by Carol Robi
Is he as affected by me as I am by him, I wonder? Has he really been waiting for centuries for me? If so, then how old is he really? What is he? He is clearly a supernatural creature of sorts. He doesn’t fit that mold of mythological vampires or werewolves, shifters or metamorphs. He is something else, I don’t know what.
He is fully dressed even today, all his skin but his face covered. He has on a pair of well fitting jeans and a longsleeved muscle shirt under the jacket he wears. I know without confirming from this distance that the leather gloves he wears would be tacked in under the long sleeves of his well fitting top, and that the jeans he wears are tucked under his designer boots. He is always impeccably dressed. I can’t remember a time I looked at him and didn’t like what he wore, or the light scent he wears. Right then I almost miss a step because I remember that light scent I love to inhale despite myself. Aiki scowls at me because I’d have dropped her in my momentary distraction, and I look at her apologetically, deciding to pay better attention.
Forty two seconds to go and the scoreboard reads 80:63 in our favour. We all know that this game is won, but the crowd is still hungry for more baskets, a bigger margin, so on we cheer.
I once again forget my decision to pay attention to our cheering and my eyes drift his way. He is an oddity, that is for sure. If he wasn’t so good looking and always so impeccably dressed, driving that sportscar, oozing good breeding, old money and tons and tons of mystique, all qualities that automatically make him an honorary member of the high school jock club, I suspect that people would have tried to bully him. Those gloves, and the incessant desire not to be touched would have made him a perfect candidate for bullies. I shudder to imagine the defensive measures he’d have taken to keep the bullies away.
I scream at the top of my voice with glee as the final whistle is blown, rushing out to the court to throw myself into my brother’s arms, only stopping for Mandy flies past me into his arms and presses her lips onto his. I cannot stop my laughter right then, for Tony appears even more bemused than I am, looking questioningly at me over her head as her lips remain locked to his for a few moments longer.
When Mandy finally sets my brother free, I step in to give him a quick hug, as the coach is calling all the players to him. We cheerleaders then have a quick meeting, the usual, before we are set free, as everyone is excitedly looking forward to the afterparty.
I rush to mom after the meeting, the excitement of the win driving me into an excited mood, and mom cannot help but laugh happily at the joy on my face.
“You were great!” She exclaims, hugging me tight to herself.
“Are you sure you don’t mean Tony?” I ask her teasing.
“He was great, but so were you,” she say proudly, placing a kiss on my cheek.
“I have to rush off to work now. Tell Tony..”
“Tell Tony what mom?” Tony calls, stepping up from behind me and enveloping mom in a tight hug. I realize once again just how much Tony has grown, for he is now as tall as mom, and mom is a very tall woman. Soon he’ll be as tall as dad had been.
“That you were great,” mom says, pulling out of his embrace and pressing a kiss against his cheek too. “Have fun at the party,” she says. “But not too much. I’d hate to have to come break it off,” she adds chuckling, before enveloping us into yet another hug together.
Tony pulls me forward as mom walks away, and I am forced to skip over the bleachers as quickly as he does as he is excited, rushing to meet up with his teammates at the center of the court. Gauthier is also now at the center of the court, commanding as much attention as the basketball team members.
“Come on, Tony,” Gauthier says. “You two can drive with me.” I’m attempting to pull Tony back, needing to warn him, but he is in too good a humor, too distracted, to feel my reservations.
“I’m coming with you guys!” Mandy adds excitedly, cutting in to hook her hand into Tony’s other hand, and I get the feeling that she wants me to back off.
I am his sister! I want to scream at her, but I choose not to, holding on to my brother’s other hand.
I am glad when Tony senses my inhibitions against seating on the front passenger seat and he seats there instead, despite Mandy’s cooing for she’d hoped that the two would sit on the back seat and cuddle or whatever. Tony slams his door shut, but my heart races when Gauthier stands beside me with eyes dark as night, waiting for me to slip into the back seat before he closes the door after me. An unwanted gentlemanly gesture.
The party is as wild as expected. I really hope mom doesn’t come to break it off. A keg or more find their way here, and I see no reason why I shouldn’t have some fun too. It isn’t my first time drinking, but I drink faster than I normally would, probably because I have no friends to distract me this time.
Tony is the center of attention, often turned upside down chugging beer, or guffawing loudly with the guys, a bevy of cheerleaders seeking his attention, Mandy attempting to monopolize most of it. It’s funny really. It makes for good entertainment.
Cheerleaders don’t talk to me anymore. Not after my freakout, and unfortunately Amelia hadn’t come to this party. I did invite her, but she cited that this just isn’t her scene. I’m also starting to doubt if it is my scene.
I spend most of the time sipping my beer and walking through the crowds, leaning against the wall and watching something funny or other unravel in Mike’s house where we are holding the party. His parents are out, so we are unchaperoned.
I blame my reduced attentiveness due to the drink in my hand, or the captivating amusement unravelling before me, as the reason why I bump into him.
The warm heat emanating from his long-sleeved muscle shirt where it comes into contact with my right hand holding my beer cup cuts through me, and I feel myself noticeable weaken before he shakes off the mixture of shock and pleasure that crosses his face and steps back, his eyes now a burning orange, that he immediately turns away from me. I suddenly realize that I am brave enough to want an explanation.
“What..” I start.
“Don’t touch me!” He interrupts my question by exclaiming in a near frightened cry, as though in fear rather than detest.
“Why?” I ask, aggravating him further by attempting to reach out to him, my bravery brought upon by my poor judgment from intoxication.
His cry not to touch him had not been delivered as an order my body couldn’t deny. He said he’d never do that again, take my will from me. He had just warned me not to touch him. I am free to touch him though, should I want to. I raise my hand toward him again, and notice the fear that crosses his face before he quickly starts moving away. My sudden sense of adventure that I also blame on my intoxicated state, causes me to chase after him.
“Please stop,” he begs when he is forced to stop, because of the wall of people pressed behind him not allowing for anymore receding without coming into contact with them, and my blocking of his only way forward.
He is now at my mercy. The fear evident in his face lets me know that I have the upper hand in this case, and for the life of me, I just cannot stop myself from attempting to touch him again.
“Please, Sophia,” he begs as my hand edges even closer, and he has nowhere to go. “Please don’t touch me.” It is said in a whisper, but even with the loud music and shouting around us, I do not mistake the pleading in his voice. It rings true and clear in my ears.
“Why not?” I ask with surprising bravery. The almost amused look on my face lets him know I am enjoying this turn of tables, being the one torturing him- scaring him, like he’d scared me.
“Because..” he draws to a stop.
“Because what?”
“You’ll get hurt.”
“Really?” I ask in disbelief, wondering why the prospect of my getting hurt could have him so scared. I call his bluff. I watch his eyes brighten from dark pupils to mesmerising golden glows as my hand edges closer to his face, and their colour intensity deepen to a burning orange glow when I am just an inch away.
His burning eyes plead with me to stop, but I do not stop myself this time until my fingers are just a fraction of an inch from touching his face.
The mixed look of bliss, pleasure and worry cross his face as a burning sensation sears through my stretched out fingertips, and I feel the surge of energy rush from me with such thick waves, that I think I see it floating from my fingertips and fusing into his skin.
“No!” He immediately calls in a harsh whisper, reaching out his gloved hands to wrap around my wrist and pull my hand away, just as a reciprocated wave of bliss hits me back, even as I weaken so much that I sag against his arms. He releases my wrist just as soon, but it still burns where his long gloved fingers had held me.
“What..?” I start to ask, slumping weakly against the cool wall beside me. “What was that?” I manage to ask.
“Don’t you touch me again!” Is all he whispers back harshly.
“If you don’t explain it to me, I’ll touch you again and again,” I tell him, realizing that any demise I experience will be worst felt by him. Hadn’t he said he’d been waiting for me for a very long time? Centuries, his father had said. He needs me to be safe, and it is that knowledge that now gives me an upper hand.
“I can’t tell you yet.. Okay! Okay!” He calls in a ragged whisper, forcing me to stop my hand just short of touching him again so as to honor the deal. I fear though that this time I’d have traced his lips rather than just attempt to touch his face as before. I cannot stop thinking about those lips at the moment.
“You’ll tell me?” I ask. I am slightly wavering but am not sure if it’s because of the energy I’ve lost upon touching him, or its because of the many cups of beer I’ve had tonight.
“I will,” he says. “Let’s go outside first.”
Chapter 12
The burst of fresh air when I finally make it out is welcomed, fanning my warm cheeks. But I do not revel in it too much, not wanting Gauthier to slip past me and attempt to get away.
He steps out a few seconds later, an uncomfortable look about him as it is now his turn to be afraid of me. It amazes me to think that all I ever had to do was attempt to touch him to make him squirm. Why didn’t I do it sooner? He was clear from the beginning about not wanting to be touched. If I’d thought of it sooner, I’d never have let him force me into that nightclub with him. I’d have always had the upper hand.
“Why can’t I touch you?” I ask him as soon as we’ve walked away from the main door, and I’ve made sure that no one out here is at a listening distance.
“Because I’ll hurt you,” he says simply.
“How?”
“Your energy, your breath- I’ll take it. I could take enough to kill you,” he answers begrudgingly, maintaining an equal distance away from me, backing away with each step I take closer to him.
“Why?” I ask. “Why will you take it?” By now he is leaning against the wall, a foreboding looking crossing his features as he eyes my outstretched fingers warily.
“Because that is what creatures like me do,” he resigns to answer.
“And what exactly are you?” I ask with trepidation.
“Sophia..”
“Tell me!” I say in a harsh whisper, taking another step closer to him, and yet another, until he is pressed tight against the wall, his gloved palms pressing against it, as though fighting an urge to pull me into his arms. Suddenly I too am now fighting against the urge to collapse into his arms.
“Don’t get any closer. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you all you need to know. If you get any closer, you’d not stop yourself from coming to me. You feel it too, don’t you?” I nod fearfully, for I do feel it. The dizzying gravitational pull around him, the growing idea that I wont be safe until I press my body to his, touch him, press my lips to his, lose myself to him.
“What are you?” I ask in a ragged whisper.
“A draugr.” The word sounds foreign and incomprehensible.
“What is that?”
“An immortal being. A ghost, of sort..”
“But..” I start to reach out, but he quickly swings away so that I touch the cold brick where his head had been.
“I am not a ghost,” he says. “Not anymore. I am solid now. I used to be just a lingering spirit seeking to close up my unfinished business before moving on, when father touched me and made me into a draugr.”
“You have a body,” I point out, for as far as I know, spirits shouldn’t have solid bodies.
“I do,” he says, “because draugrs have bodies unlike mere ghosts.”
“How?”
“We have the ability to absorb energy from human beings, and that energy makes us strong enough to have bodies. It animates us.”
“By touch?” I ask, and he nods in answer.
“Yes, by touch, and without touch,” he says.
“Your skin?” He nods.
“Or even just by smelling, tasting,” he surprises me by saying. “It’s easier to control how much energy I take in from someone by smelling, breathing it in. That’s why people don’t die around me. Because I control how much I take, leaving them with enough to reproduce more, to keep going. However, by touch..” he stops then and shakes his head with defeat.
“Is that why you don’t touch people, or let them touch you?”
“Yes. And it comes with great struggle.”
“What do you mean?”
“It is so tempting to just give in to the temptation, for the high that follows after a touch is unequal to any other. To revel in the life essence that flows through skin contact in such staggering waves, intoxicating me, is..” His eyes have a wildness in them as he says this, growing once again from their dark pools into fiery orange pools that instead of scaring me as they had before, they now pull me in, urging me to get closer. Trancing me to lean in..
“Don’t!” He says sharply, though his breathing is laboured. “Please ignore that feeling to get closer to me. Ignore it.”
“Why am I feeling it now? It wasn’t there before,” I say puzzled.
“It was always there, Sophia. It just gets harder when you get too close to me. And you are- too close,” he says. “It’s no secret that I want you so much,” he confesses in a whisper, “and my supernatural abilities are subconsciously doing everything they can to draw you to me. Plus you feel the urge to get close to me, even more strongly than other humans, as your body is reacting to the bond we have, as well as our intense attraction for each other..” And with that, our spell is broken, and I rapidly step away from him with indignation.
“I’m not attracted to you!”
“You are.”
“No am not.”
“You are, you’re just too stubborn to admit it yet. In any case, father already confirmed that you are my mate..”
“You father breathed in my energy or whatever, and gave it to you, whatever that means. He did not confirm anything..”
“He did. You quenched me.”
“What? You are both insane and..”
“What colour were my eyes after I inhaled you? Weren’t they blue? Because orange is for hunger-” as he says this, he turns, so that I do not miss the bright bleeding orange of his widened pupils clear in this dark night. “And blue is for satisfaction,” he finishes.
His words send a shiver through me. I do not know what to believe, though I doubt he is lying. What purpose would it serve to lie?
“Why me specifically?” I choose to ask instead. “Why not any other girl but me?”
“Because once every few centuries a potential xana is born, one who could grow up to be a draugr’s mate. The intensity of a human being’s unwavering will to live is what makes him or her a potential xana. It is the potential xana’s intense attraction for her mate that makes her a true xana. A xana’s energy cannot not only be sucked away as with average humans, but he or she also has the ability to take in a draugr’s energy and use it to sustain himself or herself long enough until she can replenish her own. Doing this ensures that the xana does not d
ie when a draugr takes her life’s essence, for example in case of touching. It is his or her abnormally strong will to live that makes this possible. I know you are undoubtedly my mate because father confirmed it. My mate is the only living being that can quench my thirst and not die. You are the only one in the whole world for the past five centuries that I desire so much, that a nonfatal wisp of you quenched my eternal thirst momentarily,” he finishes. I cannot help the excitement that rushes through my whole body when he says this. My knees weaken and I fear I may collapse into him.
“If all you need is a little of me to quench yourself, then why are you so scared that if I touch you I’ll hurt myself?”
“Because I cannot control myself around you, and you haven’t yet learnt how to take from me as yet. You still have to learn that before I can trust myself with you,” he tells me.
“Was it you at the pier that night?”
“Yes,” he says.
“You touched me,” I accuse. “How could you presume to touch me, knowing that your touch could kill me?” I ask angrily. “Did you stop to think that my father had just died and that my family has being grieving already?”
“I didn’t touch you really,” he says. “Not bare skin to bare skin. I came close enough, and the life that burst from you was so intense, that I was convinced you had to be the one. I strongly suspected you were to be mine even from before, because I started sending you messages as soon as you came of age. I’d beckon you to me, call you here, and I knew if you did finally come, then it meant you were my xana. You came.”
“Is that when I started getting my nightmares? Right around my father’s death.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. I shrug in answer. What ought I to say? I’m still not ready to say it’s alright that my father died.
“Anyway, it’s a total coincidence that we moved here, because I was not part of the decision making,” I tell him shrugging. “I was not answering your call.”
“Weren’t you?” He asks almost unconvinced, as though he knows otherwise.
“No, I wasn’t. Mom moved because she got a job offer here.”