by J. Adams
My thoughts travel to Sarah and Karen, and I hope she will indeed take my protector's advice and press charges against Roger, and keep her daughter safe. I wish I had been able to say a more proper goodbye and grab a few of my clothes and personal items, but there had not been time. I suppose I will pick up a few things somewhere. At least I have my checkbook and debit card. Now, if only I knew our destination.
Two
Minutes later, we stop beside a secluded little stream. I am stiff as he puts me down and I take a moment to stretch and allow my stomach to catch up to the rest of my body. My hair is wind-blown, my lips slightly chapped. I feel like my head has been stuck outside the window of a speeding car. I moisten my lips and run my fingers back through my hair. I know I must look a sight.
He smiles and deep dimples appear, making him even more handsome. “I will be right back.”
“Wait.” I panic. “Where are you going?” The sky is beginning to darken and I am frightened of being left in the woods alone, especially since I have no idea where we are or even if we are still in Colorado.
He squeezes my hand. “I am not going far. I promise.” “Okay.” Releasing his hand, I pull some courage to the surface and sit on a large boulder. I watch him disappear through the trees. My eyes scan the darkening forest for wildlife and I find myself nervously listening for the pitterpatter of forest creatures, praying I won't be eaten by a mountain lion. The temperature has dropped a few degrees and I can feel fall heavy in the air. I rub the goose bumps on my arms.
I shake my head and wonder how I allowed myself to be lured away from my home and my life. I have no idea of where we are going or what we are doing. My life up to this point has been pretty boring, but the decisions I've made today have been crazy–no, they've been beyond crazy. And I never do crazy! I've never taken chances or acted spontaneously, or even ventured out of my comfort zone, or any zone. I guess there is a first time for everything.
I have only been lost in my analytical thoughts for less than a minute when he appears, holding two overnight travel bags wrapped in clear plastic. One is red, the other, navy blue. He hands me the red one.
“We must change and be on our way. There is a private plane waiting for us.”
“What? What do you mean? Where are we . . .”
“I will answer your questions once we are on the plane and safely on our way.”
My mind is a whirlwind of questions, but for the moment, I mentally push them back and open the case. It contains a couple of outfits. Pulling out a pair of black slacks, a peach shell and cardigan, and a black leather blazer, I wonder how he knew my size, then I remind myself that he knows me. I also remind myself that as strange as it is, I know him.
Draping the clothes over my arm, I turn to look up at him. I freeze at the sight of him pulling off his white shirt and taking another from the bag. My mouth falls open slightly as I take in his smooth, chiseled physique. He looks like a giant Greek statue, every sinewy muscle carved to perfection. When he catches me staring and smiles, I clear my throat and turn away. I want to go into the trees to change, but I am afraid of losing sight of him.
Seeming to read my thoughts, he turns his back to me and says, “I promise I will not look. Your privacy is your own.”
Trusting his word completely, I quickly strip and change, tucking my dirty clothes into the bag.
“Thank you,” I say and he turns back to me, smiling as his eyes travel over me. I feel my cheeks warm.
“You are very welcome.”
I use the brush and mirror in the bag to make my hair a little more presentable. There is a black silk hair tie in the bag as well. I pull my hair back in a ponytail, but as usual, a few spiraled tendrils escape and fall against my face no matter how hard I try to keep them in place.
Zipping the bag up, I ask, “How are we going to get to the airport? We can't keep traveling like this or I'll need to change again.”
“We are not going to the airport. A friends owns a plane and has an airstrip on his property. As for getting there . . .” Leaving his answer unfinished, he dashes through the trees and returns seconds later pushing a large motorcycle. “The main road is only a few minutes away.” He straps the two bags on the back.
I take a deep breath. “You've thought of everything.”
“It was important that I did,” he says fervently.
“Why?” The questions have moved to the forefront of my mind again. “Why am I here with you? Why did you come to me? And who are you?”
“I am here to protect you. For now, I can tell you no more than that.” He takes my hand, pressing his large palm against mine and I feel a tingling sensation. I start to pull my hand away, but he doesn't release it. He tightens his grip gently and looks at me intently. “Your life has a greater purpose than you know. I am here to help you fulfill that purpose and protect you from those who would see you fail.” Just as my mind begins to tumble into a mass of confusion, he moves closer, presses his lips against my ear and says softly, “I am here for you, Celine. You are the very reason I exist.”
I don't realize I have stopped breathing until my head is resting against his chest and I release a shaky breath.
Plain old boring me? Me, Celine Anderson, here for a special purpose? Well then, that changes things.
I don't know what lies before me, but every dull day I have lived so far is worth this one day I share with him. There has never been anyone special in my life and I have never been in anything remotely resembling a relationship. I've never understood why . . . until now. I still have questions, but for now, I let them wait.
When he finally releases my hand, I turn it over, palm side up, and suck in a breath. There is a mark on my palm. It is shaped like two rings connected together. It almost looks like a light brand. I hold my hand up for him to see.
“What is this?”
He hesitates for a moment before answering. “It is a Ki Talimai, the mark of the soul's bond.”
“Soul's bond?” I am even more confused. “What is a soul's bond? And how did I get it?”
“In my world the soul's bond is the strongest and most powerful of bonds.”
“Your world? What do you mean? Where did you come from?”
“I wish so much that I could tell you right now, but I can't. Please believe me. It is in your best interest, as well as others that I keep that information to myself.”
He is again hesitant, awaiting my response. I know he wants to tell me, and he desperately needs me to believe what he is saying to me now. I can feel it without him saying the words.
“Can you tell me anything at all?” I ask softly, holding the branded hand out to him.
He smiles warmly and takes it in his. “Once we are on the plane I will share what I can.” He squeezes my hand. “We must go.”
“All right.” I ask nothing more.
He puts on a leather jacket and we walk the motorcycle up to the main road. When we reach it, he hands me a helmet.
“I have never been on a motorcycle before,” I tell him as I put the helmet on and fasten the strap. I am both excited and nervous. I wonder how I can be nervous at the prospect of riding a motorcycle when we traveled even faster as he carried me over the miles on foot. I chalk my erratic thinking up to this new experience of trusting someone with my life so completely.
Putting his own helmet on and getting on the motorcycle in front of me, he turns slightly and says, “Do not be nervous. I will keep you safe.”
“I know,” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist as he starts the ignition.
And deep down I really do know. I chuckle inwardly, musing that I feel a little like a daring teenager running off with the handsome bad boy. A very handsome bad boy.
Sighing, I press myself against his warm back as we head down the lone stretch of road through the darkness.
Three
We speed through the black night. My arms are tightly wrapped around his waist, my cheek pressed against his back. I close my eyes and again
wonder how all of this has happened. This morning I was wondering what I was going to do with the rest of my life. It had been stagnant, boring, and lonely, and I was mentally preparing to be a frequent flier at the rest home until I wound up there, myself.
How wrong I had been. Without thought, I left everything behind and am now riding on the back of a motorcycle, holding on to this wonderful man–no, he is more than a man. I sigh and breathe in the intoxicating scent of him as it fans my face in the wind. It is a deliciously sensuous smell that brings to mind the freshness of fall and warm winter holidays, and it is wreaking havoc on my senses. I take a deep breath and try to slow my heartbeat. The last thing I want is to pass out and fall off the motorcycle. That would not be good at all. I could try to analyze why he is having such a powerful effect on me, but I choose not to. The why does not matter.
There are no street lights and the canyon road is shrouded in darkness. There is no other traffic and I can see nothing, yet I am not anxious. Not at all. I feel an unnatural sense of calm, well, unnatural for me, anyway. The even sound of the motorcycle's engine fills my ears and I imagine it has taken on a rhythm, a beat that plays only for us. I look up at the stars shining faintly in the overcast sky. Some people can tell the direction they are going just by gazing up at the stars. I am not one of those people. If I were lost and alone, the stars would do me no good. I am directionally challenged. I would just stay lost, only to be found in the woods a week later in a condition that would definitely earn me a long stay in a room with padded walls and no door knob.
I absently tighten my arms around him. A second later I feel one of his hands press against one of mine and squeeze gently. It is a reassuring squeeze. My face warms and I am grateful for the cool wind on my cheeks.
After another few minutes I begin to see lights coming from various homes in the mountainsides. They are like beacons being lit to reassure us that we are on the right path. We finally exit the mountains and ride out into flatlands devoid of trees. We approach a paved private drive and he turns onto it. The drive stretches for about a mile. At the end sits a massive log cabin that looks more like a mansion. Half the windows are lit and the outer lights are on, giving the home a wondrous look of enchantment. He parks the motorcycle in the circular driveway and shuts the engine off. He then helps me off and grabs our bags.
“Come,” he says softly, taking my hand. I say nothing, I simply follow. I think I'm going to be doing a lot of that.
Before we can even reach the door, it opens. Once again my mouth drops open and I am rendered speechless. The man standing in the tall doorway could be my protector's brother. The only difference is the skin and hair coloring. While my escort's hair is an inky black which stands out against his tan skin yet suits his handsome features perfectly, the other man has a mane of spun gold atop pale skin. He has the same chiseled features and is about the same height. The mold must have been broken after they made these two. Surely there can't be more of them. But then what do I know? At this point, not much–only that I have put my life in the hands of a beautiful man who still has not told me his name. This so goes against my normal grain. And though I am still concerned, I am not afraid. It is as if everything inside me knows I can trust him, which means I guess I pretty much trust his friend, too.
“Is everything ready?” my protector asks the blond.
“Yes,” he answers. His eyes move to me and he smiles and opens the door wider, allowing us to enter. His is a lovely smile, a comforting smile that tells me somehow everything is going to be fine.
My eyes immediately begin to scan my surroundings. Never in my life have I been in a home so grand. I look up at the massive crystal chandelier, then down at the gray marbled tile flooring. The entryway is surrounded by cherry wood molding. I can smell the elegance of the place. There is a spiraled wooden staircase leading up to the second floor. How I would love to go exploring, but obviously now is not the time to indulge such a fantasy.
We follow the blond down a long art-lined hallway. There are paintings on the walls, large gold-framed ones. I am no art critic, but they sure look expensive to me. I would bet my right arm they are originals. Nothing in this house seems to be done halfway and everything looks expensive.
We turn left and enter a very roomy, immaculate kitchen that would be a professional chef's dream. We follow him through the kitchen to a set of French doors leading out the back of the house. During all this time, nothing is said, not a word spoken, as if speaking is a waste of time. I wish someone would say something, because my thoughts are running a mile a minute.
Across the large lawn sits a jet on an airstrip. The engine is running and a female attendant is standing at the bottom of the steps, waiting for us. We stop on the patio and the men turn to each other. The blond hands my protector a large yellow envelope.
“This is everything. When you arrive, a car will be waiting. The house is secluded and well stocked. You should have everything you need.”
He places a hand on the blond's shoulder. “Grazie, il mio amico, for everything.”
“You are welcome, my brother. Siete benvenuto, il mio amico. May the blessings of The One go with you.” He turns to me and bows deeply and I smile.
My protector unzips his travel bag and places the envelope inside, then turns to me and takes my hand. “Let us go, il mio caro.”
We quickly make our way across the green lawn and, returning the attendant's welcome, board the plane. I practically drop into one of the soft leather seats. After removing the envelope from the bag, he sits in one directly across from me, giving us the perfect view of one another. Now that we are on the plane, my first instinct is to demand that he tell me where we are going, but I bite my tongue. I know he will keep his word and tell me, and no matter where it is, I know he will keep me safe.
He smiles at me, as if he is reading my mind and says, “We are going to Italy.”
“Italy? As in Venice, Rome, and Florence Italy?”
“As in Venice, Rome, and Florence,” he answers with a laugh. “Only just Venice.”
The sound of his deep laugh takes me off guard. It is beautiful, just like everything else about him.
As the plane begins down the runway, I grab the arm of my seat. I have only flown once in my life and that flight was only a couple of hours long. This time it will be hours and hours. I am nervous, but I try not to let it show on my face. Evidently I'm not doing too good a job because he quickly unbuckles his seat belt and switches seats, sitting in the one next to me. He takes my hand and stretches his long legs out in front of him.
“Everything will be fine,” he says to me and I immediately feel calmer. I squeeze his hand and he gives me a warm smile in return.
We are soon in the air. I look out the window, but there is nothing to see except darkness in the expansive sky. I suddenly feel very small in the universe.
I glance at the large yellow envelope on his lap and curiosity again burns my insides. “You promised you would tell me what you could.”
“And I will.” He opens his mouth to say more when some mild turbulence causes me to grip his hand tighter, practically cutting off his circulation, though he doesn't complain. “Everything is fine,” he repeats softly. “We are safe.”
I meet his gaze and it is momentarily like glimpsing the sun. His face is exquisite, and that I am with him defies all reason. There has to have been some sort of mistake. It isn't really me he is here for.
“There is no mistake,” he says, reading my mind.
“Stop that,” I say, feeling completely exposed now that I realize my every thought is picked up by him.
“I cannot help it. Your emotions call to me. I can't help but answer.”
I am exposed.
“Your emotions affect me deeply, caro.”
I take a deep breath to clear my head and get control of my thoughts. The questions can no longer wait. “Why are we going to Venice?” I ask.
He holds my hand between his and looks at me intently. “
Because it is a place I know well. I was born there, in the year 1290.”
I laugh, sure that he is kidding. When his expression doesn't change, I sober a bit. “But . . . how can that be? That would make you . . .” I pause, doing the math in my head. “That would make you seven hundred and twenty years old. How is that possible?”
“That is something I cannot explain at the moment. But trust that I am telling you the truth.”
That goes without saying. As unbelievable as what he is telling me may seem, deep inside I know he would not lie to me. Maybe I am mentally connected to his thoughts as well.
“You are,” he says.
“How can this be?” I breathe.
“How does not matter. Just know that we are connected in a way most people could never dream of.”
I let his comment settle. “But I don't even know your name. Are you going to tell me?”
“Once a man gives his name, he gives power over himself. Those of my kind are taught this when we are young.” He squeezes my hand. “I cannot tell you now because it would put you in even more danger, but I will soon.” He holds my eyes with his. “Can you trust this for now?”
I am disappointed and he knows this, but I nod. I try to stifle a yawn but am unable to. A wave of fatigue comes over me and I am suddenly too tired for more questions now. He pushes a button on a panel above us.
“Yes?” the flight attendant's voice answers through the speaker.
“We need a blanket and a pillow, please.”
“Right away, sir.” A minute later she appears with his request.
“Is Italy as beautiful as they say?” I ask sleepily.
“It is very beautiful. But while Rome, Tuscany, and Florence have green rolling hills, Venice has a beauty all it's own. You will see.”
I nod and yawn again.
“You are tired, Celine. You should rest.”
I want to disagree, but I really do need to sleep. I recline my seat back. He tucks the pillow behind my head and spreads the blanket over me. He leans over me and I look up into his piercing eyes. His face is that of an angel and I know I could never tire of looking at him.