Limerence II (9 page)

“Mia, we have been running for over half an hour,” he says softly. I stare at him, dumbfounded. “We are a very long way from the castle, further than most are allowed to venture unless under the Queen’s specific orders.

My mouth opens and closes like a fish trying to find the right words. “And these are the Queen’s orders?” I ask, feeling somewhat upset about it for some reason.

“No, Little Mia, not specifically. She asked me to train you, and this is part of your training.” He smiles softly, yet something sits behind his stony mask, letting me know that he isn’t being entirely truthful, and I pout, feeling a mixture of too many emotions again. This all felt like too much, too soon. After the other night I’m not sure that I’m ready, but I don’t want to disappoint Evan. He places a hand over my eyes and I flinch involuntarily. “Close your eyes and take a moment to adjust. Let everything absorb, yet block the deeper feelings,” he coaxes, and I close my eyes, feeling my long lashes drag across the underside of his hand and feeling him shiver. I want to know what he’s feeling, I want to see the colours that swirl around him right now, but I keep my eyes shut like a good little student and obey him, trusting him. “Feel yourself in this moment, with me. You are safe.”

“Evan.” I snort out a laugh at his audacity, to think that I would need him to keep me safe.

His finger presses to my lips. “Shh now, Little Mia,” he chuckles, and I feel him moving around in lazy circles as if wrapping his scent around me. It works, too—whatever it is that he’s doing—because I can’t smell the human blood anymore, only him. And it makes me hungry in a new way. “Are you ready now?”

“Yes,” I say breathlessly and open my eyes.

He’s standing in front of me, leaning down so that we are almost nose to nose. He searches my face slowly as if looking for something. His hand gently brushes my hair away from my cheek. I shiver again and he smiles slowly.

“Yes, you are ready.” Apparently satisfied, he stands and takes my hand again, and we walk through the woods, dipping under low branches until the trees open up and a small town is in front of us.

The twinkling of streetlights and late night shop windows give the town life, and we cross the road together, hand in hand, the ground loud under our feet as we step over back into a world I have not been in for far too long.

Nerves bubble in my stomach and I begin to panic. I should have eaten more, should have trained harder today so that I was more tired.

Evan squeezes my hand. “Stop panicking, you’re fine,” he says, and I look across to him and know that he is right: I
am
okay. This time I’m not freaking out, this time I’m not overwhelmed.

I take a deep breath—though I don’t need to, but I know it helps Evan when he is stressed—and it works. As I exhale the air slowly from my lips, I feel the tension leaving my shoulders.

“That’s better, Little Mia.”

I look across at him sharply, ignoring the stare of a human woman that passes me by. I can’t blame her for staring: together we no doubt look like an exceptional couple. Where he is tall, tanned, and built like a warrior with a handsome smile and deep brown eyes, I am lithe and slender, with a taut stomach and pert breasts; red lips take placement on my face without the need for reapplying lipstick ever again. I hear him chuckle, a deep, throaty laugh that screams masculinity and seduction. I look across at him in questioning. He shakes his head, glancing towards the woman who is now open-mouthed as we pass her by.

I smile at her and wave, and she flames in embarrassment and scuttles off on her way. I turn my attention back to Evan, who is watching me with a small smile.

“I guess we’re not going to blend in tonight are we?” I ask shyly.

Evan stops walking, turns to me, and trails one of his large hands softly down my cheek. “Little Mia, your beauty could never blend in to this grey world.”

“You used to
drink coffee, yes?” he asks casually, as if he hadn’t just said his previous statement, and for a moment I wonder if I imagined it.

“I, umm, yeah. I think so, anyway.”

“Try to remember,” he says and pulls me forwards as we continue to walk.

I reach my mind back, thinking of my old life. Somewhere in the depths of my mind, I see myself drinking coffee. I remember the feel of my favourite mug in my hands, the heat burning my fingertips, and the taste—bitter and sweet all at the same time.

“Well?” he asks as we stop again, and he looks down at me.

I look up to him and nod. “Yes, I liked coffee, then.” I continue to look at him in puzzlement. “But what does that have to do with now? I can’t drink coffee, I drink…” I let me words trail off, knowing that I don’t need to finish the sentence, that he knows exactly what I—what
we
drink now.

“Whoever told you that you can’t drink it? I certainly never did.” He winks.

The man winks!
I smirk.

He pulls me towards a glass and wood door and he pushes it open, a little bell jingling above it and stirring more troubling memories. We are inside and my body is enveloped in warmth and familiar smells that make me smile automatically for some absurd reason. This is not my town, where I grew up as a child, where I worked and had family and friends. And it would not matter to me if it were, for I have no emotion towards those people and that part of my life—but the familiar scent of coffee has the same effect on me as if it were my old town, and as if I
did
give a damn.

Dizziness overwhelms me, but Evan’s strong arm is around my waist, holding me tightly to him before I can fall, and he guides me towards a small booth near the back before sliding me into it. It’s all padded red seats and cherry wood tables, with silver salt and pepper pots, very quaint, and I’m sure this is the sort of thing that previously I would have loved. However, these days all I care about is the taste of blood on my tongue. Well, nearly all I care about: painting has a small pull over me at the moment, also.

I shiver, hard, as the thought bubbles to the surface. Evan slides in opposite me, giving me space, but leans across and takes my hand in his to let me know that he is close enough if I need him. And the previous thought is gone before it can take hold and awaken
her
.

The windows are steamed up from the summer evening, and I wipe a hand against the fog in the window to stare out at the street. Memories are encroaching upon me, familiar yet foreign, as if looking on at someone else’s life. I know the facts of my life—and death, I remember my friends and family, but there have never been any feelings towards it. No mourning for my losses, no cheers for my wins. Nothing. Just empty memories devoid of emotions. The only feeling I ever seem to have is thirst for blood. And lust. That is an emotion—a feeling that my vampire body seems to run on. Yet the familiar smell of coffee has awakened my senses, and something new and wild is growing inside me. I can’t say I like it, but it’s not entirely unpleasant, either. Worrying more than anything. Because anything new is something to worry about in this life, since I never know how I or
she
will react to it.

“Evan?” I look across at him, expecting to see worry or doubt, but instead he is calm, his eyes searching my face. I forget what I was about to say, and instead get lost in the depth of his eyes, all feelings of loss and mourning shrivelling up and going back down the hole that they came from.

A waitress comes over to the table, an apron wrapped around her waist. She looks at our hands entwined and smiles kindly. The heat of her blood reignites the hunger that I had so far managed to suppress, and the coffee shop seems to fade into oblivion.

Her heartbeat is the only sound that I can hear—the constant thrum of it playing a tune to my own dead heart. I see her lips moving but do not hear the words that she speaks, her eyes darting between Evan and me. I only see her plump lips moving, her hand gesturing casually as she reels off words of some sort. She looks at me, and smiles again. Her aura bounces around her in multitudes of colours as she tries to grasp what my deal is.

The urge to scream out that my deal is I want to drink her body dry is almost overwhelming, and hunger flames inside me. I feel Evan squeeze my hand, and then the waitress is gone from my reach and the world comes back into focus, but I can still smell it.

The humans’ blood.

So much blood.

My fangs are twitching to release and tear into throats, draining bodies of blood and satisfying a craving that I never seem to be able to fulfil.

“Mia.” Evan squeezes my hand again, but I can’t seem to drag my eyes away from the man in the booth next to us. He picks up his cup and takes a deep drink of his coffee, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows the hot liquid down, completely oblivious to my stare of hunger.

“Mia.” His hand touches the bottom of my chin, and I flinch. The feel of his hand on my skin is almost painful. “Close your eyes, listen to me.”

But I can’t. I can’t close my eyes. If I close my eyes, I’ll lose what is left of my control. My body shakes, trembling from head to toe, and I want to sob with the pain that burns inside me, an inferno of heat. This is too much. Too damn much. I feel her waking, stretching and smiling with glee. I feel her testing her boundaries, and I feel them flexing. Evan’s fingers squeeze on my jaw, and I look away from the man and towards Evan.

I see his eyes first: deep and dark, like an abyss waiting to swallow me whole. But then something else is there, and I realise that it won’t swallow me whole, the abyss will cover me in a blanket of protection. His grey aura swirls around him, soothing, calming. Like a balm for a bruise, the aura envelopes me and wraps itself around my body, and the heat that has been rising in me settles. My body cooling from the pain of hunger, yet heating up at the sight of such trust and caring. His scent floods me, the now familiar scent of vanilla and wild spices closing off the other scents to me. His smell washes away the stench of blood, and my fangs stop burning. I reach out and take his hand, squeezing it, and he smiles. Colours burst in his aura, red mingling with the deep grey, and he squeezes my hand back. He smiles at me again and I smile back.

And just like that he has both found and stolen me.

“Evan?” I begin.

He puts a finger to my lips and hushes me—as if he already knows that he has stolen the small portion of my soul that was left untouched, that was still mine.

And now it’s his.

It’s not just his body that I’m attracted to anymore; it’s him. Every part of him. And now he has claimed me. And he doesn’t even know it. I look down, suddenly feeling self-conscious and embarrassed by my sudden revelation.

With him I feel safe, protected, and I know I won’t lose control. He will stop me—stop her. He is the yin to my yang, as ridiculous as it sounds to my ears. He chuckles and I look up sharply. A small smile touches the edge of his mouth and I have the urge to reach over and trace it—that small irregularity to his symmetrical face. I notice the others then: the small scar in one of his dark eyebrows, the marks on his neck, the tattoos that wrap around both of his arms. He laughs again, deep and gravelly, and it stirs something all the way down to my toes, and my stomach burns for something other than just blood.

The waitress comes back to our booth and places two large coffees on the table before leaving us alone again. But I don’t care about her proximity; the scent of her blood does nothing for me. I could be in a room full of bleeding donators and I wouldn’t care.

The temperature is rising and my body burns to touch him.

I bite down on the pad of his finger, and the colours in his aura gets brighter. I hear a rumble from somewhere before realising that it is him—Evan; his chest is rumbling, for me. And it burns me up more. Almost setting me alight with desire and wanting.

“I feel like I’m on fire,” I state, never looking away.

His pupils dilate, his thumb rubbing along my lower lip. His chest rumbles again, and I watch him swallow, and I know without seeing that if he dared open his mouth now, I would see his fangs out.

And the thought scorches my mind, lust lapping at my insides.

And then he is gone.

He pulls his hand away and my skin feels cold without his touch. I flush, embarrassed once more by my reaction to him. His aura is still awash with colours, but his normal calming grey has returned in abundance, his doors locking me back out.

I reach and pick up my coffee mug. It’s white and plain, with a small black logo of the diner on it. I remember my mug—my favourite mug, the one Oliver got me—and I wonder what happened to it. Does Rachel still use it? Or did my parents pack it away with all my things? I sigh. I loved that mug. I remember it suddenly, shattered into tiny pieces, and I feel saddened by the fact that it is gone.

“Drink, Mia,” Evan says, a small quirk on his lips like he knows that I just felt something for my old life and that is supposed to be a good thing. However, it doesn’t feel like a good thing right now. Sadness isn’t ever a good thing.

I don’t look at him, but stare down into my coffee. The smell should be inviting, but something about it turns my stomach. No part of my body wants me to drink this, and I shudder. It’s creamy and brown and the smell is strong in my nose. Instead of inviting it’s…it’s…

“That smells disgusting.” I grimace.

Evan barks out a loud laugh. “Drink it,” he says between laughing.

“I don’t want to. It doesn’t even look nice.” I put it closer to my nose and sniff it harder. “Urgh, Evan, that smells awful, please don’t make me.” I put the cup down, but before I can let go he’s covering my hand with his and lifting the mug back up.

“Drink,” he snaps. “It is part of today’s lesson.”

He pushes the mug towards my lips, but I stubbornly fight him. I can see right through his ruse; I can see his aura and know that this has nothing to do with today’s lesson, but more Evan’s playful side coming out to tease me, and though I love this side of him…I’m not drinking his disgusting coffee.

“No,” I snap back.

He grumbles and frowns. “It’s for your own good. You need to remember but be calm about it. Now drink.”

The coffee spills over the rim of the mug and splashes on to the table. It should burn my hand but it doesn’t, of course, so we both continue to fight with the mug holding, it in the space between us in midair. The waitress comes back to our table and watches with amusement for a second before Evan narrows his eyes and lets go of the mug.

“Everything okay here?” she asks, watching me put the mug on the table and push it towards her.

“I don’t want that.” I grimace again.

“Something wrong with it?” She picks it up and looks at it. “Did I mix your order up? Did you want it black?” She looks momentarily worried until I reassure her that she didn’t mix up the order.

“No, I just remembered, I don’t like coffee.” I flounder for what to say. “I don’t know why he ordered it for me. Terrible boyfriend really, wouldn’t you say?” I arch an eyebrow at her.

“Oh.” She looks from Evan and back to me. “Well, yeah. Can I get you something else then?”

I shake my head, the grimace still firmly planted on my face, and she gives a little shrug and wanders off in confusion with the vile coffee mug.

“Mia, that was a bratty thing to do,” Evan scolds.

I look across at him and grin. “Whatever.”

“What are you smiling at?” he asks, still frowning.

I roll my eyes. “You, Evan.”

“This is all part of your training. It’s very important.” His brow furrows, and he picks up his own coffee and takes a drink.

I watch in deep fascination as the colours around him change in texture, almost becoming more fluid-like, instead of the smoke-like fog I’m so used to seeing. It’s amazing, and I can’t seem to look away; the urge to touch it is almost insatiable. I catch Evan’s eye and he smiles.

“What do you see, Little Mia?” he asks and takes another mouthful of the gross coffee.

My hands move to the little salt and pepper pots, fiddling with them by tipping some salt onto the table and drawing and drawing in it.

“Let me ask you, Evan. What is your power?” I don’t look up, but continue to draw doodles in the salt. “I mean, you must be a trainer for a reason other than just strength. I know that you’re not just a simple Pawn. You’re more than that—you’re a Bastion if ever I saw one.” I tip pepper on to the table and mix it with the salt, attempting to act coy and disinterested. When he doesn’t answer I look up and see him watching me intently.

“Who said that Pawns were simple?” His expression darkens and I can’t help but laugh.

“Are you offended because I said you were simple?”

“Do you really think
I
am simple, for that matter?” he retorts dryly.

“Oh my gosh, you
are
offended!” I laugh. “No, Evan, I do not think that you are simple. Far from it. In fact, you are positively the most frustrating man I’ve ever met. Deeply fascinating and highly intelligent.” I chuckle.