by Nicole Grane
He quickly gained control of himself, clearly forcing a smile. “Phoebe, I’ve only been here a little while. Do you know when the last full moon was?” he asked as if this was a normal question.
“What? I . . . don’t know . . . I don’t keep track of lunar activity,” I said taken aback by the question. “Why?”
He didn’t answer. He sat there, looking thoughtful.
“I have a calendar on the kitchen wall, it might say—”
He was up and in the kitchen before I’d finished my sentence.
I sat open mouthed. “What in the hell?” I thought to myself.
The wind picked up outside. I’d heard earlier on the news a storm was coming, and heavy rain was in the forecast. I looked over to my living room window. The rain had already begun to tap against it. I watched the water drops running down the windowpane. And that’s when I noticed a pair of yellow eyes peering in at me.
Marcus came running into the living room at the same moment that I began screaming. He was beside me instantly, hovering over me protectively.
“The window!” I screamed.
It was still at the window—growling ferociously at the sight of Marcus.
“Wait here!”
“MARCUS!” I yelled after him, but he was gone.
I pulled the blanket around me tightly. My mind was racing. I jumped at every sound. Several dark windows in the room stared back at me. Too scared to get up and close the curtains, I pulled the blanket up higher over my head, blocking them from my view.
How could Marcus just run out there like that? What was he planning to do anyway? He could be hurt or killed! I was going crazy with worry.
My door flung open suddenly. The wind and the rain rushed into my living room, as I screamed from under the blanket.
“Phoebe it’s me!”
I peeked out as Marcus hurried over to me. His hair was soaked, and his clothes were dripping wet.
“Marcus!” Without thinking, I jumped up from the couch, threw my arms around his shoulders, and hugged him tightly; ignoring the water that was dripping all over me. “I can’t believe you went out there; you could have been killed!” I scolded, as I held him tighter to me. I didn’t understand why, but I couldn’t bear to think that I might not have seen him again.
I could feel his arms around my waist, holding me gently. “I’m fine,” he assured, though his voice cracked slightly.
“What was that thing?” I asked, still not loosening my grip around him.
“A wolf!”
I pulled back, staring at him in disbelief. “That couldn’t have been a wolf.” I wrapped my blanket around me tighter. “It would have to be gigantic!”
Marcus caught me as my legs began to wobble. “You’d better sit down.”
“I’m fine,” I lied, my eyes were still fixed on his. With one hand holding onto my blanket, I reached out with the other and gripped his arm. “Where is it now?” I looked toward the window, panic rising up within me.
“Gone; I tracked it a few miles away from here. It’s still running north.”
I closed my eyes and leaned into him. I took a deep calming breath, trying to settle my nerves. I could feel Marcus’s body stiffen suddenly. I opened my eyes. A look of surprise swept across his face.
“What is it?” I whispered. Fear was creeping up on me again. I looked at the window and then back at Marcus. Had he seen or heard something I didn’t?
His hands began moving slowly down the side of my hips. I could feel goose bumps through the blanket, as his fingertips glided over it, as though it were my bare skin. My pulse began to race as I sunk deeper into his stare.
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to touch you like that.” He looked away, releasing my eyes.
Embarrassment swept over me. In my absolute elation when Marcus walked back through the door, I’d jumped up to embrace him—I never thought it might make him uncomfortable. “Marcus,” my cheeks flushed scarlet. “Excuse me. I was just so happy you were alright, I didn’t think . . .”
I tried to back away from him, but he held my body tight. A hundred different emotions seemed to reflect back at me.
“Marcus?” My voice was shaky.
He looked longingly into my eyes. “I never thought I would ever get the chance to hold you this way again.” His thoughts were far away, like he was talking about some distant memory.
His hands were moving to the small of my back now, where my blanket had fallen. The cool touch of his fingers met my skin as they moved slowly up my spine, pausing in the middle. My breathing grew shorter. He lowered his head closer to mine. My pulse quickened as he pulled my body against his.
“I can feel your heart beat,” he mused.
He brought his forehead to mine. The touch was electric. I could feel my legs burning now—they wouldn’t hold me much longer.
His eyes were growing darker. Specks of crimson now swirled among the black, as he looked deeper into my eyes, holding me in a dream-like trance. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.
He gently pressed his lips to my forehead, causing my heart to skip. I could feel him smiling as he moved his face along mine, lightly tracing my skin with his nose. He breathed in deeply, then exhaled; his cool breath blowing across my face. It smelt delicious . . .
My instincts were telling me this was dangerous, that I should run for my life. My heart was telling me not to ever let go. I struggled for the words I needed to say, but my mind was racing along with my heart. I wanted to kiss him more than anything.
“Phoebe?” he whispered my name into my ear. His voice was like velvet, soft and smooth.
I swallowed and tried to remember how to answer. “Yes,” I said quietly.
“You don’t know what I was going to ask you,” he said with a smile.
I couldn’t speak. I was putting all my strength into standing, and not passing out, I couldn’t concentrate. My mind wouldn’t do simple conversation.
His face was buried in my hair now. He moved his lips along my ear, kissing it softly, and my world began to spin.
“Phoebe . . .” his voice was hypnotic.
I jerked my face toward his, the side of our lips touched, and I could feel Marcus's lips tremble next to mine; his breathing, heavy like my own. His hands were wrapped around my waist, holding it firmly. I was afraid to move, afraid that if I did he’d pull away. Never had I wanted to kiss someone so much in all my life.
“I want to kiss you Phoebe; you can’t imagine how badly. It’s just that I . . .” his words broke off in anguish as he slowly backed away from me, his hands reluctantly releasing their hold.
I sunk back onto the couch in disbelief, my heart still pounding . . . I suddenly felt self-conscious. “You don’t have to explain,” I said shyly. “I guess I misunderstood.” I pretended to be busy adjusting my blanket over me. A tear escaped from the corner of my eye. I wiped it away quickly, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
Marcus walked back to me and knelt down beside me. His hands were on the sides of my face cupping it gently so that my eyes couldn’t escape his.
“You didn’t misunderstand. I do want to kiss you,” he said as he smoothed his thumb across my lips. “I just can’t be with you that way, not without hurting you. I could never forgive myself if I hurt you.” His voice sounded as tortured as he looked.
“I don’t understand? Did I do something wrong? Do you have a girlfriend?” I asked reluctantly the thought just popping to mind.
“No!” I could see the frustration building in his face.
“Marcus, you can tell me anything,” I encouraged. My eyes looked hopefully into his.
“It’s so hard for me to be this close to you and not hold you the way I want to. To not kiss your lips the way I used to . . .” I could see the uneasiness in his eyes. He had said more than he’d planned to. He backed away from me again, turning toward the window so I couldn’t see his face.
“The way you used to?” I repeated. “Marcus, I think I’d remember if I’d kissed yo
u before.”
He said nothing but continued to stare out into the rain.
“I don’t understand. Are you trying to tell me that we’ve had some sort of relationship before that I don’t remember?”
I stared at the back of his head, waiting for an answer. He finally turned around. His face looked more troubled than I’d ever seen it.
“Phoebe,” he began sounding tired now. “You mentioned that you have been having strange dreams since you were attacked that night back in London?”
My face wrinkled in confusion. I thought back on the many dreams I’d had since that night—too many. Some so vivid that I’d wake in a sweat, screaming at times. I nodded. “They’re more like nightmares,” I said with a shudder.
“Would you tell me about them?”
“I’d rather not.” I shifted uncomfortably.
“Please.” I could see the resolve on his face. He wasn’t going to let this go for some reason. I gave him a defeated look.
“It’s the same dream over and over really,” I began. “I’m running, at least I think it’s me? The girl, in my dreams, she looks just like me,” I said defensively, as if he’d argued the point. “Something is chasing me. I can feel it getting closer and closer . . .” I subconsciously pulled my legs to my body.
Marcus's face was paler than normal. He didn’t look entirely surprised at what he was hearing—like this was a nightmare he was all too familiar with. I stared at him curiously. He said nothing, waiting for me to continue.
“I’m screaming something . . . someone’s name I think. I don’t know whose. I can’t ever hear it.” I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to recall the memory. My eyes went wide. “The growling,” I breathed. “It was just like . . .” I put my hand over my mouth and looked back toward the window, and then to Marcus.
He looked uneasily at me.
“I wasn’t fast enough,” my voice cracked. “He had me by the throat. I can actually remember feeling the cold,” I admitted as I put my arms around my shoulders, holding myself.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was just a dream I kept reminding myself—a very vivid dream of my horrific death, but still just a dream. A dream I never spoke of out loud to anyone, not even myself.
Marcus walked over to me and wrapped his arms around me. “Phoebe, I’m so sorry for making you relive that.” His hands held my face now. He looked devastated. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there in time to save you. I would have given my life for yours if I could have.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s just a dream,” I said wiping the tears off my cheeks. I couldn’t believe I was crying. I smiled flatly. I didn’t want to think about it any longer.
The sound of the clock chiming in the other room startled me. “Oh my gosh, it’s 8:30?” As if on cue, my stomach growled. I suddenly realized how hungry I was and forgot all about the odd mood Marcus was in. “You must be starving! I can fix us something to eat.”
“No, I’m fine. I ate when I stepped out a while ago,” he added, still staring at me uneasily.
“You did? Oh, well, if you don’t mind I’ll just be a minute.” I moved to get up.
“Would you like me to help you?” he asked.
“No!” I motioned for him to stay where he was. “I mean, no thank you,” I repeated softly. There was no way I was going to relive the last “close encounter” again so soon. It was too hard having Marcus holding me so closely. The effortless attraction I felt toward him unnerved me a little. Not to mention that he hadn’t shown me the same interest back. “I can do this myself.”
He smiled understandingly and stepped out of the way.
I very carefully pulled myself up, keeping the blanket wrapped around my waist. I held it tightly with one hand, and with my free hand, I reached out and grabbed each piece of furniture along the way with great effort. I was hunched over like an old woman, moving slowly but deliberately; my legs protesting every step of the way.
I glanced at Marcus. He was trying not to watch me—I think he was trying not to laugh, actually. I did my best to ignore him. I couldn’t afford any distractions.
I was almost to my bedroom door. I smiled confidently. I stretched my arm out as far as I could. My fingertips were almost touching the wall. I lunged . . . and missed!
Boom! I was face down and in total agony. I moaned.
Marcus rushed over to save me from myself as he’d done so many times today.
“Just leave me here,” I protested his help. “I’ll crawl to the bedroom.” I buried my face once again in the carpet.
He lifted me into his arms and carried me to my room, gently setting me on the end of my bed. He was smiling as though he were amused.
“Something funny?” I asked.
He shook his head, but the smirk on his face gave him away. “It comforts me to know that you are just as you’ve always been.” He laughed out loud now. It was only the second time I could recall him laughing so heartily . . . under any other circumstance it would have been welcomed.
“I’m not always incapacitated!” I thundered. “I did fall off a cliff today, or did you forget?” I was angry now. How could he make fun of me like that?
“And your temper hasn’t changed much either,” he said still laughing.
“What are you talking about?” I yelled as I chucked a pillow at his head. “I don’t have a temper!”
He dodged it effortlessly. “No.” He laughed harder now. “You never did!”
I knew there was a double meaning here. But I was too angry to bother trying to figure it out.
“If you don’t mind,” I pointed sharply at my bedroom door. “Would you please get my robe from the back of the door?”
He grabbed my robe and held it out to me. His face still held a crooked smile. He was clearly trying to suppress his laughter.
I snatched the robe abruptly from his hands and put it on.
“Now you don’t have to be grossed out looking at my mangled body!” I mumbled under my breath. Him brushing me off in the living room still smarted. “I’m sorry to have embarrassed you!”
I tied the robe securely around my waist before I looked up into his face. He looked as though he’d just been slapped.
I suddenly felt ashamed.
“Maybe that was a little rude of me. Sorry,” I apologized through gritted teeth. I evaded his stare. How is that fair? He laughs at me, and I’m the one apologizing?
“Phoebe, you misunderstand me completely.” All sign of humor was gone. “Nothing about you embarrasses me. You’re absolutely beautiful—scrapes, bruises, covered in Band-aids . . .” he looked at me lovingly. “I don’t care what you look like. I’m just so happy you’re alive!”
I frowned.
“As for my assumed embarrassment . . .” he moved closer to me, his hand gently caressing my cheek. I could feel my heart begin to race again at the touch of his skin on mine. “I was taken by surprise seeing you so . . . exposed again. Feeling your skin so close to mine . . .”
I closed my eyes as his fingertips trickled down my neck. His touch was strangely familiar, and I found myself leaning into it.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you . . . held you . . .”
His fingers brushed my lips, causing a breath of air that I hadn’t known I was holding to escape. My heart felt like it could burst at any moment.
“I have to be so careful with you now,” he spoke tenderly as his eyes looked deeper and deeper into mine. “There is so much I want to tell you, so much I need to explain . . .” he spoke softer still. His voice lulling me. He could have asked me to jump off a cliff, and I wouldn’t have argued. “For now . . . you need to eat.” He broke his stare and I snapped out of my drunken state.
Chapter 5: Breaking Down
My legs wobbled as I tried to get up. I couldn’t quite shake the disoriented feeling I had.
As if sensing my confusion, Marcus offered to help me into the kitchen. “We don’t want you to fall on your face again,” he teased as h
e put his arm around my waist.
I let him help me. No, we did not want to fall on our face again. I thought to myself.
“Now, what may I get for you this evening?” he asked like he was a waiter at a fine restaurant.
I couldn’t help but laugh at him. I found it hard to stay mad at Marcus when he was being so incredibly charming.
“I’ll have the left over Vhow Mein in the fridge,” I said still grinning.
He picked up the Chinese carryout carton, printed with dragons and pagodas, and looked back at me questioningly.
“The forks are in the top drawer by the sink,” I added.
He nodded as he went to the drawer.
“I’ll just eat it out of the carton; unless you want some?” I offered.
“No, thank you.” He wrinkled his nose as he handed it to me.
“I got it yesterday. It’s not old!” I said defensively as I sniffed the chow mein to make sure it didn’t stink.
“No, it’s not that,” he insisted.
“Then what?”
“I just don’t like Chinese food.”
I watched Marcus curiously as he fidgeted in his chair.
“Phoebe?” he asked casually his eyes still evading mine. Have you noticed anything . . . different about me?”
“Yeah, you don’t like Chinese food,” I said in disbelief. I took a small bite of my vegetable chow mein—I loved it cold.
Marcus frowned at me from across the table.
“Ok,” I conceded. “There are lots of things different about you.”
He watched me in silence, as he seemed to be considering something. “Yes, well, I’m speaking about anything extraordinarily different,” he clarified.
I took another bite. I didn’t realize just how hungry I had been. I chewed while I deliberated over my response.