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“Later, it was different. I was away studying. I was far from home and it was all so very big and scary.”
He stroked her hands, so small upon his chest, as they began to tremble.
“Why didn’t you come home?”
Her voice quivered.
“I couldn’t.” She tried to slip her hands down, but he held them, not wanting to release the warm sensation of her touch, his mind slipping to thoughts of feeling them pressed against his naked flesh.
“Why not?”
“I could feel them. They were so close.”
“They?”
“The ones looking for me all these years. I wasn’t positive. I told Duncan, but he told me it was just nerves from running for so long, never feeling safe. But it wasn’t. No matter what I did, I could feel them. So close.” Her hoarse whispers conveyed fear from a remembered past.
“I didn’t want to lose Duncan the same way I lost my mother. I didn’t want to be responsible for his death.” She paused as her body shuddered.
She thought it would be better to be on her own than take the chance of losing someone else she loved. In the end, it made no difference.
“And then I lost him anyway.” Without thinking, she lowered her forehead to rest on the back of her hands, the need to be close to Valya overwhelming.
Valya wrapped his arms around her, hugging her so close that not even sound waves could pass between them. He surrounded her with his body, an impenetrable wall of solid rock.
He
became her mountain, her sanctuary, her home. He swayed with her and stroked her hair, her back. Silent tears she had never learned to cry racked her small frame as she accepted his consolation. He held her, rocking gently like a mother calming her baby.
“Why won’t they leave me alone?” she mumbled, not expecting an answer. There had never been an answer. Since she was old enough to understand who the Believers were and question why they would be looking for her, there was never an answer.
Valya stilled and placed a chaste kiss on the top of her head.
“Everything will be all right.” He pulled her tight against his frame, offering her a safety she had seldom known, offering her the vow of a Guardian. “I will see they never hurt you again.”
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She shivered in his arms at his words, which struck a chord at the very core of her being. She believed him.
They stood there, huddled in each other’s arms under the starry sky and the moon smiling down on them, basked in her silvery warmth. The shimmering moonbeams surrounded them, casting a ghostly aura and giving the appearance of an otherworldly coat of armor protecting them. She had never felt so safe. Valya radiated a profuse power surrounding them.
Dawn was fast approaching. Valya was the first to break their embrace.
“Let’s go get your things.”
Richelle mutely nodded as she followed behind him again. She was consumed by memories running through her mind—her mother, Duncan, the Believers, the old priest, as well as reflections on the direction her life had turned since her graduation. It was when they reached the edge of the woods that she noticed the smell of burnt timber. She rushed into the clearing and saw the ashen remains of the humble cabin she had once called home.
At first, she stared at the smoldering embers, her mind unable, or rather unwilling, to conceive what her eyes were telling her. When the shock passed, her chest clenched as if constricted by an invisible fist squeezing tighter and tighter until she could no longer feel her heart beating nor could her lungs draw in a breath. All she could do was stare at the flickering cinders, her mouth gaping as her once beloved home was destroyed.
She pulled her hand from Valya as she shuffled forward, scanning the remains for some trace, some remnant, of her past. There was none. She left so many years ago with only the clothes on her back and a few necessary items packed in a bag. She had left all her beloved treasures behind—her books, the small photo album holding the few pictures she had of her mother, the jewelry box Duncan had carved for her sixteenth birthday, her beloved Molly. All of it was now gone.
She wanted to scream in outrage condemning the men who would so cruelly destroy precious memories. She wanted to cry bitter tears at the loss of irreplaceable treasures tying her to the mother she lost so long ago. But all she could do was stand amid the destruction in mute defeat, feeling more vulnerable and alone than she had ever felt before. And she hated feeling like that, like a perpetual victim subject to the whims of Fate.
* * * *
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Valya, sensing her despair, came up behind her and placed his hands upon her shoulders, drawing her back to his front. While he sensed her torment and sorrow, all he could feel was blinding rage and the urge to hunt down the Believers who had destroyed this idyllic place with their blind obedience to a man whose lust for power was exceeded only by his belief that he was above retribution.
He would find the Preacher.
The Preacher would learn what it meant to draw the wrath of a
Guardian.
But, for now, he tried to suppress his lethal state of mind, focusing all his energies for the moment in giving his strength to Richelle. He leaned his head down to speak softly into her ear.
“I’m sorry, Richelle.” Words. That’s all he could give her at this moment. They were useless.
But she accepted them, just as she accepted his touch by leaning back into his embrace. He radiated warmth, offering her refuge from the early morning chill, the dew starting to frost on the grass. She turned her head to the side, caressing her cheek against the broad expanse of his chest. Her chest rose and fell in soft heaves at the disparity, the injustice of the loss of the only home she had known.
Unable to stand the sight of the burning rubble of her home, she turned in his arms. It was a perfect excuse to hide the gentle tears as they fell upon her cheek.
“Why would they do this? Why won’t they leave me alone?”
With every utterance, with every teardrop dampening his shirt, Valya felt the rage swell within him.
Yes, Preacher and the Believers would feel the wrath of a Guardian.
With a firm hand about her back, he bent to place his other arm underneath her knees and swept her up into his embrace. Cradling her against his chest, offering her comfort, and taking her tears into his heart and soul felt natural. Richelle’s arms slipping around his neck as she nuzzled her face into the crook of his shoulder felt right as he hefted her higher.
His mind drifted back to when he lifted a much younger Richelle into his embrace and carried her away to a new home. This time was different.
Before, he took Richelle the child and entrusted her care to another.
Not this
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time
, he thought as he tightened his grip. Feeling her body press against his filled the void in his life that he had barely acknowledged until he had found Richelle.
Richelle was no longer a child. She was a woman…his woman. And he would never leave her alone again. This time, she would be protected and safe with him. Valya closed his eyes and savored the weight of her in his arms as her tears fell against his throat, washing away the wasted guilt he had held onto over the years. His resolve was indomitable. Never again would his woman shed tears in sorrow.
He dropped a consoling kiss upon her forehead as sniffling morphed into placid hiccups, her arms still clinging tightly around his neck. He smiled at her actions, which spoke louder than the empty words of solace he offered her. He looked forward to the endless possibilities for their future.
Now her life, a life with him, would truly begin.
He opened his eyes, taking a final look at the desecration and vowing to exact justice for this crime. “Sleep now, Richelle. Tomorrow you will awake in your new home.”
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“You will never be able to hide from me, Richelle. No matter where you
run, no matter where you try to hide, I will find you. You belong to me, and I
will never let you go.”
Panicked, Richelle ran into the darkness
.
Her footsteps echoed into the
night, sounding like a clock ticking down the final minutes of her doom. Her
hair whipped wildly about her head as she rushed into the unknown, her
heart thumping uncontrollably, feeling as if it were ready to explode.
She kept running, trying to escape the ominous voice that relentlessly
haunted her. Everywhere she turned, she seemed to hear his voice, see his
face. He was always shrouded in shadows, there in front of her and yet as
intangible as the wind. But more menacingly, she could
feel
him—his hatred
and rage. No matter where she ran, where she turned, she could not escape
the sensation of his hands grasping at her. At times, it seemed as if his
withered hands seized her throat like a bird of prey uses his talons to grasp
his victim.
She hit a dead-end and turned, scrambling to find an escape route
before leaning back against the wall like a cornered rabbit. She clutched at
her throat, at first trying to scream for help and then, trying to breathe. She
found herself gasping for air as she dug her nails into her skin, trying to
force herself to breathe, to speak, to scream.
She was aware of his approach before she heard his footfalls, the empty
thud of his steps grinding the bits of rubbish beneath his feet, mimicking his
heartless attitude toward those around him. There was a coldness, a
desolate, endless winter surrounding his icy heart. As he neared, the
freezing tips of his fingers grazed across her skin in an obscene caress.
Finally, he came into view. Clothed in the same black clothing, tattered
with the passing years, he approached her. His hat was pulled low, hiding
his eyes. But she could see his sardonic grin with his yellowed teeth now
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turning black with decay. As he stood before her, she could smell the
horrible stench of his breath.
“I told them all,” he rasped boastfully. “No one can stop me. It has
been decreed by God. You are mine.”
As he raised his withered, claw-like hand, he laughed, a chilling laugh
that cut into her soul. She pressed her back into the wall, trying to get as far
from him as she could, but to no avail. As he began to walk toward her, she
closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly so that tears escaped from the
corners.
She thought of her mother, how she had died trying to save her, and it
was all for naught. She had been chased all her life by a madman and did
not know why. She thought of the injustice of it all. The running and hiding.
The senseless death of others. She was terrified of the old priest, but she was
beginning to experience a new emotion—outrage. She opened her eyes to
see him standing before her, his eyes as empty and cold as his words.
“You…are…mine.”
She found her voice and let go with a bloodcurdling scream.
* * * *
Valya embraced Richelle as she shot up from the bed screaming, holding her tightly while he tried to wake her. She clawed at the air, trying to break his embrace. She hadn’t opened her eyes, so she didn’t realize it was him she was fighting, not the monster from her dream. Valya groaned as she beat her arms and fists about his chest and head.
While Duncan spoke often of her nightmares, he hadn’t believed they were as bad as he made them out to be. She was young, and young ones often had nightmares about things they didn’t understand. Valya had simply assumed that she would outgrow them as she became an adult. But then again, he should have realized they were not truly dreams for Richelle. With her Wicca gifts, they were so much more, and so much more powerful, than a childhood nightmare, more like a psychic premonition.
He held her tight, crooning soft words in his native tongue. She wouldn’t understand them, but it would still the raging of his heart to have her hear them. She calmed with the lyrical sound of his voice. She opened
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her eyes tentatively and looked about the room, confusion etched on her forehead.
* * * *
After a nightmare, it took her a few moments to gain her bearings and realize where she was. Her dreams were always vivid, so real. But her nightmares had a different feel to them, as if there was only a silken thread holding her to the real world and preventing her from falling into that nightmare realm. Her fear was one night that thread would break and she would be forever trapped in a nightmarish hell with no way to escape.
But that did not happen tonight.
For she awoke, in a cool room, in a soft bed, with strong arms around her. She looked around the sparse apartment, illuminated only by the light from the moon and a nearby street lamp. She turned to see Valya, his face a mask of concern as he watched her, his hands stroking her arms as he pulled her back down to lie in his arms. And she let him, peculiarly comforted being held by a man she knew only from her dreams.
“Are you all right now, Richelle?”
“Yes,” she croaked, her throat dry and hoarse from her screaming. She straightened her slip, which had twisted around her hips, before she settled her head upon his shoulder.
He held her so tight she could hardly breathe, but it wasn’t the suffocating grasp of the old priest. She relished the feel of him and, in some way, could not help but believe his presence had saved her this evening.
This was the closest the old priest had ever come, the closest he had ever been to her in a dream. She could smell him. And if Valya had not been here, holding her, holding on to the end of that silken thread…