Limerence II (6 page)

I storm into the dining room, my mood particularly foul. I point with a grunt to one of the humans sitting behind the counter, and Donny grabs one of the larger glasses and fills it with the fresh blood. I take it from him, reciprocating with a scowl for the smile he offers me, and I storm to a table near the back of the room. I slide into the chair and look down at my drink, feeling the heat of the blood through the glass and the life that it offers. I drink it down slowly, thinking of the worst part of my memory, the one that always puts me in this bad mood. The one that cuts me deep, that makes me feel shameful and weak.

Because it is the worst and best part of the memory.

Mia had stared into my face, her delicate hands on either side of my face as she had leaned up and gently pressed her lips upon mine. Heat burned from her touch, making the kiss both exquisite and painful. She stole me when she kissed me—stole my body and mind with the most tender kiss I have ever received.

I absently rub and pull on my bottom lip, the memory of that most perfect kiss still burning strong after all this time. As if her lips were made only for mine and all previous kisses were just practice for this one moment.

I knew she was perfect for me in that instant.

And then Mia had asked me to stay, and she hadn’t meant just to have sex: she had wanted me to hold her close and to cherish her. But my feelings for her had frightened me then—and they still frighten me now. The intensity of them had come from nowhere, almost collapsing me to my knees before her. I had felt weak under her intense gaze, so I’d refused and left her alone, listening to her cry as I walked away, shame burning my cheeks.

Fear is born from uncertainty, and I fear Mia. I fear the adoration that I have for her, the total unfathomable devotion that is like a living, breathing being inside of me—a thing I fight against daily. She is my everything, and I don’t know how it has come to this or how to stop it. Each day is like a slow torture to me. When we train and fight, when her lithe body comes into contact with mine and sends currents of electricity jolting through me, it physically pains me, because when she looks at me, I feel as though she truly sees me. Not the charade of a man that I am, but
me
—and that is both breathtaking and horrifying.

“Concentrate, Mia!”
Evan yells into my face again as he slams me against the training room wall for the tenth time. Dust floats down from the ceiling. I stare back at him blankly, despite the pain in my back and my lungs feeling like they have just caved in. Good thing I don’t need them anymore.

His nostrils flare, his brown eyes looking dark and furious at me. “If I were a threat to you, you would be dead by now,” he growls, his taut muscles straining as he holds me in place.

I try to push away from him, but he holds me firm until he is ready to let me go. When he has made his point in restraining me, he lets me go and I push past him, brushing his arm away from me when he tries to stop me. “Well, you’re not a threat, are you?”

No chance of that happening.

I hear him mutter to himself, but can’t be bothered to respond. Instead I check the time and see that I still have another twenty minutes before I can leave.

“Can’t we just finish early for today?” I whine and turn to face him.

He cracks his knuckles, and for a minute I wonder if he is going to tackle me again, but instead he looks down to his feet, his shoulders slumping. “Fine, if that’s your wish.”

I roll my eyes at him. “It’s not my wish, Evan, I just . . .” It’s my turn to look away now. “This is just hard. You have to see that.” I watch him, but other than the sweat glistening on him and the flexing of his muscles, he is like stone. “You must feel it too,” I almost beg, feeling pathetic.

We both know what I’m talking about: him, us, this awkwardness. We’ve crossed a line and can’t go back.

He drags a hand down his face before huffing out a breath—as if that will make things better. “I said fine,” he says, and begins to walk away. “This is my mess. I will sort it out.”

“Don’t be like that,” I plead, feeling
her
looking on and watching with glee at my discomfort.

Evan turns to me, his face as hard as stone. “I will arrange for a new trainer for you, Mia.” He turns and begins to walk away, and for a second I’m frozen to the spot, not sure if I heard him correctly, and then trying to make a rapid decision on if that’s what would be for the best. But I know without a doubt that I need him in some way—in any way, a part of my life—and I chase after him.

“Evan, wait.” I grab his muscular arm and he turns, though only with my prompting; but he refuses to look at me. “I don’t want anyone else to train me,” I say simply.

“I do not want to make things more difficult for you. I am here to train you, to teach you. That is all this can ever be.” He says the words like they pain him. “You are not mine, Mia.” He looks down at me, his jaw grinding.

“I am not anyone’s, no one owns me,” I snipe.

He looks disgusted. “That is where you are wrong, Mia. Why do I have to keep reminding you of this?” He shakes his head.

“Okay, okay, fine, I get it, I have no freewill anymore, I am not my own, blah blah, whatever.” My hand still grips his bicep, his skin feeling hot underneath my palm—which I know is impossible. Evan scowls and turns away, and I try a new tack: “Look, just don’t go, okay? Teach me something new. I don’t want to fight today,” I plead, not wanting today to end on bad terms again—not wanting him to leave and get me a new trainer because neither of us can control this thing that is growing between us, because neither of us wants to control it. Because we both want to let it flourish and grow and see what happens, but instead we have to stick to stupid silly rules that are possibly going to drive me mad—or at the very least destroy my libido.

“It is not fighting, Mia. It is much more than that. This that I teach you is a powerful skill to protect yourself with, to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” I cut him off. “You’re turning me into the karate kid. You’ve given me this speech before. How about you teach me, Evan? I beg you. I am yours.” I pause, and when he looks at me with a cocked eyebrow I add on: “I am yours to teach.” I can’t help a cheeky smile rising on my face when I see a flush of bright colour added to his typical dark grey aura, showing me that my words affected him.

I feel myself getting flustered and force myself to calm down, to show him my self-restraint and that we can still train together and spend time together. I can see that he’s coming around to the idea and I push harder, clutching his arm in my grasp tighter, not wanting to relinquish the touch between us. “Teach me something new, show me something different, Evan. Or don’t, but let’s spend the time together. As friends,” I say firmly to ease his apparent discomfort at spending time alone with me.

He seems thoughtful as he looks away from my pleading face, but I see his colours dancing freely around him and I know that I have him at least considering my proposal. A minute ticks by, and as I am about to prompt him to say something, he speaks.

“I will show you something, Mia, something secret.” He looks back at me, his face still serious, but at least his jaw has stopped grinding in frustration.

I smile. “Okay.” I’m happy that the discussion has changed from him not being my trainer anymore and wondering when exactly I turned into such a pathetic woman, hanging on this man’s every word. I have become my own worst nightmare. Typical cliché here I come.

“This thing that I show you, you can never tell anyone, never show anyone else. This will be our secret,” he says gravely.

I nod, feeling the stirrings of butterflies in my stomach that he’s showing me something that no one else has seen—a side to him that is special and private, and just for me. “Never,” I say almost playfully. He frowns and I add more seriously, “Never.” My hand squeezes his arm to show him my sincerity, and he looks down at where our skin meets, both feeling the connection between us, the heat travelling from one dead soul to another and joining us, making us both whole. Or at least, that’s how it should be.

He swallows. “Come,” he says and leaves the room abruptly, my hand leaving his arm.

I stand there in a daze, staring down at my fingertips in confusion until I hear him shout my name from far down the hallway.

“Little Mia,” he sing-songs.

I smile to myself and follow after him quickly.

He takes me to a part of the coven that I have never been in before—yet another section that is unused thanks to our shrinking clan. I am at a loss as to how we are not growing in numbers; there are more than enough of us to create new vampires, yet our queen does not bother to do so. Only the odd one here and there are brought to us, though most seem to go mad long before their arrival. It makes me realise that I was perhaps lucky to live through my voyage from England to here.

Evan unlocks a wooden door, opening it up wide and letting me enter first. I pass him, giving him a quick glance as I do, and then I am lost in this new room. The walls are lined with books; from floor to ceiling they are stacked neatly, orderly—some on shelves some in piles, their beautiful spines pristine. Even from here I can see that they are well used but well looked after. Yet if this is an unused part of the coven, how is it that they are so well kept?

Evan strides over to the fireplace on the back wall and begins building a fire for us. I’m unsure why: we do not feel the cold like humans do, so it seems a pointless task, if I’m honest. As the flames take hold in the small fire pit, I see why he lit it, and I smile. He flicks the lights off, creating a soothing atmosphere in the room, a warm glow cast from the fire and making me instantly relax. The smell of the books, the crackle of the fire, it all helps me forget the pain of being a vampire and of fighting unseen forces.

He walks back towards me, reciprocating my smile with one of his own, his scowling mask removed for once.

“This is my secret place, where I come to . . .” He ponders his words before continuing. “Where I relax, and close off from the world. My time here is my own, the only time that is my own.”

“You were a reader before?” I ask, though looking at the lovingly looked after books, I needn’t have voiced the question since the answer is blatant.

“I was.” He nods, seeming genuinely happy. He takes my hand, his aura flexing with new colours as his excitement grows, and leads me over to the fireplace, to where two chairs sit facing one another. “I thought we could read for a little while. It could be good for you to learn something from one of these books.” He picks the first book off the shelf, a greying edition of
The Hound of the Baskervilles.
He frowns when he realises his error and that there will not be much to learn from such a book, and I realise that he just wanted to share his special place with me. Warmth grows in the pit of my stomach at that thought, and I can barely control the smile that wants to break out.

No lesson shall be taught today. Except the lesson on who this man is and who he was previously. He looks embarrassed as he realises his error, and I stumble over my words to put him back at ease as I see his scowl returning and his jaw beginning to grind again.

“I’ve never read that, I’ve always wanted to,” I say hurriedly, feeling almost nervous. “It will teach me patience. I’ve always been terribly impatient.”

He looks up through his lashes with a lazy smile, his shoulders relaxing, almost like his mask is slipping away, and all of his pretences are gone. Here he is Evan. This is his domain, and I am his visitor. Here he is king and ruler, and not a slave imprisoned to carry out someone else’s tasks for the rest of his days. Evan showing me this room only adds to his mystique and endears him more to me.

His smile grows wider, as if he knows a secret that I do not. “Sit down.” He pulls me to the chair. “You like to read, yes?” I nod and he fluffs a cushion and forces me to sit in it. The gesture is ridiculously domesticated and obscenely sweet, and I feel heat rise to my cheeks. He hands me the book, even going so much as to open the cover for me, his hand giving the barest of touches to my own.

I stare at the page, not really in the right frame of mind to read but not wanting to disappoint him either. I shyly glance back up at him and notice him still staring at me and I force my eyes downward to the page again, the words becoming a messy blur of black ink and cream paper, my nerves turning the words to mush. I read the first line repeatedly, and when I feel that it is time to turn the page, I turn it, never having read past that one opening line, because the whole time he is there, staring, watching, and something is racing inside me, and by God it’s not my heart, so what the hell is it? I swallow, my throat feeling parched, dry as sandpaper, and then all I can think about is drinking blood, lapping it off Evan’s hard chest, and his eyes are still watching me intently.

“This isn’t pay-per-view,” I say pointedly, not sure what else to say, but needing to say something to ease the tension in my body. He seems so at ease, yet I am feeling anything but. A nervous excitement is coursing the length of my body.

I look up at him again and his expression goes from embarrassment to humour and he barks out a loud laugh. I smirk, feeling my mouth turn up as he continues to laugh.

“I am sorry,” he says, his accent so strong and delicious with no pretences. Like black coffee, rich and potent, it makes me shiver for more. Just one more taste of its perfection—his perfection.

“It’s okay,” I reply, looking back down at my page and still feeling nervous, the something in my chest racing a hundred miles an hour. “Are you not going to read?” I ask with genuine interest.

“Yes, I…yes.” He plucks another random book off a shelf without thinking and sits opposite me, the book sitting unopened in his lap. “Mia?”

I look up automatically at my name on his lips. “Yes?” I say desperately.

He stares at me for a long time before shaking his head and looking away. “Nothing, enjoy your book.”

I look back down at my page, feeling tears welling in my eyes. This man tells me he will get me a new trainer because it is too hard to hold back from me, then he brings me here to his special place, and then…“You’re so confusing, Evan.”

I hear his sharp intake of breath at my words—at his name on my lips—and I slowly look up to him. His face is filled with angst and pain and I want to pour myself onto his lap, wrap my arms around his body and hold him close, breathing in his smell, and somehow make him feel better. Because maybe it will be okay, maybe I can make him feel better, if he’d just let me try. We can’t be together as more than trainer and trainee. As friends, perhaps, but surely I can hold him and make him feel better.

It’s his turn to swallow now, as he says darkly: “So do it.”

So do it.
I repeat it in my head, making sure that I heard it correctly and wondering how he knows just what I’m thinking at all the right times.

When I am certain I did in fact hear those three beautiful words, I stand, placing the book gently on the arm of the chair and nervously taking the two steps towards him. What made him have such a sudden change of heart, I don’t know, and I don’t care right now as I climb on to his lap and wrap my arms tightly around his tense body before placing my face on his chest and breathing in his scent. I feel heady with desire and yearning, and the whole time he doesn’t move, doesn’t touch me or stir, but lets me hold him, lets me be close to him in a way no one else possibly has in a very long time. And even though it is breaking the rules, he lets me do it anyway, his resolve slowly melting away with a rumble of longing coming from deep within his chest, and I press myself to it, feeling the vibrations beneath my skin, feeling the pain that he has been holding inside him for so many years. He may be a warrior of great strength and immeasurable power, but underneath all that he is just a broken man who is carrying a great burden of some sort.