Willow
By Donna Lynn Hope
Copyright © 2013 by Donna Lynn Hope
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Kindle Edition
v1.1 last updated 3.4.2013
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Cover Design by Claudia McKinney
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“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.”
- Edgar Allan Poe
Preface
I saw her through the frosted glass of the living room window. She was older now and round with child. Her husband, stockier in build with hair slightly thinner than before, was on the floor playing with a wide-eyed little boy. She brought him a toy and eased down next to both of them. The fire, which crackled in front of them, flickered off her dark hair, highlighting the red undertones that were veiled in normal light. Her cheeks were warm and she was radiant. I watched as she caressed her belly and could see the little one making small ripples under her blouse. She smiled with contentment.
The simple domesticated scene sent stabs of razor sharp pain throughout my body. What I would give to be in his place and what I would do to be rid of the ache I felt for her.
I had been drawn to her long ago and watched from afar as she aged; her presence, which was so striking to me before, was magnified ten-fold by the maternal glow she now emitted. Time had altered her appearance slightly and time would continue to wear down her sharp doll-like features but in my eyes she could only grow more exquisite.
I knew I would be as fascinated with her when she was eighty as I had from the moment I caught a glimpse of her silent, troubled face when she was in the tail end of her seventeenth year. Her laughter, her voice, her scent, and her deep but tortured soul would haunt me and compel me to be near her.
My emotions were like a scorching fire. I restrained the beast that had the urge to execute a great deal of destruction. I would take her now, even round with another man’s child, if I thought she would welcome it. My hands clenched into fists as I thought about how easy it would be.
I didn’t think it probable, but her decision to stay where she was made me love her all the more. She, like her exquisite mother before her, chose normality. She chose him.
I put my hand on the ice cold window and closed my eyes, willing the scene vanished from my thoughts.
I opened my eyes. The frost on the window seemed to spread until everything in my line of sight was covered in it. A fog began to form, enveloping me in it. Instead of a window, there was nothing but air. The fog began to dissipate as quickly as it moved in. I was standing in a field--the prized place where I drew her portrait as she rested in her reverie. In the distance I saw her. She was wearing a sleeveless white dress with her Husky by her side. Her hair was down, falling over her shoulders and she was smiling. I whispered her name to myself as I stood immobile with my eyes focused on her, willing nothing to change for fear she would disappear.
Prologue
There was a chill in the air with a coolness that cut to the bone and infused the soul with a longing for warmth and safety. A shadow had moved across the full moon and the ambiance was perilous. The wind picked up and her long golden hair whipped around her slender face. Her almond-shaped, sky-blue eyes scanned the horizon and her hand shook – something ominous was in the air. That’s when she saw them. Their forms blended into the darkness but nothing could hide the angry eyes that glinted so dangerously in the dark. One by one her kind emerged from the tree line. Their stench was foreboding and their gait was feral. She knew why they were there. Not long ago there had been another. He had come to her and warned her. He implored her to leave but being what she was, she could never stay hidden for long. She refused to leave, it wasn’t in her blood to run, and held out hope that there would be more time.
Her heartbeat quickened, her breathing slowed and she felt the all-too familiar surge of adrenaline. It wouldn’t be long now.
She heard the front door. She recognized her husband’s footsteps as they descended the wooden stairs and then he was behind her. His strong, weathered hands gripped her shoulders and her left hand reached up to hold his with their fingers interlocking on contact.
“They found us…” she whispered.
He closed his eyes and reassuringly nudged the back of her neck with his face. “It was only a matter of time.”
He held her close but she was trembling. He knew it would be soon. He could feel it in his arms – the static, the heat, and the vacillating rhythm of her pulse.
Only one stood slightly in front of the others. Beta she inferred. She knew him. His amber eyes were empty. He lost any trace of his humanity long ago. His dark coat was full and lustrous; he was, as they all were, lithe and striking, and yet, malicious – a foul disgrace.
They weren’t supposed to be.
Ones such as she were meant to be protectors. In the ancient world they had been called “The hounds of God,” and they had once been revered. Her father Sergei told her it wasn’t a curse to be what she was, but an honor. She, like all the others, couldn’t be turned, nor could they turn another. They were born into their way of life.
And yet, here she stood, silently wondering what happened to that code or if it was something a good man like her father told her so she wouldn’t infuse herself with self-hatred and resent her own existence.
She had seen that honor practiced long ago but not since her ouster. Her clan, once a seemingly loyal and familial pack, abandoned her years ago. In their eyes she had betrayed her own kind because she had dared to love someone different, and now she stood unaided and alone.
Nowhere in their laws was it forbidden for her to love a human and it was prohibited for a clan to abandon a member of the pack by leaving them exposed and defenseless as she now was. Humans posed a small threat. What couldn’t be seen posed the greatest. Her father, if alive, would have never stood for the uprising that took place following his death. Her father would have seen the disgrace for what it really was – the destructive consequence of envy.
Unwillingly, she had been claimed by Vadim, the strongest and most dominant member of the clan but she rejected him and followed her heart, and her heart led her here, to the man standing with her. In him she had found valor without the aid of supernatural gifts. It was the kind of honor that she had been taught but saw less and less of in the world around her.
In her world, having gifts sometimes caused a sense of pride so great that it meant ruling instead of serving. At one time there had been harmony among her kind. Now there were uprisings with the desire for power so great it caused betrayal and infighting. How could they stand against evil if they couldn’t even agree on what that was?
Her thoughts turned to her husband standing tough and formative behind her, his hands still offering their support. Courageous human though he was, it was impossible for him to assist her to victory. They were hopelessly outnumbered and they both knew it. And what of their young daughter who, even now, rested in a crib in the attic of their two-story cabin just a few feet behind them?
She shook her head and tried to remain focused, but she was first and foremost a wife and mother. She was a woman who didn’t want to be a fighter, but fight she would, for the ones she loved.
Instincts raged within her. First there was the genetic impulse to change and then there was the maternal instinct to run inside where she could protect her young, but if she did that she would lead them to her and they must not know about her. If she was considered disposable for merely loving a human, what
would they do to her child?
She couldn’t hide the reactive tremor; it was already giving her away. She must not let her thoughts betray her further, and yet, the cherubic face of the little girl with her likeness and her father’s coloring lingered in her thoughts. Her daughter wasn’t one or the other, but both, a dormant with the possibility to be anything.
She closed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the visions that kept her from concentrating on the danger at hand. Her daughter would be safe. She could believe nothing else. She shielded her thoughts and squeezed her husband’s hand; his tightened with hers in supportive response.
The beta, second in command, approached and stared her down with a wicked smile forming at the crease of his mouth. This will be too easy.
He turned to the others. Smell their fear? The air is rank with it. Remember why we’re here. What flows through her veins is poison and we have orders to take her down.
He turned to her, made the link, and sneered. You know why we’re here, don’t you?
She twitched as energy raged throughout her body. Yes, I know.
Chapter 1: Haven
I was already parked after having come into town on an insignificant errand. My helmet sheltered me from view and I preferred the anonymity. Through my rear view mirror I caught a glimpse of an unfamiliar young woman approaching. Her demeanor was graceful but burdened. She saw nothing around her. There was something uneasy about her, like she was sad, disengaged, maybe even troubled. I was unexpectedly intrigued, which is a feeling that has evaded me for a long time. She was looking at the ground and for the briefest of moments looked my way and when she did I was stunned by the familiarity of her face.
I continued to follow her with my eyes. Without looking up she opened the door to the Chocolate Factory. I watched as the intriguing dark-haired girl scanned the items, almost as if she were thinking of something or someone else. I tilted my head and tried to read the face that I had seen before. Beneath her somber appearance there was a brief hint of a smile and then the same pained expression returned.
I silently wondered what misfortune could have imprinted its sorrow on her features. It was as if she were in mourning, which was unusual for so young a girl. I usually saw such furrowed brows and grief-stricken eyes on older people – the ones who have lost spouses or children even; typically the eyes of the young are lively, sometimes even shallow, as if all they see are themselves.
The young girl with her thoughts so far away had eyes that seemed beyond her years.
I watched as she picked out an item and reached inside her backpack. She kept searching, looking for money no doubt.
I couldn’t suppress the desire to approach her and felt this was a good excuse to do so. I reached for my wallet and pulled out a bill. The girl didn’t notice when the bells chimed and she didn’t notice when I came up behind her. She was still looking…and I was looking at her.
“Hi Haven.”
I heard the greeting and looked up briefly but barely noticed the girl behind the counter, nice though she was. I quickly recalled the slim, narrow face - a girl who lived here year-round. I returned her greeting and handed her a bill. “This should cover it.” As she began to fish for change I raised my hand and told her to keep it. She smiled and handed the bag to the girl standing in front of me, but my gaze had already returned to her silky mane of dark hair. The object of my curiosity turned and looked up at me. I wasn’t prepared for so close an encounter. The force of it was overpowering. I had seen her likeness before but long ago. She looked just like her, but it wasn’t her.
I couldn’t help but look intently, memorizing every detail. Her long black lashes framed questioning cat-like eyes that were as rich and dark as the chocolate candies in her hand. They flared momentarily, which took my breath away. Her cheekbones were high and prominent. Her small but full lips, which were moistened, reminded me of a doll. The girl before me was soft and anyone else might say she had a certain doll-like charm, but contrasting that kind of effortless beauty were the sharpness of her features.
Time seemed to stand still and we were speaking to each other without saying a word. Outside of our unspoken cocoon, bells chimed. She momentarily shifted, breaking the spell. The girl with no name opened her mouth and paused--as if she were about to engage me--then politely told me thank you in a voice so soft it sounded like a whisper. She left the store swiftly and I watched her go, my thoughts confounded and her exceptional scent swirling about me.
She was unfailingly, distinctively earthy – different, hard to decipher, even under the artificial dusting of her sweet lemon perfume. I had been aware that someone had come in after me and I stepped aside and walked to the window but the girl was already gone. I knew I could find her, but something kept me locked in place and lost in memory, recalling that face from years ago.
The girl was human, I was sure enough of that. Blood coursed through her veins like anyone else and I could sense the strong beat of her heart – a heart that beat slightly faster than most. I had smelled her faint perspiration and underneath it detected the lingering scent of soap. She was lovely in her own nimble way but astonishingly normal. Just as potent as her scent, was the scent of her grief. It floored me, but not nearly as much as the familiar force of her eyes. I had to know more, I had to know her.
Chapter 2: Willow
It was by all accounts a beautiful autumn day; so beautiful it was offensive. I wanted the day to reflect how I really felt and I wanted the sky to darken in varying shades of dark indigo and angry amethyst. I wanted wind to violently force clouds across the sky. I wanted it to storm and to thunder as if it could match the silent screams I felt inside. I wanted rain to fall from the heavens like grief had poured out from my broken heart.
I was by myself in presence and in thought.
Alone.
I repeated the cold, despondent word to myself; the meaning seemed so final and forlorn, just as I was. There was a slight breeze and desiccated amber leaves fell from their branches. As they drifted I noted the ones already decaying on the pavement near my feet. At one time those leaves had been nothing more than a bud beginning its phase through life. I knelt down and gently scooped one of them up. Its form was delicate and at one time no doubt vibrant with pigment and composition. I traced the contour and closed my palm around it, rendering it into dust. I blew and watched as the particles dispersed into thin air.
All I knew at that moment was that I didn’t want that cycle of life and death to claim one of my own, my only one.
I stood there for a moment and brushed a single tear from my cheek. I couldn’t even muster the energy to spill the floodgates that boiled under the surface. My throat burned but I had to do it. With painful resolve I mustered what little strength I had and I walked into the funeral home. I lowered my head until my chin was tucked into the warmth of my patterned plush scarf. My hands were clenched but they were hidden inside the pockets of my red wool coat. I was trying to conceal my emotions from revealing themselves physically. I barely noticed my surroundings but the interior of the reformed Victorian home was dark and depressing. Adding to the dismal ambiance that threatened to grip me in its bleak embrace were the dimly lit sconces. My feet, enclosed in small black boots, walked upon a dark wood floor and a carpet of deep burgundy. Even the paintings were dark and were showcased in ostentatious frames. There was no life in this space, no warmth, no sound - only the smell of death and despair.
I was led into a room where my dad lay in state. The director, a strange yet older man, stood by me. I politely asked to be left alone. He seemed unsure--I was so young after all--but he did as I asked and closed the door behind him.
I stood there and stared, knowing this would be the last time that I would ever see my dad, and there he was, just steps away - the motionless form of Connor Alan Scott - my friend, my dad, and the only family I ever really had.
My voice couldn’t reach him, my tears couldn’t touch him and although he was before me, he wasn’t really
there. His empty shell overwhelmed me. It looked like him, but it wasn’t the essence of him. I couldn’t believe the finality of it. It couldn’t be happening. I wanted it to be a nightmare from which I could wake and have everything the way it used to be.
He was so silent and still. His brown eyes were closed forever and his mouth was incapable of soothing my sorrow with the comfort and familiarity of his strong yet temperate voice.
I walked up to him. My heart was pounding from the grief that engulfed me. I wanted my heart to touch his, as if I could shock the life back into him. I swayed and held myself, endlessly repeating to him that I was sorry and that I loved him. The stillness spoke volumes and the silence gave way to despair.
Oh God Dad, you can’t really be gone…
I lowered my head and covered my heart with my hand. It was then, in my sorrow, that I realized how alone I was and how nothing would be the same again.
I silently prayed, took one final look at my dad’s face, turned, and walked to the door. I hesitated for the briefest of moments. I walked out, leaving his shell behind but carrying his memory in my heart.
Chapter 3
I sat in my Jeep waiting for the heat to warm the space around me; I knew I didn’t have much time left. I was leaving everything behind but had to make one final visit to the cozy two bedroom house that had been my life long home. It was where my parents started their life together and were so happy. It was where I had been happy too…with him.
Dark was descending but the stars and the moon masked the twilight. It was unusually cold but the soft breeze guided me to a place where I didn’t want to go. How could the memories be locked away and so yearning to break free?
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