodice. Explains my trouble breathing. It’s breathtaking, in sapphire-blue silk and soft, embroidered vines of ivory. The voluminous skirt swags up the front, exposing a shimmering layer of mossy green tulle. Flowers of velvet ivory decorate the swag line and drop off my shoulder. The sleeves fall long and flare. They’re not attached to the dress but cling to my upper arms. The gown complements my eyes perfectly. Something Dohlan, no doubt, had a hand in. A crystal of splendid clarity hangs at my neck. Its silver setting is the finest I’ve ever seen. Light skips and dances off its surface, creating a magical starburst in the space around us.
If it weren’t for my birthmark, I’d look like a princess—hair swept up, soft curls delicately cascading, and tiny pearls dropping gracefully within my golden locks.
Dohlan’s eyes glimmer, and he extends his arm with the vaguest hint of a bow. I accept, twining our arms together. “May I say, you are the embodiment of radiance tonight.”
Speechless, I follow his lead. We take three steps, and then I’m whirling to face him, clutching his arm a fraction tighter to steady myself.
He draws me against his body. “Apologies,” he whispers down at me and slides his arms up my back. “You weaken my willpower.”
Logic dictates I should roll my eyes, push him and his playboy mannerisms away, but like a hypnotized fangirl, I swallow every word he feeds me without question.
His eyes stir like a stormy gale, penetrating my soul for endless moments, and then he closes the gap between our lips, making them one. Soft, smooth, intoxicating. I am his. Everything except Dohlan fades from existence. His strong, capable arms hold us firm at the heart of life and love and lust. I welcome the intoxication of his kiss with vigor, my heart knocking at my chest, eager to join with his.
He arches back, raking over me in one forever, sweeping review. I gasp for breath, try to hide I am doing so. “Simply scrumptious,” he says, his gaze lightyears from innocent.
My cheeks warm, while something deep within my belly churns. There is desire, no doubt about that. But an uncertainty has also taken root, and I don’t trust his feelings or his power over me. “Dohlan, why do you do this to me? I’m not sure my heart can take it.” Taking his face in my hands, I look firmly into his eyes. His beautiful sky-blue eyes. My resistance evaporates. I kiss him swift and solid, then turn away.
“What is it I am doing, Ana? Is there something about this that makes you uncomfortable?” In my peripheral view I see him sweep his arms wide in a grand gesture. “My Ana, tell me how you would like things to be, and it shall be so.”
There it is again. Those words. My Ana. Like I’m his possession. I turn back and hesitate, taken aback to see that for the first time he isn’t wearing one of his cocky or devilish grins. It catches me off guard.
“I don’t know, Dohlan. You’re just so…” My hand swifts through the air, helping me find the word I seek. “Overpowering. I don’t know what to do about that.”
“Would you prefer a man you could easily squash beneath your heel?”
“Of course not. But any relationship is ridiculously difficult if one of the two is having trouble staying conscious all the time.” I’m serious, but he chuckles.
“It will not always be so. Trust me.” He takes my hand in his. “If it makes you feel any better, you hold yourself together better than
other females could possibly hope to.” With one finger, he pushes my hair behind my shoulder. “Can’t you feel it? You belong with me. Your blood sings to me.”
My blood. He mentioned that when we first met two years ago. My hand leaps to my heart. What does it mean? I open my mouth to ask.
He takes my hand, tugs me, urging me to follow. “Come, let me show you.”
My foot staggers forward, as if it has a mind of its own. I snap my mouth shut and follow, a frown curling my lips. He said other females. The comment burns, and I’m not even sure the jealousy is genuine. What is going on?
Even as we walk toward the crumbled old ruins, I struggle with the vision his words create. So what if he sees me as strong? He is comparing, and I don’t care to be compared. Not by the one guy who makes me feel valued.
Tall, wispy weeds. Broken bits of building. In an attempt to stifle my doubts, I focus on every detail of my surrounding.
“Watch your step,” he says, holding me a smidge tighter, and we climb the stairs to the ruins.
The long-lost grandeur is a somber, haunting ghost of the once-exquisite palace. Remnants of shattered stone tiles cover the ground, and large broken columns flank the sides. Everything else—gone. There’s no ceiling, and little evidence of walls remains. Beyond the stonework, I spy dying grass, and farther yet, a shoreline. I imagine this was once an impressive fortress.
“What is this place?” I pluck stray hairs from my face and peer out at the ocean.
He stands beside me now. So close our arms almost touch. “This is my home. I want it to be yours as well.”
I gasp, my hand flying to my lips. “Dohlan?”
“Ana.” He turns, wraps his arms around me.
I gesture around us, to all the broken bits of building. “There’s nothing left. Nothing but ruin.”
“It need not be so. This is merely your perception. The wrong moment in time. All things can change.”
He leads me away from the wall and our view of the shore. When he does, it’s as if someone is turning back the clock of time. The ruins stitch themselves back together to their former splendor. It’s spellbinding. Magic at its highest level, or so I suppose.
The encircling residence is now perfectly restored. Polished stone tiles sparkle beneath our feet. Pink marble columns rise toward the heavens. Artful tapestries hang lengthily from the ceiling towering above, between the columns. Each tapestry appears representative of something significant, but I know not what. The ceiling is a series of domed stained-glass windows. The sun shining through casts marvelous shades of red, green, blue, purple, yellow, and orange onto every surface. There are stairways to our left and right. We walk past them and several ornately carved mahogany doors.
When we enter a long, arched masonry hallway, whispers waft in our direction. They intensify with each step, until the accompanying music blends in and overtakes the chatter. A set of heavy double doors waits at the end of our path. Dohlan swings them open in one thrust, releasing the sound with a burst. His bow signals for me to enter.
The room teems with intriguing characters, all dressed in fine historical ballroom attire like me, although most are hidden behind masks. Before I can absorb everything, Dohlan sweeps me into his arms and twirls me around the dance floor once, twice, three times.
My hands clutch at his sleeves, holding tight. I’m dizzy, drunk on excitement and ambience. His lips brush across my cheek, his breath lingering softly at my ear. It teases. Frustrates. An army of chills attack my body, making me giddy and bewitched. I cling to his shoulders through every music change, every tempo intensification. We sweep across the floor with such speed it’s astonishing I don’t trip.
I’ve lost count of the songs, have no idea which round we’re on, when my limbs start to weigh on me. Something about Dohlan, his energy, it drains me. The tempo slows to a manageable pace. As if this place, or Dohlan, sensed my need. He now has an excuse to mold my body to his own. Like the illusion is fading, the party guests melt away, until there is only us.
I rest my head against his chest, listen to the melodic thrum of his heart. When he kisses the top of my head, whispers my name, I close my eyes—and see green ones. Dohlan’s eyes are blue. Damn my wandering mind. I will not let it ruin this moment. Strengthening my clasp around Dohlan, I hold us firmly together.
The back of his hand glides across my cheek, making a trail to my chin. His skin against mine is electric, exotic. He turns my face to meet his gaze but remains silent. It is our companion, the silence, and we gaze at one another, spellbound for an eternity, memorizing every detail. My Dohlan and me.
I wish to kiss him.
Then his lips are upon mine, soft and sweet, his actions melding to my thoughts. He holds a power over me, one I cannot fight. And have no desire to try. When I’m with him, all I crave is to give in to him completely. I sense he knows it.
The kiss, heartfelt and tender, brims with delicious anticipation. Everything shifts to obsessive fervor. The strength of him, the enthusiasm of him, explores every inch of me. Hands seeking their way across my face, delving into my hair, fingers linking through my curls. He yanks my head back, exposes my neck. Minute kisses flutter along my skin, like the beating of butterfly’s wings. Skipping and grazing their way to the smooth curve below my jaw.
Can’t breathe.
My panting is labored. Having trouble thinking.
Electric. More kisses, traveling across my jaw, down into the hollow of my neck. Vibrations of my pounding heart echo in my ears.
Spots. I see spots.
I blink. Wish the spots away.
Focus. I tell myself to focus. The way Ry trained me to. But I can’t. I’m failing miserably. Everything’s blurring. Fading to oblivion.
Reluctantly, my eyes open to a view of the gray-blue sky. Ungiving, decayed stone floor is my bed. Clusters of weeds and dying grass escape through the cracks. The illusion is gone. Dohlan stretches at my side, his fingers twisting around a lock of my blonde hair. He watches me with reserved interest. I start to sit up and freeze. Searing pain rips through me, screams for me to temper my action. It confuses me. I wasn’t moving fast, and pain is not something I’m accustomed to.
Dohlan flattens his hands over my forehead and gingerly kneads his fingers into my temples. Shifting closer, he sits, props an arm on his knee, and studies me. “Apologies. I never meant for that to happen. You should lie still.”
I rub my brow. “Guess I’m pretty pathetic looking.” I wince, the sound of my voice ricocheting through my skull.
A wicked smile wins over his lips, and he runs a finger along my outstretched curves. “Quite the contrary. You are exquisite, even laid out this way.”
I roll my eyes and attempt to sit again. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Easy.” He leans forward to help, acting concerned, a new look on him.
With his help, I stand and brush the dirt from my dress. The space between us compresses, Dohlan stepping in until there is a pinch of space to breathe. His hands maneuver up my corset, continuing to slide dangerously higher. His hands brush at my collarbone, pretending sensually to wipe away the dust. Gently redirecting, I lift his hands to my lips and softly kiss them. When I look up, I’m greeted with an as-you-wish smile, yet the devil sparkles back through his stormy eyes, apparently humored by my attempt.
Suddenly the world is spinning. I’ve been swept into Dohlan’s embrace. His spirited, rousing kiss bewitching me, practically knocking the breath out of me again. Heat rolls off his body in waves, encircling and soothing me. I should be in a romance book’s heaven, yet that nagging pang that always shadows Dohlan persists.
Run, Ana. Run.
I lay my head on his chest, close my eyes, and shut out the voice.
“I never did get my answer.” He cups his hand at the nape of my neck, rubbing gently.
Not wanting to move, I mumble a response. “Mmm?”
“Will you stay with me? Never again leave me.” He grips my arms stronger. “The time you are awa
y is far too long.”
The sigh building, escaping my chest, is lengthy and cumbersome. I step back and study him with weary eyes. My glorious Dohlan wants me to stay. How can I say no?
His sun-bleached hair whips down in front of his clear, blue eyes, and I want to nudge the stray hair aside. I reach, and he grabs my hand, spins me around as if we’re dancing. The palace instantly stitches itself back together. Our special, magical moment. I feel like a princess in a fairy tale. The things dreams are made of.
That’s just it, though. This is a dream. Isn’t it?
“Dohlan, how can this ever be? You aren’t real. Neither is Hiddenkel. None of it is. It’s all just part of my imagination. My dream. We’ve fooled ourselves into believing it’s more.”
Do I really believe what I’m saying? After my talk with Mom, I’m not sure what I believe anymore.
“You are wrong. This place,” he motions to everything beyond us, “me. We are very real. Choose to stay, and I will show you how real I can be.” He taunts me, cupping my hand in his own and running it slowly down the side of his face. He stops only when the tips of my fingers touch his lips and nips at them playfully.
“But you’re just a dream,” I mumble, then my eyes widen, a new thought blooming. “Are you dead?”
He chuckles lightly. “Not dead. Does this feel dead to you?” He presses my hand to his heart. It plays a steady, healthy beat, and the warmth of him permeates my skin.
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t reply. Part of me wants to stay, never leave, but another part is scared. Scared of him and of never returning to my family.
“Is there someone else?” he asks.
I’ve never expected him to worry about such things. “What? No. There’s no guy.”
“Someone other than a gentleman, perhaps? One you can’t bear to walk away from?” His eyes penetrate my soul, making me feel like clay, waiting to be formed by his hands. I’m compelled to answer.
“Crystia. And Mom.” Moisture forms at the corner of my eye.