Dark Diary (19 page)

Our bare skin sliding together.

“Kathera,” he whispered in a labored breath. “Say you want me.” His fingers traced my hips. “Because I need you right now, more than anything.” My mind went blank and my body flinched at the sound of his words. The sexual impulses were driving out all reason and conscience.

“Kathera?” He kissed the hollow of my throat.

Yes. I wanted him.

Didn’t I?

His chest felt so good against mine and my fingers wanted to stay nestled in his soft hair. Maybe I did want to be his.

Yes. I did.

I wanted to taste him. Breathe him in. Be his. Be
all
of his.

All I had to do was give in… and let him take me.

Take me?

Wait…

What was I thinking?

I froze.

A breath caught in my lungs.

My mind cleared.

No.

I struggled to regain my wits as my body throbbed with an urge to become part of him—to
literally
let him in.

But I wasn’t ready for this.

“I can’t.” My voice was shaky from the adrenaline. “I-I can’t do this, Derek.” His grip loosened almost instantly and I slid off to his side, recoiling a few inches away from him
on the bed. I was shocked at how quickly he had let me go, but I think he was deathly afraid of doing anything that could
make me fear him.

“Kathera.” He used his free hand to wipe sweat from his forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Derek rolled over toward me and touched my quivering face. His eyes widened with concern and he shook his head. “I wasn’t going to make you do anything you weren’t comfortable with. Please, believe me. I’m sorry. I just—”

“It’s okay.” Thoughts were hard to gather with my head still spinning. My insides were quaking and unsatisfied that we had stopped. God, I wanted him so much it made me feel unfulfilled and angry at myself. No. My body wanted him, but I wasn’t ready to give him the one thing I’d tried so hard to keep.

“I… want to wait. Please.” I stumbled over my words though I knew
what I needed to say. “I… want to wait until I’m married.” My face felt hot. The request shouldn’t have been such an embarrassing thing to tell him, but it was. “I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression.”

“No. No.” He shook his head and thoughtfully stretched his fingers out to slide the stray strap of my tank back onto my shoulder. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry that I would even assume anything from you. I couldn’t help it, Kathera. I—”

“I led you on and I apologize for it,” I said, looking away.

He hadn’t assumed anything. For a moment, I did want to have sex with him, and if my nagging conscience hadn’t been so strong, God knows I would have.

“
I don’t want to do anything to push you away.” He rested a hand over mine.

“I’m not upset. Really,” I assured him softly.

I’d be lying if I tried to downplay Derek’s talents. He had
me under a spell and I’d have been a fool to not covet such a capable lover. I just wasn’t ready for it all so quickly.

Maybe I should have spent the rest of the night alone.

That would have been the
rational
thing to do.

But, I thought that if I had left him just then, it only
would
have made things worse; it only would have hurt him
more—trying to sleep while being tortured by the idea that he had done something wrong to me.

Derek had tried very hard to treat me the way he thought
I had wanted to be treated. It wasn’t his fault that I had let my own inexperience get the best of me.

“Would you
be upset if I wanted to stay with you tonight?” I scooted a little closer. “Please? Just… hold me close.
If it’s a stupid thing of me to ask, I’ll—”

His arms wrapped around me again and he didn’t hesitate to pull me to him.

“Thank you,” I whispered, nuzzling his chest as my anxious heartbeat calmed.

He was quick to forgive.

He lay back and I cuddled up against his side. Pressed so close, my fingers unintentionally grazed over some of the scars on his chest. They were mostly small lines from cuts and scrapes he had likely gotten in his old fights. The
swirling tribal dragon tattoos down each of his shoulders disguised
most of them during the day, but right against his body I could feel them as sure as they graced his skin.

He had told me about the girl who had nearly gotten him killed—the one he had fought so hard to keep, only to
discover that she had been cheating on him. The scar running down his side would be a constant reminder of his misjudgment. He had put his trust in the wrong girl back then; it had
taken him years to get over, and I truly respected his decision to trust
me
now.

It had changed him greatly, though—his experiences. He had hurt many people including his parents, and he had been paying the price for most of his life, even after he had made the difficult decision to change.

I couldn’t imagine him with a dark streak
. His touch was careful and reserved with me and, despite what had almost happened, I still felt secure in his arms. I knew he would keep me safe at any cost.

I rested my fingers on his skin. Scars had always fascinated me. Perhaps because each one holds a story only the bearer can really tell. They weren’t imperfections, they were embellishments.

One of Derek’s hands brushed a trail down my cheekbone. I smiled
and knew he did the same. We had our differences and we had things we needed to sort out still, but there was no denying how good we felt in each other’s arms.

Morning came. Sunlight shone through the partially opened blinds and I blinked several times to adjust my eyes. My fingers uncurled from the edge of a soft blanket that had apparently been pulled over me as I had slept. I sat up and looked around the empty room.

Derek was gone, but my robe had been neatly laid out flat across the other side of the bed. There was a small note folded up next to it that read:

“Take it easy today. I went in early to get some things done. Forgive me for last night. You’re worth more to me than that.”

It was signed simply in a cursive “D.” There was a small,
artistic heart scribbled beside his initial that made me chuckle.
He was an artist, too, after all.

Our days and nights continued much like the first night
we had ended up sleeping in the same bed together, only with him
knowing exactly how far to take things and graciously accepting the consequences of his sacrifices. Derek listened to me and he respected my decision to save myself until marriage, but I sensed how excruciatingly difficult it was… sometimes for
both
of us. Maybe it was selfish of me to deny him the inevitable, but I couldn’t ignore the voice in my head that kept telling me to wait.

Still, he never hesitated to spend a portion of each night holding me close and pledging faithfulness to me with every kiss and earnest whisper. He was in love with me and not afraid to say it.

He had professed his feelings many times already and, to refrain from being insincere, I had explained my discomfort in returning the sentiment. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel the same way; I just couldn’t bring myself to tell him that I loved him in return until I was sure with all my heart and soul. My heart swore his embrace was meant to hold me, but my soul harbored unjustifiable doubts.

The knob squeaked as I twisted it and the water stopped running. I stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel to wrap around my body. My wet feet formed shallow imprints in the bathroom rug as I wiped them back and forth a few
times to dry them. I bent over, wrapped a second towel around
my scraggly, damp hair, and then flipped the whole bundle back behind my shoulders.

It was quiet outside the bathroom door. Derek had left for the shop probably no more than twenty minutes ago and he would be back later in the night. I hadn’t been scheduled
to work tonight, so the entire house was mine for the remainder of the evening. It felt nice to pry open a few windows
and let in the fresh winter air. The days became dark earlier, and I tried to enjoy the sunlight while it was there, because it vanished all too quickly.

I slipped my arms through my soft t-shirt and pulled my jeans on. There was a chill in the air from the breeze, but I liked it. Nothing my dark-gray hoodie couldn’t stave off. I pulled open the top drawer of the large dresser in the guest room I usually stayed in and slid out the folded-up hoodie. I shook it out and looked it over. There were a few wrinkles from storage, but it felt and smelled as comforting as ever.

I had barely finished tugging the sleeves down my wrists when I noticed it.

There… on the dresser.

A note.

And a small black velvet box.

I
gasped without even considering what the note contained
because I knew what the box did.

I stepped back, unsettled and afraid to open either of them.

My knees shook as I stretched a hand out to take up the note.

An elegant, soft yellow parchment envelope contained a matching paper note with hand-written cursive in black ink—the deliberately refined form of Derek’s handwriting.

My hands trembled as I lifted up the letter to read it.

FOREIGN FRUSTRATIONS
tingled in my blood, imbuing me with the agony of another. My senses heightened and I felt a twinge deep down in the darkest regions of my soul.

She was torn and anxious. I could feel it in the marrow of my bones.

Why was I hearing her?

More importantly, why was I feeling her pain?

I had no choice but to follow my instincts back to the source—the very source that had caused a rift in the link between Ve’tani and me to begin with. I could not let it go unnoticed… but I struggled with the thought of endangering the life of the mortal I had grown so close to. Ve’tani had ordered me to kill her, and I had refused, but… I needed to see her again.

Kathera needed me.

The sun had barely begun to set, but I was aware of the risk and sacrifice it would take to leave just then. There were few clouds left in the sky and a brilliant violet hue
stretched across the horizon with softening edges of sapphire and rose.
It wouldn’t kill me to go, though the discomfort measured one notch above a cloudy evening and my eyes stung from over-stimulation. The rich saturation of the fading light was at the brink of intolerability, but it vanished quickly and relief melted through me as my skin cooled.

A light breeze carried a hint of Derek’s musky scent. It was distant; he had left many hours before I had arrived. More potent was the scent of intense sadness and doubt brought alive by a heavy rain of tears. I could smell them a dozen steps before she even knew I was there.

A distressed patter rose from the back yard of the house and I headed in the direction of the sound. It was silent all around us, aside from the heaving breaths she made; this part of town was quiet compared to the rest, and I could be at ease knowing that no one would see me.

I watched her from a distance.

Kathera sat on the third stair up on the back porch, hunched over, her face half-buried in her hands. Curly stray strands of wet, frizzy hair framed her face.

“I can’t,” she said, weakly, wheezing. She rocked back and forth and groaned. “I just can’t.”

“Can’t what?” I revealed myself and took a step toward the stairs.

She yelped.

Once she recognized me, her irises grew dark and ecstatic. She pushed to her feet and wiped her palms on the sides of her jeans.

“Matthaya!”

I backed away, surprised she seemed excited to see me.

“I’m not here for pleasure,” I warned stiffly. “What’s wrong?” The tension in her veins put even me on edge. There was a soft rustle of paper as Kathera slipped a small card from her pocket and offered it out to me with a shaking hand.