Arianna Rose: The Awakening (Part 2) (23 page)

“Then stay,” she begged
and cupped his face in her hands, returning his gaze to her
.

“I can
’t,
”
he murmured.

“So I’ll never see you again, is that how it works?” she asked and felt her brows draw together in mystification.
  “It doesn’t even make sense.”

“Of course
you’ll see me again.  I’ll always come when you call upon me.”

“What about now?  I’m calling on you now,
to stay
.
”

“It’s not that simple, Arianna.  I wish it was, but it’s not.”

Arianna wanted to argue, wanted to press him for a reason, but knew deep down,
that
it was pointless.

She started to pull away from him, his hands still held her arms.  He gripped her more tightly then pulled her against him.  He lowered his face to her and she could feel the hurried rise and fall of his chest, feel his hot breath against her mouth. 

“Don’t you understand my feelings for you?” he asked.

“No, I don’t understand anything right now,” she said dejectedly.

He stared at her for a long moment.  He placed his hands under her chin t
hen slowly, achingly slowly, his lips met hers. 

The
world fell away from Arianna
for the briefest of moments.  The insurmountable ache of loss and melted
as the sweet taste of his lips sent a tingle of electricity through her body, something that wiggled and whispered through her soul.  It wasn’t about
mourning, or
her powers, the battles that awaited her or what she could do to help others like her.  It was about the feel of him,
and only him, the feel
of Desmond’s lips upon hers. 
He was an irrevocable part of her, and she of him. 
His kiss somehow sealed that uns
poken connection between them, and explained why he could not stay.  He kissed her slowly, softly, a gentle act of his undeclared feelings for her.

His mouth felt blissful against hers and she wanted more.  She wanted to be closer to him, as close as she could possibly be.  She wanted to affirm life, to acknowledge the existence of something other than death
,
for death surrounded her, followed her. 

She flattened his lips with hers
and tightened her
h
old on him, then raked her nails d
own his broad back to
his
taut
waist.  She lifted the back of his shirt and felt his smooth skin beneath her fingertips, warm and inviting.  The urge to peel his shirt from his body and feel his bare skin against hers pressed at her until his hands pushed her away.

“We can’t,” he breathed but
his voice lacked certainty
.

“Your lips say that, but
is that what you really mean?
” she replied.  She nibbled his lower lip, and he groaned a delightful sensual sound that reached intimate parts of her.

“Arianna, no,” he said more sternly and grabbed her shoulders.  He held her back, away from him.  “I want nothing more than to,” he said and allowed his eyes to travel her body from head to toe.  “But we can’t.”

“Why?  Are there rules about that, too? 
Am I
to be chaste as well as alone?” she asked and knew she sounded irrational, like a pouting teenager.

“No.  There are n
o rules.  And you ha
ve not been chaste,
” he said and for the first time, his voice
was not even.  A hint of acid had crept into it. 

Arianna’s cheeks blazed.  He was referring to her night with Luke, a night she’d regretted wholeheartedly.  Desmond had been jealous.  She’d suspected it, had thought she’d heard the slightest traces of jealousy in his voice when she’d seen him afterward, but had dismissed it.  A remote part of her supposed she should be flattered that he cared, but hearing Luke’s name, poor, sweet Luke who had died because of his short relationship with her, only saddened her. 

“I have to go,” Desmond said dejectedly.  “And so do you.  You are needed.”

Desmond did not give her time to protest or ask questions.  Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and she felt a tingle begin in her chest and branch out as softly as a breath blowing across her skin, warm and welcoming, throughout her body.  She felt the familiar flow of his energy through her, thrumming in time with her heartbeat, whispering through every part of her.  Arianna pulled back for a second to look at his face, desperate to memorize every plane of his beautiful
,
serene,
face.  She did not know when she would see it again.  His golden hair haloed the perfectly
sculpted
angles of his face.  He looked as though he
had
been carved from marble, save for his eyes.  He eyes stared into hers, through hers into the farthest reaches of her soul
. 
Then h
e pulled her close to him, and she felt her breath catch in her chest.  Light filled her field of vision, brilliant white light.  Desmond and his warmth
enveloped her and for a
fleeting
second, the loss and loneliness that escorted her like a dark and permanent passenger, faded.  All she felt was Desmond.
 

When darkness returned, Desmond was gone and the yawning
pit of grief
slowly returned.  Her hand covered her heart and she doubled over for a moment
.  T
hen
she
heard a voice whisper through her mind, “I love you, Arianna.  We will meet again soon,” was all it said.  But each word caressed her being with frothy wisps of comfort, of hope.
  She would see Desmond again.

About the Authors:

Jennifer and Christopher Martucci hoped that their life plan had changed radically in early 2010.  To date, the jury is still out.  But late one night, in January of 2010, the stay-at-home mother of three girls under the age of six had just picked up the last doll from the playroom floor and placed it in a bin when her husband startled her by declaring, “We should write a book,
together
!”  Wearied from a day of shuttling the children to and from school, preschool and Daisy Scouts, laundry, cooking and cleaning, Jennifer stared blankly at her husband of fifteen years.  After all, the idea of writing a book had been an individual dream each of them possessed for much of their young adult lives.  Both had written separately in their teens and early twenties, but without much success.  They would write a dozen chapters here and there only to find that either the plot
had fallen
apart, or characters
had lost
their zest, or the story
had simply
fall
en
flat.  Christopher had always preferred penning science-fiction stories filled with monsters and diabolical villains, while Jennifer had favored venting personal experiences or writing about romance, as romance was far easier to invent fictitiously than it was to attain in real life.  Inevitably though, frustration and day-to-day life had placed writing on the back burner and for several years, each had pursued other (paying) careers.  But the dream had never died.  And Christopher suggested that their dream ought to be removed from the back burner for further examination. When he proposed that he and his wife author a book together on that cold January night, Jennifer was hesitant to reject the idea outright.  His proposal sparked a discussion, and the discussion lasted deep into the night.  By morning, the idea for the Dark Creations series was born.

The Dark Creations series was written, while Jenn
ifer and Christopher continued
with their daily activities and raised their young children.  They changed diapers, potty trained and went to story time at the local library between chapter outlines and served as room parents while fleshing out each section.  Life simply continued.  And in some ways, their everyday lives were reflected in the characters of the series.  In fact, the main female characters are named after three very important people in their lives: their three daughters.  Their likenesses end there, however. 

As the story line continues to evolve, so too does the Martucci collaboration.  Lunches are still packed, noses are still wiped and time remains a rare and precious commodity in their household in upstate New York, but it is the sound of happy chaos that is the true background music of their writing.  They hope that their work, though penned for a young adult audience, will be appreciated by the young of every age, and that all enjoy reading it as much as they enjoyed writing it.

Other works by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci:

The Dark Creations Series (A YA paranormal romance series)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 2)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1&2)

Dark Creations: Resurrection (Part 3)

Dark Creations: The Hunted (Part 4)

Coming Soon:

Dark Creations: Hell on Earth (Part 5)

Please visit our website at
:
http://www.darkcreationssaga.com

Chapter 1

Melissa Martin paced about her room nervously until a trio of beeps startled her.  She froze and looked in the direction of the sound.  It had come from the cell phone in her purse, and had seemed far louder than usual.  She rushed to her bed where her bag sat, hoping another set would not ring out, and quickly retrieved her phone.  She pressed a single button and her display screen brightened.  A small envelope icon in the lower left corner indicated that a message awaited her.  She was fairly certain of who the message was from, but checked, nevertheless. 

Kevin Anderson had sent two simple words to her via text message. 
I’m here
was all it said.  And with those two words, her plan had been set in motion. 

She inhaled deeply and put her phone back in her bag before crossing her room and placing a hand on her doorknob.  She turned it slowly, all the while willing it to twist silently.  When it had rotated as far as it would go, she pulled it toward her and opened the door.  She scanned the hallway beyond her room and found it dark and still, and saw that her father’s bedroom door was shut.  Satisfied that he was sleeping, she closed her door, tiptoed to her bed and grabbed her purse.  Her heart thundered in her ears and her hands shook as she moved to her window.  She knew she ought to hurry, that Kevin was waiting for her, but paused briefly to consider what she was doing.  She looked out, beyond the pane of glass she stood before, beyond her own reflection, into the blackened sky.  The sky seemed darker than normal, foreboding, as if it wished to warn her to stop, to stay inside.  She knew that that was exactly what she should do, stay inside, and forget about Kevin.  Her stomach ached and quivered.  She knew what she was about to do was wrong, that the consequences could be devastating.  She had a good sense of judgment, after all.  But she ignored it, as well as the worry that teemed inside her.

Pushing the worry to the back of her mind, she swallowed hard, placed both hands on the sill of her window and raised the pane first, then the screen.  A gust of cold air rushed in.  She hadn’t seen the treetops stir, didn’t know it would be a windy night, yet a strong blast of air had sent her lavender curtains fluttering and billowing so wildly, they had covered her face and temporarily obscured her vision with their flimsy fabric. The unexpected squall ended as mysteriously as it had begun, however, and left her wondering whether it, like the unusually dark sky, sought to convey some cosmic message. 

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at the thought of cosmic messages, and guessed that nerves, and nerves alone, were responsible for such thoughts.  After all, neither the elements nor the cosmos cared whether she went or not.  Her father would, though.  She was sure he would not appreciate her skulking off in the middle of the night to meet Kevin.  And if she were caught doing so, he would not trust her again anytime soon. 

The thought of losing her father’s trust halted her, but not for long.  Her phone beeped again as if impatiently urging her on.  Without further thought and despite her reservations, she climbed out of her second-story window out onto the frost-coated roof of the garage.  She slid down its length on her backside until she reached the edge.  After carefully avoiding contact with debris in the gutter, s
he grabbed hold of a
n
outstretched
tree limb.  The limb belonged to an old
oak that grew alongside her house. 
She climbed onto it and began carefully navigating the network of branches deep within the tree until she reached the lowest branch and dropped to the frozen grass below

She took a few timid steps and looked over her shoulder at her house.  Save for the faint glow her nightlight radiated in her window, the house, and the tree, were enveloped in darkness.  Cold crept up her body from the icy lawn.  She turned from her house, wrapped her arms around her shoulders and wished she’d worn a heavier jacket, or perhaps had forgone the meeting entirely.  Either way, she was out already and she did not turn back.  Instead, she stole across her lawn and rushed down her street.  She moved so quickly, she hardly noticed the humble, uniform houses on Blackstone Drive.  Her own home, small and modest like the ones it neighbored, grew smaller and smaller in the distance until it disappeared.  She neared the edge of her neighborhood in the unassuming community of Harbingers Falls, New York and immediately saw Kevin’s car.