by Danae Ayusso
“What are you thinking about?” Akia whispered, effectively pulling Damian from the past and back into the present.
He kissed her shoulder. “You, but you already knew that.”
Akia smiled. “Anything specific?” she pressed.
“I love you.”
“I know,” she sighed. “You shouldn’t.”
“You say that often,” Damian pointed out, not offended in the least that she doesn’t say it back. He doesn’t need to hear the words to know that she feels the same way. Everyone has a past, and he knew that Akia was no different, and what caused her to run from her home was bad, so he never pressed it. He hoped that one day she would trust him enough to tell him everything, but that wasn’t any day soon he knew. “But it doesn’t change how I feel.”
Akia groaned and snuggled against him more, trying to silently tell him to shut up and that she didn’t want to hear it at the moment.
“Demanding ass woman,” he grumbled then kissed up the side of her neck.
The ringing of a cell phone pulled their attention towards the opening leading to their bedroom.
“Damn it, I’m too comfortable to get up,” she pouted. “Isn’t it my day off?”
“It is. They’ll leave a message or call back if it’s important. Did you have plans for the weekend? If needed I can call your Captain and strong arm him into strong arming you into taking a well overdue vacation, Lieutenant de Wolfe.”
Akia chuckled. “You are stubborn, more so than I am. What are you scheming?”
A smile filled his face. She must have been exhausted because she very rarely conceded to his requests without asking a dozen clarifying questions.
“My family owns a small cabin around Montpelier, Vermont. It’s off the grid, private, romantic,” he mused the latter, and she chuckled, “and the perfect place to spend the next four days in bed.”
Her lips twisted into a contemplative pout. “Sounds tempting. Taking me into the woods where no one can hear you scream,” she said.
Damian chuckled. “Yes, exactly that. I’ll even let you bring the handcuffs and riding crops.”
“Even more tempting,” she commented.
The cell phone in the other room beeped, signaling it had a message, before it started ringing again.
“Damn it,” he grumbled, sliding Akia forward some, so he could get out of the bath.
“But I was comfortable,” she pouted, leaning back in the water once he was out of the tub then watched him walk across the bathroom naked, and admired his firm, muscular backside as he moved. His smooth, muscular, olive toned body was perfect, and she knew it better than her own, but every time she sees it in all of God’s bare glory, it’s like seeing it for the first time, and it causes an intense arousal that sets her body ablaze with desire and clouds her mind with lustful thoughts.
Neither had she minded in the least.
When Damian walked back into the bathroom with her cell phone in hand, his complexion was extremely pale and his eyes wide.
Akia sat up. “What’s wrong?” she demanded. Never had she seen him like that before.
He opened his mouth more than once, his eyes going from the caller id to her and back again, but he wasn’t sure what to say.
She got out of the tub and hurried over to him. “Damian, what’s wrong?” she asked again.
He held the phone out to her.
When she read the caller id her eyes widened. She reached for the phone with a trembling hand then put it to her ear.
The voice on the other end was like a fist to the gut, and it nearly dropped her.
“Father needs you. Come home,” was all he said before hanging up.
For hours and over the course of hundreds of miles, Akia was assaulted with memories of home. It wasn’t a place she wanted to go back to, it was a place she had purposely left a decade ago without giving it a second thought, but with only a few words she was on her way back, alone, and flooded with guilt. It wasn’t guilt for leaving, no, it was guilt over not being there for Father when he obviously needed her.
The last time HOME showed up on her caller id, it was Father telling her that Conway was dead. It hurt to lose a cousin, but in all fairness she’d only met Conway twice in the fifteen years she had called Verulfr Manor home, and he was an idiot and glutton for punishment, so she hadn’t gone back for his final rites. Father was disappointed in her, but he didn’t press it; he never did when Akia was involved.
Damian asked her once, and only once, why she left. It only took one look from her for him to know the answer, and it wasn’t one that he would press.
She really did love that about him.
Without having to say anything, she packed her bag, and Damian quickly got dressed. By the time she was dressed and ready to go, he had her passport ready, cash in both currencies, medications, keys to the Jeep, and had arranged for her leave of absence from work for a family emergency. She opened her mouth more than once, but nothing came out. She wanted him to come with her; his protection she didn’t need though her heart did, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask him to risk it so she popped one of her pills since it was time.
“If you need me, call and I’ll be there. I promise,” Damian said before caressing her lips with his.
That promise, his reassurance, gave her the strength to hit the road without question and to face her demons. Perhaps it was exactly what she needed, this was the inadvertent push that would finally bury her demons and dysfunctions, and that would allow the three words biting at her tongue to finally leave her lips.
“This is what I need to do,” Akia whispered aloud. “In order to move forward, I have to let go of the past.” She picked up the pendant hanging from around her neck and her fingers traced over the delicate art deco filigree scrolling encompassing the two inch long rectangular pendant.
Damian had given it to her as a gift for her promotion; she hadn’t gotten a chance to open it last night because they went straight to the bedroom the moment she got home. Before she climbed in the Jeep, he handed the velvet box to her; a token to remember him by, he had called it. The platinum snake y-chain nearly went to her sternum, and the pendant hung between her breasts, as close to her heart as possible. It was beautiful, from the art deco era of design, which Damian knew was her favorite period, and it was exactly what she didn’t know she needed at that moment. The body of the pendant shimmered from the tiny diamonds covering its surface, and in the center was a framed blue diamond the same shade of her eyes. It was beautiful, more than she could accept, but Damian wouldn’t hear of taking it back.
“It cost me nothing,” he assured her, sensing her argument before it could leave her lips. “It was my mother’s, and she gave it to me to give to my heart… Hint, hint,” he had teased, and she gave him a look. “Shut up and accept that it now belongs to you. At the moment you need to go to your family, thus we’ll argue about the pendant later when you’re home where it’s safe.”
“Home?” Akia whispered, coming to a stop on the one lane road and looked at the aged sign that simply read Welcome to Haven: Population 451. “Home is eleven hours and nearly seven hundred miles behind me,” she reminded herself. “Home is Boston, not Haven. Never again will it be Haven.”
****
The repeated thud of the heavy axe connecting with a log round was followed by the split crack made when the blade sheered through the round, splitting it in two. With effortless ease, corded muscles pulled the axe high in the air before slamming it into the next round, narrowly missing the young man switching out the split logs for the next round.
“Damn it, that one nearly took my finger off!” Ulrik complained.
The hulking giant of a man with the axe simply made a deep, scoffing sound that was neither apologetic nor remorseful, and pulled the axe back, readying for the next round.
“Dude, seriously,” Ulrik said, getting to his feet, “if you’re trying to cut my hands off, I’m going to be pissed.”
An amused chuckl
e came from behind them, and the young man turned to regard his brother. “And pray tell, Kid, what is it that you are going to do about it if he is?” Rafe asked, tucking the loosely falling dark blond hair back behind his ears that was freed from a gust of wind.
Ulrik made a face. “I’m pretty sure you used that wrong, or at least it sounded wrong,” he pointed out. “And I don’t know what I’d do, but I’d do something. Just because he’s as big as a house and has the personality of drying paint, doesn’t mean that I won’t one day be able to take him when my inner badass finally lets his balls drop, as Connie calls it.” The spindly young man started wind milling his arms in the air and kicking, poorly reenacting every kung fu move from the Karate Kid he could.
The other two looked at him curiously before Varg shook his head then embedded the axe deep into the splitting log; apparently this remedial task to pass the time was done thanks to the A.D.H.D. ridden kid.
Rafe chuckled. “Apparently we need to up your meds,” he said.
Ulrik made a face. “You suck, and I don’t want to take those stupid pills. I know Connie is only making me take them so he can keep my beast back. He’s scared of it. Admit it. You are too!”
Varg made that disgruntled grunting sound under his breath as he loaded his heavily corded arms with cut wood before turning towards the manor.
“Trust me, Kid,” Rafe said, waving him to follow him, “your inner puppy will never be able to take Adam. Sorry, Kid, but it’ll never happen.”
“Whatever,” he grumbled under his breath, pouting.
When the back door swung shut, he looked around to make sure they were alone.
“Is it true?” he whispered.
Rafe cocked an eyebrow. “Is what true?”
“That Dad’s favorite is coming home,” he said excitably, well aware that Rafe knew exactly what he was talking about.
“Oh, that,” Rafe said, rolling his icy blue eyes. “The chosen one was called. If they’ll come, I don’t know.” He looked out across the sprawling estate to the thick forest surrounding the manor. “It will be interesting either way,” he admitted.
“Can you tell me about the chosen one?” the excited youth whispered. “I’ve heard the rumors, but are they true?”
Rafe rolled his eyes. “Why are you asking me? Did Varg threaten to rip your head off for asking?”
He snorted. “I’m not stupid enough to ask Varg anything. He’s a gigantic tool that needs to have that stick up his ass surgically removed.”
Rafe chuckled. “Truer words have never been spoken, Kid. Are your chores done?”
Ulrik made a face. “Maybe…no, they’re not. Why am I the only one that has to do everything around here?” he whined. “Are you taking advantage of me? Like those on the street of the Ukraine tried to do to this innocent, strapping young man?” he asked, batting his lashes.
Rafe shook his head, giving him a look. “There is nothing innocent about you, Kid.”
“Do not be mean to the boy,” Louvel scolded, joining them from the garden with a bouquet of fresh cut flowers in hand. “And you do not do all of the chores. You hardly do the chores you have been commissioned with,” he reminded him with a chuckle. “Rafe, go see if Fae needs help in the kitchen. That Irishman is baking up a storm as if he is French,” he said with the heaviest French accent they had ever heard.
Rafe shook his head, taking the flowers from Louvel. “Lou, I’m only agreeing to this because I’m tired of that blue haired kid and his million questions.”
Louvel chuckled. “Do not darken the innocence of an inquisitive mind,” he scolded, watching Rafe head into the house. “Never mind him. He is simply terrified of your inner puppy.”
Ulrik smiled wide causing the older man to chuckle.
“You have questions?” he asked, motioning the young man towards the garden since he was supposed to weed it days ago.
“Will you actually answer them or are you just going to tiptoe around them while I do the grunt labor?” Ulrik asked, hurrying after him.
“Both, though I am much too old to tiptoe around anything anymore, and everyone will agree that I am much too cultured to lie,” Louvel said with a chuckle then sat on one of the stone benches in the center of the garden.
Ulrik took the work gloves from his back pocket then started pulling the weeds from the closest flowerbed. “Dad’s chosen one, is it true?” he asked.
Louvel shrugged as he loaded his half bent Dublin pipe with sweet tobacco before striking a match against the stone bench then took a few, long draws from the pipe. “Varg called Akia, that is true,” he eventually said. “Beowulf will not be pleased. He didn’t want Akia pulled into this, but we are running out of options. The proud man is nearly as stubborn as Akia, and that’s why they love each other as much as they do.”
“Why did Akia leave?” Ulrik asked.
He chuckled. “Honestly? We do not know. Akia is a very complex creature, with demons that shadow her past much like the ones that shadow yours.”
Ulrik started to nod then stopped and looked at Louvel with wide eyes. “Akia is a female?” he choked.
“Oui,” Louvel said, amusingly. “Akia is one of the many dark little secrets of our family. Beowulf came across her naked and covered in blood in Svay Pak. Somehow the young girl was sold into the trade of the Vietnamese village located in the Russey Keo District of Phnom Penh, Cambodia. She was caged and put on display.”
The young man gasped, his hands covering his mouth to stifle the sound.
“Beowulf lost his seldom seen temper, and went to take care of the vile beasts… Aux grands maux les grands moyens,” he said as if it explained it all. “When he returned to the villa with the tiny creature, and I discovered she was female, Seff nearly lost it. Returning to Verulfr Manor was not easy. The little girl terrified all of them, and they questioned it many times. Beowulf was known for bringing home Strays, so gender did not matter in his eyes, and his word was law. Yourself is included in that,” he reminded him with a chuckle. “Always an advocate for children that could not defend themselves,” he said softly, his attention and mind drifting to the past.
Ulrik groaned in frustration; his uncle was getting easily distracted as of late, and he knew it was from the stress of the situation, but he wanted to hear more about the lone female of their family. “Lou, Earth to Lou,” he said, snapping his fingers in his face, “come in, Lou.”
Louvel swatted his hand away with a chuckle. “À goupil endormi rien ne tombe en la gueule,” he reminded the impatient young man. “It is wise not to speak when it is not necessary,” he translated when his nephew groaned. “It is not my story to tell, Boy. Though, I will warn you now, do not ask. Varg would take it as a personal attack against his other half.”
Again, the young man groaned. “Fine, but tell me one thing, then I’ll drop it…for now.”
“This ought to be good,” Louvel said, reloading his pipe, motioning for him to ask.
“What was Beowulf’s count when he got her?” he whispered, looking around to make sure no one was lingering.
“Ahh, that question,” Louvel mused then beckoned the young man closer, which he eagerly obliged. “The body count was impressive, yes. However, no blood blemished Beowulf’s soul.”
Ulrik looked at him confused. “I don’t understand. You said Dad lost his temper, and she was covered in blood.”
“Oui and oui,” Louvel agreed. “Nearly twenty, most likely it was more once they succumbed to their wounds. They were grave indeed, but they were not caused by Beowulf, they were caused by the little creature he brought home. Heed my warning, Boy,” he said, patting the stunned young man’s cheek, “do not mention it for Varg’s wrath is a warm embrace in comparison to Akia’s.”
****
“How are you feeling?” Damian asked, leaning back in his chair, pushing his hand through his hair in frustration.
The sigh that echoed through the receiver caused his heart to clench in his chest.
“You go
t there in one piece?” he teased, trying to be lighthearted in order to keep the woman he loved on the other end of the line from losing it, especially since he wasn’t there to keep her together if needed.
“Sadly,” Akia said; she sounded mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted, neither of which was good. “I’ve been sitting outside the gate for the past hour, trying to find the nerve to drive up to house. This was a bad idea. I don’t even know what in the hell is going on, and of course Father doesn’t have a damn cell phone. That man is stuck in the stone ages, I swear.”
He chuckled as he absently doodled on the coversheet of the report he was supposed to be signing off on, and yet hadn’t bothered to look at still; work was the very last thing he wanted to do at the moment.
“Damian, I don’t even know what’s going on,” she said, mimicking his position in the driver’s seat more than a thousand kilometers away. “If this was just some ploy to get me back here, I’ll be so…” her words trailed off, and she shook her head. “Tell me a story.”
Damian rubbed his temples; the only time Akia asked for a story was when she was about to lose it and go over the edge, not something that he was willing to risk. “Did I ever tell you about homecoming?” he asked.