Of Night and Desire

by Of Night

  She was so young when she lost her mother that she held only vague memories of their time together. It was Duncan who had raised her and loved her and what did she do? She left him alone. She could have gone to a college near their mountain home. She could have gone to any college in Michigan. But she left. No, that wasn’t quite true—she ran away.

  She had earned several scholarships for college, including one in Florida. She could have stayed in Michigan. She had earned enough funding that she could have stayed and attended Northern. She could have completed her degree in veterinary medicine at Michigan State. But more and more she began feeling uneasy and unnerved, like an animal being hunted, alert to every sound, every smell.

  And then there were the dreams.

  She dreamed of the night her mother was murdered. She remembered the priest who had come after her, unrelenting and unwilling to let her go. She remembered how her mother had sacrificed her life for hers and how her spirit had faded away as she held onto her. But mostly, she remembered…him.

  He was such an imposing man, his massive size like a mountain. She remembered how he had lifted her from her mother and carried her in his arms. She remembered how safe she felt as he held her. And she remembered his eyes, so dark, intense, and soulful as if he had seen a thousand worlds and held the memory of each in his eyes.

  And then that mysterious, massive, soulful stranger spoke to her. More than spoke to her. It seemed he was beckoning to her, drawing her to him. He warned her to beware of the old priest and his followers. He crooned soft, soothing words to calm her fears.

  The dream terrified her…and excited her.

  When she tried to explain it to Duncan, he became fearful, turning white as the snow on the mountain itself. It was then that he tried to tell her of things he had tried to teach her before and failed. He spoke for the first time of the history of her family in the Carpathian Mountains and how they escaped to America. He spoke of the night that her mother had died as they tried to escape and hide from those who were seeking her family. He told her of cults and Vampyres, of witches…and Valya.

  Valya. That was his name. Valya. Her Guardian.

  She was a child when she clung to his neck as he carried her from her mother’s side. As she grew, she had visions of Valya coming to her. He told her of her mother, how she came to live with Duncan, and his people on the Carpathian Mountains. His voice was melodically hypnotic.

  He enticed her.

  He enthralled her.

  He frightened her—it all frightened and overwhelmed her.

  It was too much to take in at one time. She told Duncan of her visions. When he began to speak of the Immortals and their search for life mates, she couldn’t bear any more. She ran out of the cabin into the mountains. She ran to the den of her friends, the wolves who were waiting for her. They consoled her with their mournful cries, and she stroked their soft fur until she fell asleep. She felt safe with them as she did when she came to live with Duncan or when Valya held her in his arms.

  No, she wouldn’t think of Valya.

  She would think of her animal friends, her dreams of going to college and being a veterinarian. When she returned home the next day, she packed her meager belongings, kissed Duncan on the cheek, and left. He didn’t argue, didn’t question her decision. He smiled sadly and hugged her.

  “Always trust yer heart” were the last words to her before she left for Florida. She never wrote him, never contacted him. She wrote several letters, but then something would stop her from mailing them. Innocuous things, like misplacing the letter, or getting waylaid by classes, or when Alma got sick.

  It was as if the Goddess were intervening; the Goddess stopped her from contacting Duncan, sent her Alma to comfort her as she grieved for her poor dear Duncan, and again when she sent the officials to her when Alma had passed away.

  It took the Detroit police two years to find her to tell her of Duncan’s death. The art of disappearing was as much ingrained into her being as breathing air. Moving after she completed her associate’s degree, it took the lawyer another two years to find her to deliver her the news of the inheritance that Duncan had left her, not that she needed it.

  She had money. She had money from her mother’s family. Since Alma had no other relatives, she left all her money and possessions to Richelle. Then the lawyer came to her with the news of an inheritance from Duncan. She was grateful that her finances were so secure in off-shore accounts, although she felt melancholic about the circumstances behind her current stability.

  Money she had. It was family she lacked and never did she feel it so intensely as when she boarded the plane to return home. She missed the mountains and she missed her wolves.

  Finally, after so many years she was able to return home to help her beloved childhood companions. Doctor Frederic Samuels, eminent leader in veterinary medicine specializing in animal husbandry, was heading a field study on the timber wolves of the Upper Peninsula for the purpose of repopulation of the species. And she had been accepted for his lead assistant. She couldn’t believe it! The opportunity to give back to her friends, her family, for giving her childhood memories of joy and laughter instead of death and tears.

  And the closer she got to home, the more intense her emotions became. She started having nightmares. They had diminished while she was away at school but returned once she decided to return home. They grew in strength as did her happy dreams.

  Dreams of home, the mountains, her wolves. And of Valya.

  Valya, who was a child’s knight in shining armor one terrible night.

  Valya, who she knew only from her dreams.

  She wanted to see him. Her emotions churned at how much she wanted to find him. She didn’t know why, but she placed her hopes in the hands of the Goddess to show her the way.

  She lay her head back against the seat, trying to clear her mind as the dull ache began to subside in the calmer surroundings. She closed her eyes and tried to get a little sleep in what time there was before the plane landed. She had to find a way to deal with the emotions she tried to bury before her dreams and visions drove her insane.

  * * * *

  Valya casually walked through the airport. He didn’t know exactly which way he was heading, which flight she was on, or what terminal she was in, but he didn’t have to. He could feel her presence. It was drawing him like a moth to a flame, and he went willingly. The world exploded around him in starbursts of light and color. The colors that had begun to fade over the past ten years became bold and stark again.

  She was near. He could feel faint sensations of emotions that had long since been dead to him. He could barely sense the emotional turmoil she was feeling—loss, regret, pain, and loneliness. Each pang tore into what was left of his soul. He would find her and together they would mend the wounds that cut so deeply in each of them. She would fill the emptiness that clawed within him, and he would take away all the pain and never let her be hurt again. He would give her happiness and joy.

  This time she would belong to him and he would never let her go.

  He picked up his pace, taking no heed of the mortals he passed as he opened his mind to his surroundings, seeking out Richelle’s life force. The feelings were faint. She was so near. He wouldn’t lose her this time. The darkness closed in around him. The color he once saw when he held Richelle as a child had all but faded. He caught only glimpses of red and gold, the same colors as in her hair.

  Compassion and empathy, happiness and love, all the noble emotions, had ebbed from his soul until the only emotion he felt was anger. His fury built inside him to the point where he had almost lost control. He had almost killed an innocent mortal who had happened to cross his path as he meted out justice to a Vampyre and two of his minions. To kill an innocent was unforgivable. Unpardonable.

  Death was decreed by The Council.

  But more than that, it went against everything the Guardians upheld. Guardians did not kill innocents. The Council would not have to condemn him and send
the Lawgivers to protect the Immortal Race by destroying him. If he had lost so much of his soul that he could harm those he had vowed to protect, then he would willingly meet the rising sun and end his existence. Without his life mate, he would always be half, never whole. Never complete.

  Feeling the void desperate to be filled, his mind screamed out.

  “Richelle, where are you?”

  Her essence was fading. She was so close but he could feel her spirit walking away from him. The glimmer of hope that had sustained him these past years was diminishing like the evening stars as the dawn approached. Frantically, he opened his mind and soul. He couldn’t lose her! He wouldn’t lose her! He tried to ease his mind. He needed to think. Then it came to him.

  There would only be one place that Richelle would return to. Home to the mountains. That is where he would find her. Home.

  * * * *

  It had been a long time since she had been to the mountains, but they still felt like home to her. From the moment she stepped into the small cabin, she felt the same warmth and love that she knew as a child. She could feel the touch of Duncan’s hand as he calmed her fears on stormy nights. She could hear his voice as he churlishly admonished her when she did something wrong. And she could feel his love cocooning around her, making her feel wanted, safe, and protected.

  Richelle wiped the solitary tear that slipped from the corner of her eye. Duncan had given her so much. He had taught her so much. He had died for her. And what did she do for him? She never so much as told him that she loved him. She didn’t even return after she was told of his death.

  It was obvious that nothing had been touched since Duncan’s death. While the home had been placed in trust with Father Harrison, Duncan’s longtime friend, to handle the taxes and finances, little had been done to maintain the condition of her childhood home. There were dust and cobwebs throughout the entire cabin as she walked into Duncan’s bedroom.

  Duncan’s meager possessions were still where they always were. His pipe was sitting near the canister of the tobacco on the nightstand next to his bed. She lifted the lid and saw it still held a small amount of tobacco. The scent wafted to her nose, stale but still rich and woodsy. She picked up and lovingly cradled the pipe. She remembered how he would sit in thought in front of the fireplace as the smoke curled around his head, creating fuzzy halos.

  She placed the pipe down and turned toward his closet. Opening the door, she found his clothes hanging as they always did. She moved the hangers as she gazed at each shirt—the crisp white linen that he wore on Sundays, the blue chambray that he had purchased on their last visit to Marquette, his brown suede that reminded her of doeskin when she leaned her cheek on his shoulder, and his red flannel, so old that it had taken on a life of its own with all the mending she had done on it. She buried her face in the faded cotton and could sense, almost smell, Duncan after all these years.

  She couldn’t bear it any longer. All the emotions that she had hidden had escaped and were trying to destroy the brick wall she had built around her heart. She wiped the tears with the sleeve of Duncan’s shirt. She needed to get control over her emotions—a walk through the meadow, to the mountains to see her animal friends. She had always been able to find comfort and companionship with the animals. She opened the door and stepped out into the night, eager to see her friends again.

  * * * *

  It had been a long time since Valya had been to the mountains, not since the night of Duncan’s death. It was a painful reminder of how he had failed just as he had failed Richelle’s mother, Adelaide, so many years ago. The night air filled him almost completely. The night was different in the mountains than it was in the city.

  In the city, even in the middle of the night, there was always some type of activity. There were cars on the road, people still walking the streets, and people working in their offices. It held an iridescent illumination, the contemporary version of burning the midnight oil. Here in the mountains it was so quiet one could hear the gentlest breeze as it whistled through the pines.

  One did not merely a part of the surroundings; it became a part of one—from feeling thunderstorms, raindrops like fingers drumming along the back, to thunder rumbling through the body and rattling the spine. Every living thing, every spirit, became more alive—the trees, the birds, the animals—exuding a strong life force that touched everyone and everything around them.

  And then there was Richelle.

  She was here. He could feel her everywhere.

  She was in the cabin. He could sense her sorrow as she stood in her childhood home now that Duncan was gone. Her sorrow was profound and he wept for her. He wept—he could feel her sorrow, her pain, and he welcomed it.

  It had been far too long since he had experienced any emotion that even the negative ones brought him joy. Richelle was here. She was his. And he would never let them feel pain again.

  He shifted to wolf form to find her, following her scent as she ambled into the mountains. He remembered this path well. This was her path, the path he traveled with her as a wolf to her secret place in the meadow. When she was sad, or lonely, or angry, she would sit quietly for hours and talk with her animal friends to calm her anxieties. He picked up his pace as her scent grew stronger.

  Finally, at the end of the path, he stopped.

  He saw her, and she took his breath away.

  Illuminated by the moonlight, she sat quietly with several animals from the forest. Two does were napping quietly by her side as she stroked a rabbit that was sitting in her lap. On the far side of the meadow, he saw a pack of wolves sitting and watching her, and on a stump three feet from her sat an owl, hooting into the night as she vigilantly surveyed the world around her. The ease with which she sat in the company of the beasts and the calmness radiating off her filled him with awe. Never had he seen anything as beautiful.

  He sauntered into the meadow. The owl turned her head sharply to gaze at him intently. Just as quickly, the pack of wolves sprang to life to run over to where Richelle was sitting, forming a line of defense between him and Richelle. He opened his mind to speak with them. He saw no fury in their minds, only the need to protect Richelle.

  “I am Valya, the Guardian. I have come for Richelle, my life mate. Have no fear, she is safe with me.”

  Their response was to growl and posture.

  “I am Valya. Richelle is mine.”

  They growled some more, their fur ruffling about their necks. One large black wolf came up. The alpha.

  Unspoken words coursed through Valya’s mind. “Richelle has never mentioned a life mate. She is ours to protect.”

  “Nevertheless, she is mine,” Valya growled.

  “How do we know what you say is true? You could be the Vampyre seeking her again.”

  Valya growled louder. “I am Valya, the Guardian. I have come for my life mate. Move aside.”

  “Make me.” The black wolf growled and lowered his head and tightened his haunches to launch himself at Valya. Valya did not want to destroy the big black wolf. He was only protecting Richelle, but nothing—man, immortal, or beast—would ever come between him and Richelle again. He bared his fangs as he readied himself for the attack, an attack that never came because of the sharp command that came from behind the black wolf.

  “Stop.”

  * * * *

  Richelle turned and saw the great silver-gray wolf approaching her even though he was blocked by her pack. She stared in amazement. She couldn’t believe her eyes. It couldn’t be the same silver-gray from her youth. She smiled and stretched out her hand as she opened her mind, trying to touch his.

  But she heard nothing and she felt nothing.

  He was a paradox.

  An enigma.

  Just like the silver that was her constant companion.

  While she was never able to read him, he always seemed to know when she needed him as her friend, confidante, protector, as her guardian.

  Guardian. How ironic that she should think of this beast
of nature in that way.

  Valya, who haunted her dreams.

  She had left the safety of her mountain home and tried to forget the sad events of her childhood. She even tried to forget her visions of the Guardian. But she couldn’t forget. She couldn’t forget his courage in rescuing her from the old priest nor his strength as he fought off several men. Yet in contrast, there was a gentleness as he cradled her with his body and carried her to safety. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t forget his face, his rugged, handsome face.

  In her dreams, he spoke to her, comforted her, and made the pain go away. His deep, rich baritone lulled her and soothed her nerves. It was as if he had wrapped his arms around and rocked her to the lullaby of his crooning. Even when the old priest came to her in her nightmares, Valya was there to protect her and make her feel safe. She didn’t know how or why, but he came to her dreams just when she needed him most. He was her guardian.

  Just like her silver wolf was her guardian. Chances were that this big fellow was a descendant of the wolf she’d known from her childhood. That would explain why she could not read him. But despite the fact she could not read his thoughts, she felt an amazing kinship with this beast.

  * * * *

  She reached out her hand again, and Valya sauntered over, walking past the black wolf and the rest of the pack. The other animals moved away into the forest as Valya took his place beside Richelle, sitting beside her close enough that she could stroke his fur. He leaned against her. He could feel her mind probing for his thoughts. He wanted to open his mind, explain all to her, but not at this moment. He found contentment sitting beside her as she stroked him. It had been a long time and now that she had returned to him, he would never let her go.

  But now, he basked in the serenity of the moonlight with her hand upon his back as she gazed at the stars. He could feel an energy surge emanating from within and encompassing them both with its power. He was content in the moment just being with her. There would be enough time later to tell her the truth, to tell her of their future together, and that they were destined as life mates. But for now, he would enjoy this moment. Together, they both soon fell asleep.