Her Anchor (22 page)

******

She took him to the rocks just below her house. It was probably ridiculous, but being so close to her home, in her own element, gave her a sense of leverage. Her pulse bordered on unhinged in his presence, and she was very aware she needed to find her footing.

"Is that your house?" He pointed up above the ledge of soil and grass.

"Yes. No."

He shifted so that he faced her from his perch on the rock adjacent to hers. "Explain that to me."

"It was my parents' house. I suppose it's mine now, but it still doesn't feel like it. I've only been back for a few weeks."

"Where were you before?"

She liked that he didn't ask more about her parents, didn't seem to really even care. She was tired of the looks of either concern or judgement.

She swallowed, trying to keep the dark at bay. "Detroit for a bit. Before that, everywhere. Argentina for awhile, most of South America, really. Eastern Europe before that. I don't know. I've been wandering around for a long time."

He touched her suddenly, swept a strand of hair from her face. "What were you looking for?"

She laughed, short and surprised. "It's sort of my job. I do travel photography, and then I write about it, sell it to different publications. It's kind of stupid. I can't seem to shake that feeling lately."

"That what you do is stupid?"

She nodded solemnly, throwing a pebble out across the ocean surface. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Please."

"I'm trying to write a book. It's not going well."

"About traveling?"

She shook her head. "No, no. Fiction. Something wild and outlandish."

She smiled to herself, but stopped short. Castor eyed her from the side, an expression of distrust. "I think I read something like that recently. Between you and me, I hated it."

Ana had no idea what parallel he was drawing, but found his vaguely insulting commentary amusing. He was alien and blunt, yet for some reason she hadn't yet worked out, direly focused on her attentions.

"Do you live here? Or just passing through for some unbelievable reason?"

"Unbelievable?"

"No one just stays over a little while in this town. There's nothing here outside of a geriatric weekend browsing the antique shops."

He paused a long while, examining her in a way that made her shift and look anywhere but at him.

When he finally spoke his tone was firm and loud as though he were voicing a challenge. "I live here now."

She caught his gaze, eyes so deep they were almost black, but fire and magic and completely disconcerting. "For a while, I think."

Their interactions over the next few nights were easy and candid. Ana often got the distinct impression that she should feel more nervous than she did, be a little more cautious, but every time Castor asked her a question or stared intently at her as she spoke, she couldn't seem to find it in herself to want anything else.

On the fourth night she found him already waiting below by the water, sitting intently on the shallow, pebbled patch of sand between the rocks and water. He was piling up layers of washed up kelp, clearing out a larger area for sitting. He didn't seem to care at all that he was sitting in the wet sand, his plain white shirt sleeves rolled above his elbows and mud smeared across his black pants.

When she approached him, he looked at her silently and tugged on the tips of her fingers, pulling her down to face him, sitting cross-legged with their knees touching. He threaded his fingers through hers, still quiet and curiously studying her hand, the length of her arm. A little unsettled by the sudden intimacy, she cleared her throat.

He cut his eyes up sharply, but only for a moment before he went back to observing their contact. "Have you been with Vincent?"

She wasn't sure she fully understood the question. "I just came from the restaurant—"

"You know that isn't what I meant."

She looked out toward the water, face hot for reasons she didn't yet understand. "Once."

"When?"

"What does that matter?"

"It doesn't, but I'm curious. Humor me."

"Just before I met you."

She didn't think it was possible to shock him, but the way his body involuntarily leaned away from her she could tell he hadn't expected her answer. "Just before?"

"Yeah, it...the first week after I arrived here."

He smirked at the ground, now grazing his thumb across the palm of her hand. "Why not again?"

"That's really none of your business." She couldn't help but sit transfixed by the way he was looking over every part of her.

"Don't be embarrassed. I find this really exciting."

"I'm not, I just don't know your angle and it makes me uncomfortable. And what the hell do you mean exciting?"

He shrugged, finally letting go of her hand but locking her in a stare that felt a thousand times more close than any contact she'd had with him before. "I've waited a long time for someone to surprise me, that's all."

"You're so strange I have no idea what to do around you."

He touched her arm with his fingertips, lazily running the length of it and back up again. "Good."

"Why are you here, exactly? With me?"

He leaned forward, running a hand up her neck and grasping her hair lightly at the nape. The touch was intoxicating. "I have some things to take care of," he breathed against her, the bridge of his nose running from the tip of her chin along her jawline. "I'll be gone for a few days."

She felt like a cardboard cut-out of a heroine from a sappy paperback that sold for two dollars at the grocery store. She had to mentally will her eyelids not to flutter.

Her voice was shamefully breathless, "Where?"

He pulled back slightly, their eyes scanning one another, only inches apart.

"That's really none of your business," he mocked, letting go of her and standing abruptly.

Her body screamed. On some level she felt he'd just punished her out of jealousy, but it felt self-flattering and awkward to think so. Either way she looked at it, the result had been a pure and blissful thrill.

She looked up at him where he stood, giving him a mild roll of her eyes. "It was only once because he loves me and I don't love him. It's not fair to pretend I don't know that."

He stared back at her then, his unusually still features slipping for a brilliant, infinitesimal second that afforded her a glimpse of affection that left her stunned. He gained his composure, turning to climb back up to the yard, and called down, "Don't go anywhere, Ana. I'll be back in a few days."

******

When he'd wandered far enough into the woods, he took his shoes off and sunk his toes into the wet ground. He hated the fuss of clothes, and briefly missed his days spent alone, boarded up in the warehouse with no care for appearances. But it was only a small thing to reconcile with his path now.

Castor's satisfaction with having made a decision far outweighed his annoyance with the return of social graces into his life. He wasn't sure to what end, but he had made the decision to be around Ana and that had to mean something when he'd gone almost seventy years without feeling moved to do so before.

He crept into a quiet fishing town, about forty miles away from where he'd left Ana sitting beautiful and wanting on their little beach. He'd learned a long time ago not to shit where you slept, unless you were absolutely sure you could get away with it. He followed a girl home from the supermarket, her long dark hair similar to Ana's as it swayed in the breeze, and surprised her in the pale moonlit glow of her kitchen.

She went quickly, her gasp more of a moan as he sunk his teeth into the delicate space between her neck and shoulder. She smelled of oranges, a faint hint of vinegar, as she slid between his legs and plopped onto the checkered linoleum floor. He cleaned her up, made sure her eyes were closed and sat her nicely at the dining room table.

He spent the day boxed in her attic, stifled and gasping for fresh air by the time the sun finally set. He was aware he should have at least one more, but he couldn't seem to make himself stay away another forty-eight hours. He should get back. He'd last at least a couple more days before he had to hunt again.

He stopped at his motel room to clean himself, get a fresh set of clothes and shoes. In the shower he thought about the smooth feel of Ana's hand in his. How she didn't flinch at the cold of his touch. He wondered if she even realized how in sync he was with her movements, her heartbeat, her very being.

He'd tell her eventually, that he was the man she no doubt thought she'd killed. He'd have to tell her about what he was. He knew on some level that these things were unforgivable, but she still had a lot to learn about trust. She'd see things differently eventually. The only truth he'd ever known was that time took care. It always did.

He found himself standing outside of her door around 11:30, knocking politely. He could hear her turning off the shower. When he sensed she'd paused, he knocked again to assure her indeed someone was at the door.

She answered, wrapped in her towel, hair still wet and glistening.

"I've always had impeccable timing."

She huffed an amused but silent laugh. "It's late."

"Do you really care about that?"

She shook her head. "No. Not really." Her smile was golden as she stepped back to allow him in.

He made it as far as the entryway before she turned slightly, possibly to say she'd be right back, but it was too late and he'd already placed his hands on either side of her shoulders, moving them both slowly back against the wall.

Her breathing was shallow and heavy. He cupped her cheek in his hand, ran the other down the soft curve of her neck. She turned her lips into his palm, pressing them lightly against his skin. "This isn't why I let you in."

"Are you still mad at me?"

"I wasn't mad at you. We're not twelve."

He slid a hand slowly and cautiously under the towel, grazing her inner thigh and stopping just as her breath hitched. "I won't stop this time."

They paused, completely still as their eyes met, frantically searching the other for an answer. He stroked her, heavy and slowly. She was wet and perfect, and the way she arched her head back against the wall, exposing the bright skin of her neck made the debased thing inside him sing.

Her eyes were wide as she tried to stifle a moan. "I don't want you to stop, but you have to."

He slipped his middle finger inside her, feeling her body go momentarily limp against him. "How? How the fuck am I supposed to do that?" His own voice sounded foreign. He licked just behind her ear, and ran his lips down the column of her throat, groaning against her.

She moved against his hand, her soft breaths coming in shudders as he swept his thumb across her clit. All he wanted was to see her melt like this, soft and malleable under his hands. He couldn't remember the last time he'd desired something other than sustenance, and the thought filled him with heady euphoria.

"Let me make you come. Please..."

She acquiesced silently with her mouth pressed hot against his. He couldn't help but wonder if this is how it had happened with Vincent. She gasped as he picked her up easily, legs wrapping around him as he carried her into the main area of the house, setting her smack down on the kitchen table before he pushed the towel above her hips and wrapped his hands around her perfect ass.