I don’t have any doubt that she’ll be successful in finding her brother. Finding the shard seems less likely. It’s a small piece of glass that could be hidden anywhere in the city of Buffalo. But what do I know? Maybe the thing is magic; maybe she can sense it, feel its presence somehow.
And if she’s successful in finding both her brother and the shard, that means she’s going home. Back to Agrotera.
And I’ll stay here. On Earth.
After all of this, after lifelong dreams of each other, after waiting and watching for one another, after finding each other, is that how this story really ends?
Yes, we have a deep connection, a connection that pulses, sparks, radiates—there’s no denying that. But I have to be honest, realistic, even as I stand here, even as I feel my heart breaking. Charaxus and I just met each other last night. We don't know each other, don't know each other deeply—our likes and dislikes, what makes us laugh or weep. And there’s no time for discovering any of that. Charaxus has important things to do.
“I don’t know what's next,” I tell her, my voice quavering. I want it to be strong, to be steady, but it's not. I'm not. I grip the sheet around my breasts, and I take a deep breath, releasing it in a sigh. “Well—take a look at the painting, at least.” I step back, gesture to the canvas I’m standing in front of, the canvas that Charaxus hasn’t yet seen.
She takes a step forward, and then another, her muscles rippling under her pale skin. When she reaches me, she places her hands on her hips, her breath exhaling in one long, low sound.
“What do you think?” I ask her, suddenly nervous, my fingers tightening in the sheet over my breasts. I know that art is subjective—that one painting will make someone cry, while another person might jeer at it. No one piece of art is meant for everyone. But I’m hoping, hoping against hope, that Charaxus likes the painting I made of her.
I watch her, and then I realize that my mouth is hanging open, because a single silver tear is tracing along Charaxus’ cheek, and she's staring at the painting as if utterly bewitched, her bright blue eyes wide, her breathing labored.
She looks at me, then, reaches for me. Every motion is slow, measured, as she takes my hips in her hands and draws me to her, kissing me deeply, softly, tenderly. She backs away a little, peering down into my eyes, hers suddenly uncertain.
“Is that… Is that how you see me?”
I nod, glancing at the painting before returning my gaze to her. “From the very first dream,” I tell her, offer a small smile as I lift my hand, as I drift my fingers through her jet black strands, “I saw the stars in your hair.”
Again, she presses her mouth to mine, but this time it’s harder, more urgent.
There's desperation in the way we hold one another: she wraps her arms tightly about my body, and I grip her just as tightly, letting the sheet fall from my fingers, though it remains in place, pinned between us.
And when we back up, her mouth swollen from my kisses, her eyes dark, she repeats the question again, her voice low, breaking: “What do we do?”
I know how difficult this must be for her, because it's excruciatingly difficult for me. So I clear my throat, take a step back from her, and I snatch up the sheet before it drifts to the floor.
“Well,” I say, and take another deep breath, “I think we should have breakfast.” I smile at her softly.
She regards me as if I just told her dragons are real—hell, maybe they are real on Agrotera. There’s pain in her expression, but she softens it, just like I’m softening the pain that’s rising deep inside of me.
“Breakfast?” she says, her voice cracking, and then she nods, letting out a small chuckle as she watches me uncertainly. “It…it is true,” she says with a short nod, “that when I joined the knights, I was told that breakfast was the most important meal of the day.”
We’re both trying so hard. I’m kind of failing, but I need to stay strong, and I nod, raking my fingers back through my hair, shrugging a little. “Well, that’s one thing that's the same on both worlds.” I tighten the sheet around myself, folding my arms in front of me. And then I blurt out, “So, um…you’re going to look a little conspicuous if you gallivant around Buffalo in your armor. I think it might be best if you wear, well, Earth clothes.”
Charaxus watches me, her eyes hooded, and—for a long moment—she says nothing. Because there was something unspoken in my words, and we both heard it, loud and clear.
I’m staying here.
And she's leaving.
And that’s…that’s how it has to be.
Charaxus doesn’t put up a fight. Instead, she sighs, nods, resigned, her shoulders swooping forward a little before she shakes herself, standing straight and tall then, placing a hand on her right hip. “And where might I get, as you so cleverly call them, Earth clothes?” she asks, her voice still hoarse.
I shrug a little, don’t look at her, instead gaze at the floor. “I’m assuming that Toby is still fast asleep—he doesn’t wake up until around two, usually. Let me take a shower, and I’ll go borrow some clothes from him. He’s about your height,” I say, but I don’t glance at her, because if I do…her beauty will break my heart into even tinier pieces. “So…that should work. Will that work?” I ask her, and that’s when I look at her again.
She holds my gaze, and she nods, her jaw tightening, resolve smoothing through her features.
“As you wish, m’lady,” Charaxus growls to me.
It takes every last bit of willpower inside of me to take a step back from her, to move away.
It takes every last bit of willpower to wait until I’m inside my bathroom, the door tightly shut behind me, before I start to weep.
---
Toby is, unsurprisingly, still sleeping when I reach his bedroom, but he mumbles something like, “Sure, sure take whatever you need and leave me alone,” before he places his pillow firmly on top of his head and keeps snoring. The image of him, buried under blankets, is so comfortingly normal in the midst of all of this not-so-normal stuff going on that I lean down, pat his shoulder affectionately, sniffling, before turning toward his closet.
“Hey…” Toby mutters, sticking his disheveled head out from underneath the pillow, “are you okay?” He’s still partially asleep, but I think he heard my sniffle.
“Yeah, yeah,” I murmur to him, gentling my voice, making sure that it doesn’t give me away. I wipe my tears with the corner of my peasant blouse sleeve, breathe out. “Hey, go back to sleep. I'm okay.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, but he’s already resting his head back on the pillow, his eyes drifting closed.
Poor guy can’t help it: he keeps a really bad sleeping schedule, and whenever he can catch a little shut-eye, he has to take it.
Inside of Toby and Rod’s massively disorganized closet—well, technically Rod's side is very neat, and Toby’s side is an utter disaster—I find a black t-shirt and black sweatpants. Compared to Charaxus’ other clothes, this outfit is kind of sad, but I’m not sure if Toby’s jeans will fit her, and she'll be able to make a pair of black sweatpants look sexy, anyway.
When I get back to the room and show Charaxus the clothes, she rises easily from her languid sprawl on the bed, her muscles still rippling beneath her pale white skin. She stretches overhead, avoiding my gaze as she pulls the black sweatpants on, tugging the t-shirt over her head. She pulls her hair up through the neckline, and then she’s standing there, hands on her hips, a wry smile tugging at her lips, her eyes gazing out the little porthole window cut into the side of the metal wall.
“So, how do I look in these Earth clothes?” she asks me, her voice low.
I clear my throat. “Hot,” I tell her simply: it’s the truth. Sweatpants were designed for long, uncomplicated Saturday afternoons involving a television and a tub of ice cream.
And yet, somehow, impossibly, Charaxus manages to transform that most unflattering of garments into something absolutely smoking.
The waistband is a little loose, so
it hangs around her toned hips as a reminder of what sexiness lies beneath. The t-shirt is actually small on her, and her muscled stomach shows through quite well.
And her breasts... Her breasts show through well, too, the perfect curve of them, the peaks of her nipples... She catches me looking at her chest, and then she’s smiling a little—a soft, sad smile—as she ducks her head and threads her fingers back through her hair in what is possibly the most adorable gesture I’ve ever seen.
The sight of her, looking so soft, cuts me deeper than a knife twisted between my ribs. I swallow a little, averting my gaze, and then she’s stepping forward. Charaxus is going to say something to me as she curls her fingers around my elbow, her face brooding, her eyes flashing and intense…but her words are left unsaid. Instead, she smooths her features, straightens, and inclines her head toward the door.
“Are you hungry?” she asks me.
I nod, licking my lips, pocketing my cell phone, and then we’re out the door and aiming for the Ceres’ common area.
It’s around twelve-thirty in the afternoon, and there is not a single soul around. “They must have been partying hard last night, or working hard,” I tell Charaxus by way of explanation, and she raises her brows questioningly.
“You live with your family?” she asks, her head to the side as I grab some bowls from one of the cupboards and take the soy milk out of the fridge.
“Yeah, sort of,” I tell her with a little smile. I drag down a box of some generic, super-sugary cereal named Box o’ Magic!!!! Yes, the name of the cereal ends in four exclamation marks. Iris and I were in charge of doing the grocery shopping for the Ceres this week, and when we saw this box in the cereal aisle, we cracked up for five minutes and had to, in the end, put it in our cart. Which means, I guess, that their marketing worked, exclamation points and all.
“The people here aren't my biological family,” I tell her, dumping cereal into the two chipped bowls, “but they're the family of my heart.” I pour some soy milk on top of the cereal, and I’m rewarded by snapping, crackling and popping—something the box didn’t tell me to expect. I push a bowl over to Charaxus and hand her a spoon.
She stares down at the cereal dubiously.
“It’s good!” I tell her, and take a big spoonful of the stuff to demonstrate, shoving it into my mouth. And it is good, if you consider pure sugar to be tasty. Okay, so maybe buying the cereal based on its use of exclamation marks might not have been the best—or healthiest—idea. I grimace a little and swallow my sugar—I mean, cereal—and, to my surprise, when I glance over at Charaxus, she’s digging in.
“This is quite good,” she tells me after a big spoonful.
“I’m glad you like it,” I chuckle, leaving my bowl on the counter and popping a bagel into the toaster.
Sammie suddenly bounds in through the front door (Iris doesn’t follow him, meaning she’s late for something), and my dog comes barreling into the kitchen, sitting down on my feet and wagging his bushy tail hopefully.
“Sorry, buddy, I’m the worst momma! I’m late giving you your breakfast.” I ruffle his ears before I empty dog food into his bowl.
I’m surprised when Sammie doesn't devour the food right away, like usual, and when I look at him, I’m also surprised to see that he’s not at my side…
And that’s because he and Charaxus are having a standoff.
I wouldn't expect my dog to have a standoff with a bunny, let alone one of the most commanding and powerful presences I’ve ever encountered...yet he’s managing to do just that, his big brown eyes wide as he stares up at Charaxus, black nose pointed directly at her face.
She stares back at him, her blue eyes narrowed.
“Uh…Charaxus?” I murmur, and she startles a little, glancing at me and removing her attention from Sammie.
My dog chooses that moment to waddle on over to me, pressing his shoulder against my legs and staring up at me reproachfully.
“What was that?” I ask Charaxus gently, and she shakes her head a little, as if she’s waking from a spell.
“I apologize,” she says, and she takes a deep breath. “I do not much like dogs.”
“How—” I’m about to ask how anyone in the world—or on any other world—could dislike dogs, but I stop myself. Okay, for one, it’s true: as much as it pains me, some people do dislike dogs, and for all I know, a traumatic experience may have happened to her involving dogs in the past. She really does look uneasy right now, placing her half-finished cereal bowl on the counter and pushing it away, as if she’s lost her appetite.
“Um, does Sammie make you uncomfortable?” I ask her, grabbing Sammie by the collar before he can jump up and put his paws on the counter in an effort to relieve her of her cereal.
“No,” she murmurs, though she folds her arms so that his nose can’t uproot under her hand. “I am sorry,” she says, and then she clears her throat. “I was…attacked by a...dog...once.”
“Sammie, go sit on the couch,” I tell him gently, and—surprisingly—he actually listens, trotting over to the couch and sitting on it, thumping the couch cushions with his massive tail as he stares at me in adoration, then casts another suspicious glance at Charaxus.
Charaxus and I stand together at the counter, staring as if we’re seeing one another for the first time.
We know so little about each other: that's pretty clear right now. Charaxus’ eyes are hooded, her arms crossed in front of her, her feet apart, her body arranged in a strong stance. I watch her from across the small countertop, so little separating us…but so much more coming between us.
It’s normal when you begin a relationship to learn the other person’s likes and dislikes, their favorite songs, whether they like mushrooms on their pizza or think they’re just gross fungus. What Charaxus and I have—it’s not a relationship. We made love last night; we made love this morning… And that’s it. Case closed.
But...we also dreamed of each other for decades, and that’s not something that can easily be ignored.
“So…” I clear my throat, stand up a little taller and tilt my chin up. “What are your plans? For today?”
When Charaxus regards me with furrowed brows, I try again. “Are you going to try to find the shard? And your brother?” I ask weakly.
She sighs, and then she glances down at the countertop, a frown making her full lips downturn. “I must,” she murmurs. And her words are tinged with sorrow; I ache to hear them.
I guess this is where we tell each other that last night was great, thanks for all the sweet dreams, but we both have lives to live, shards to find, paintings to paint...
There was a real, honest connection between us.
And now it must be severed.
My chest hurts, and my throat hurts, and my head hurts. There’s so much pain—physical and emotional—that I’m startled by the severity of it. I’d be stupid to deny the fact that I’d been waiting for this woman my whole life. But she has a mission. A quest. And I can’t stand in her way.
Sure, I could go along with her today, play the bumbling sidekick to her heroic warrior. But we both know that, at the end of her journey, we’re going to have to part ways.
I’ve been falling in love with her my whole life. I know that I love her. I know that I know nothing about her. So, really, what’s better: learning her heart, her loves and hates, her dreams, her longings, and then having that all of ripped away from me…or ending this now, before any more feelings can grow, before this separation becomes any more excruciating?
I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t.
Charaxus is watching me across the counter, and I know she’s thinking similar thoughts; her features contort for a long moment into a grimace of agony. Her jaw flexes, and she cocks her head to the side, placing her hands on the counter, her fingers pressed hard against the surface, her knuckles white.
“Mara,” she murmurs, and the way my name drifts over her tongue—it’s absolutely erotic. I shiver a little, close my eyes, bite my lip.
I don’t want her to go.
“Mara,” she repeats, and she’s moving around the corner toward me, putting one foot in front of the other with guarded slowness, as if she’s trying to edge closer to a prey animal without spooking them. But I don’t spook. I stand still, perfectly still, when she reaches me, when she trails her pale fingers over my neck, gently pushing my hair over my shoulder, and then tugging on the sleeve of my t-shirt so that my shoulder is revealed to her.
It’s there that she places a perfect kiss, a soft kiss, a warm kiss, her lips brushing against my skin as if she’s claiming a treasure.
“I don’t know what to do, Charaxus,” I tell her, my voice anguished. “This already this hurts so much.”
“Yes,” she agrees, and her voice is tentative. Hopeful. “But I was still hoping that you would come with me. Come with me,” she repeats, but now there’s a magnetic quality to the words, as if she’s weaving a spell. “Please?” This please…there’s a question in it. A questing hope.
A low, shivering note of despair.
I glance sidelong at her, my brow furrowed, my breath coming fast as I reach up, as I place a hand over my heart, as if that could possibly quell the pain there (it doesn’t). “You know what’s going to happen,” I whisper to her.
“And what is that?” she asks, voice low.
“I don’t know about you,” I say with a shake of my head, “but it’s…” My throat constricts, yet I keep pushing through, keep talking. “It’s very hard for me to love anyone. I’ve…been through a lot,” I say, summarizing my past with that stupid little phrase, as if it could somehow convey the severity of my formative years.
I gulp down another lungful of air. “Somehow, I managed to love you through it all, anyway. All this time, my whole life, I’ve loved you. And now here you are. And you’re going to leave soon. And…if I go with you now, help you find the shard, your brother…” I glance up, hold her gaze, her bright blue eyes flashing, her mouth forming a soft frown as she listens to me intently. “If I go with you now,” I repeat, licking my lips, “it’s going to hurt so much more, that I don’t honestly know how I could recover. It will… It would disintegrate my heart.”
A Dark and Stormy Knight Page 13