The Knight Of The Rose (15 page)

“What does that mean?”

He paused, slowly pressing his lips to my ear. “You belong to me.”

“For as long as I live?”

“No, mon amour. For all time.” David’s soft, deep voice filled my soul. He wrapped both

arms across my waist again and held me tight.

Both of us exi sted silently in the world of our own thoughts until the sun went down,

stealing away the last day of our forever.

The sun stretched orange sha dows across the highway, and I leaned my weary head on the

glass of the car-window, releasing my mind to th e deeper thoughts about life. Today, for the first

time, I woke to the sting of normality; coffee, with its unusual ability to make everything seem okay;

toast on the table when I came down, feeling the earl y morning chill on my bare arms, and quiet

conversation with Dad—trying not to wake the rest of the house.

Even though Mike’s ar riving today, excitement was not the first feeling I had as my alarm

startled me from peaceful slumber; it was devastation, weighed down with a tight ache in my throat

called sorrow.

It’s kinda fitting really, that the last time I saw him, I was in exactly the same state of mind as

I am now—miserable.

I really thought Mike’s coming to stay would ease the pain I’m feeling for losing David. But I

was wrong.

Dad moved his gaze f rom the road and smiled at me; I blew out a breath and forced a grin,

but the world couldn’t make me sm ile for real, and in two weeks, when David would leave forever,

I’d never smile again.

Two weeks, that’s all I get—two weeks of days with Mike, and two weeks of David at night.

And in that time, I still have a chance to change my mind about immortality.

But how is that possibly enough time to make the decision between life or love?

When I asked David to give me more time, in the hopes that coming to terms with what he is

might change my opinion on the whole matter, I was a li ttle right. With th e days of losing him

coming closer and closer, the idea of killing for love seems less horrific. But not enough that I’m

ready to tell him that—or think it around him.

The music in the car became louder when one of Dad’s favourite songs came on. His tenor

voice made me wi sh I’d brought my iPod. I’m sure Mike will probably sit in the front seat on the

way home and talk to Dad. If I’d had my own music, I could’ve at least ha d a decent soundtrack to

my contemplations.

As we turned onto the long stretch of highway toward the airport, a black billboard with a

white circle of light caught my attention. I spun in my seat and read the words as we whizzed past:

Let Fate Decide
.

Dad turned the radio off when his song ended, leaving me feeling as though my t houghts

were being shouted out through a megaphone.

Let fate decide?

I sat back in my chair.

That’s actually not a bad idea. Funny thing is, I didn’t even catch the product the sign was

advertising, but I totally buy the fate thing.

So, in a conversation with myself, I determined that, if Mike magically confesses his undying

love for me, I’d stay human, live my life, have babies and one day die.

But, if I was right, if he rea lly only loved me as a friend, th en it’d be a sign that I should

throw away childish beliefs about meeting ghosts of the past in the hereafter, and let go the dream of

one day being a mother, discard all my moralistic beliefs, and go with David—become a vampire.

It’s perfect; like rolling a dice and saying ‘seven’.

Dad looked sideways at me and changed gear s as we slowed—coming into the airport car

park. “You excited?” he asked.

“Kinda nervous, actually.”

“Nervous?” he said. “Why—it’s just Mike?”

Yeah, but I haven’t seen him since I tried to kiss him.
“I know—it’s just been a while, is all.

I’m not sure if we’ll be friends like we used to.”

“Honey.” Dad placed his hand on mine when he stopped in the pick-up zone. “I’m sure you’ll

be fine. You may have been apart for a while, but Mike’s been there the whole time. I talked to him

every couple of days—gave him updates on you.”

“Dad?” I groaned. “Really? I mean, I knew you were talking, but—updates? Come on—”

Dad shrugged. “He asked. I told.”

“I don’t know how you thought telling me that would make things better.” I fol ded my arms

and looked out the window.

“Because I don’t want you to feel li ke he abandoned you by not pushing you to talk to him.

He’s just been giving you some space.”

I unfolded my arms and looked beyond the glass entrance of the terminal—to the people

flooding the airport and gathering around the baggage collection for flight 728. Mike’s flight. “He’s

here.” I sat up in my seat and unlatched my seat belt, ignoring the intoxicating surge of adrenaline

seeping into my arms and chest, making my heart pick up about ten paces.

I wished I could see him—just make him out among the crowd so I could sneak up on him—

see how different he looked before he saw me.

“Go on.” Dad grinned, watching me edge in my seat.

“I’ll be back soon,” I beamed as I sprung from the car.

People gathered their bags from the conve yer belt and hugged their famili es. I pushed

through the tightly packed bodies, using my elbows to almost swim through the crowd. I wanted to

call to him, but it was so noisy. He wouldn’t’ve heard me, and I’d probably just look like a dumb,

lost little girl—especially since I wore my yellow dress.

Shifting my gaze from side to side, I walked more slowly, searching the face of each tall man

I passed.

Let’s see…dark hair, orange hair, bald—nope, none of those are him.

“You lost, sweetie?” a man asked when I studied his face car efully under his sandy- blonde

hair. I shook my head and hurried past him, stopping dead when I saw a man on his phone by the

Coke machine; sandy-coloured hair, broad shoulders. I squinted, jutting my neck for ward as I took

baby steps in his direction—seeing only flashes as the crowd of people stole my view several times.

Then, certainty flooded through me when he threw his bag over his s houlder and flipped his

phone in the air before stuffing it in his back pocket.

That’s him!

I stopped walking; he was so much taller than I remembered, and bigger, too. His blue shirt

fit tightly around the well-defined muscles in his arms and torso, but there was still that something in

the way he held himself—a sort of tall stance with a confidence that came from being an officer of

authority. He looked good. Good en ough that I felt my cheeks flush as the perfect word to descri be

him entered my head...
sexy
.

“Ara?” He spun around suddenly and his eyes lit up.

I couldn’t move. I’d imagined this moment so many times in my mind; how I ’d run into his

arms, and he’d lift me off the ground and kiss me—like he loved me.

However, that was always only a dream, a nd I left that behind—found another reason to

exist. But, as I looked upon my old crush for the firs t time in so long, my new reas on to exist

seemed to fade for that one moment, and whether it was by habit or longing, I wasn’t sur e, but for

that moment, I still wanted Mike just as bad as before.

“Ara? Baby?” He ushered me to him, tilting his head. “What ya waitin’ for, girl, come here.”

What am I thi nking? It’s just Mike—my friend—just as I l eft him. Nothing more, nothing

less. With no mind for the family walking in my path, I darted forward, forcing them to part as I

launched toward Mike, barely giving him a chance to drop his bag before I jumped into his arms. We

stumbled back a few steps with the force of my e ager embrace—a physical reaction my s teady-

legged vampire could never have, unless he was pretending to be human.

I love how human Mike is right now.

“Whoa, baby. That’s happiness to see me.” He squeezed me tight, pre ssing his widespread

fingers against the back of my ribs.

I squeezed his neck, wr apping my legs around his hips—probably showing my undies to

every dirty old man who cared to look. He just felt so good to hold; a little piece of the past, with a

warmth that could only be human—as if he’ d carried some of the Perth sun all the way to the U.S.

with him.

I rested my cheek in his neck and let myself cry like a little girl. “I missed you so much.”

Mike’s arms became a band of restriction, stopping air from coming into my lungs. “I missed

you too, kid.”

When he went to lower me, I held on tighter. “Not yet. Just...not yet.”

“It’s okay, Ara. Let go. I’ m not going anywhe re.” He unwound my ar ms from his neck and

placed me on the ground. I pulled my dress down to cover my legs.

“Let me get a look at you .” He shook his head, smil ing. “You’ve gotten thinner. Are you

eating?”

“You sound like my mum.” I clutched the edges of my dress in fists of nerves. “And, yes, I

do eat.”

“What’s this?” He reached for my locket.

“Oh, um. A friend gave it to me.” I took it from his hand and dropped it back into place.

“You belong to me?” His brow folded over one eye.

Oh right. I forgot. Mike speaks French. “Ah, yeah. It’s um, a good friend?” I offered, but

from the way his lips meshed tightly and his eyes narrowed, I knew he didn’t like it.

“David?”

“Maybe?” The corner of my mouth turned up involuntarily.

He just blinked a f ew times, then drew a deep breath thr ough his nose, and placed his arm

around my shoulder. “Should I be worried?”

“Mike? You’ve been here for a whole two seconds. Don’t start.”

“I don’t like it, Ara. It sounds—possessive.”

“You’re just jealous,” I said, smiling.

“Jealous, huh?” His face lit up and his eyes warmed with so much familiarity that all the pain

of the separation over these last few months melte d away. He grabbed my hand. “So what i f I am?

You’ve always been
my
best friend. Then, out of nowhere you meet some random guy, fall in love

with him, and he brands you with his mark. Now, all of a sudden, you belong to
him
?”

Brands
me?

A quick breath came cold into my lungs as I reached for the yellowing bruises on my neck—

the ones from the indi scretion under the stage. But wh en Mike’s eyes narrowed as he looked at my

hand, I tensed from toe to shoulders, realising that wasn’t the
mark
he was referring to.

He grabbed my wrist and pulled it away from my neck, gasping loudly when he saw what

was there. “Who did this to you? Was it him?”

I shrank into myself, looking around. “Mike, stop it. Please. People are staring.”

“I don’t care. Look at you. What kind of a guy would do this to a young girl?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh, really. Then what’s the story, Ara?”

“Look, he wasn’t trying to hurt me, okay? Just stop worrying about me all the time.”

Mike grabbed my chin and studied the marks on both sides of my neck. “Stop worrying, huh?

Well, it certainly
looks
like I should be concerned. Have you seen this? Have you looked at yourself?

Jesus, girl.” He released my face gently. “What the hell?”

“It was an accident. I—I bi t him,” I said bashfully. “We were just playing around. I l et him

do it to me—and he—well,
we
got a little carried away.”

Mike’s arms dropped to his sides and disappointment filled his watery eyes. “Did you sleep

with him?”

I shook my head, looking down. I felt so foolish.

“Ara. I’m sorry.” He looked ar ound the busy termi nal and swallowed, rubbing at the frown

on his face. “Just. Why would you let him do this to you? How do you think I feel to come here after

missing you for so long, so worried because I can’t be he re to protect you—and I find
this
—” He

held his hand out , presenting the bruise. “God , Ara. You s hould have mor e respect for

yourself.”

“I know.” My face crumpl ed and fell into my hands. “I already feel bad enough about it.”

About wanting him to do it.
“I don’t need
you
making it worse.”

He clicked his tongue, then wrapped both ar ms around my shoulders, muffli ng my s obs

against his chest. I hated the fact that our dramatic reunion in the middle of the airport was on display

to hundreds of people—all watching. “I’m not mad at you, Ar.” He rubbed my back. “Okay? I’m not

mad at you. I’m just—” He sighed and pulle d back, wiping the tears from my cheeks with both

thumbs. “I’m mad at
myself
. I never should’ve let your dad take you away. I s hould’ve come after

you—or kept you with me.” He sounded utterly defeated.

I shook my head. “He’d never’ve let me stay, Mike.”

“He would’ve let you stay with me.”

I shook my head again. I’ m glad I came here. I’m glad I me t David—even though I’m going

to lose him. “He didn’t hurt me, Mike. David? He didn’t hurt me. I wanted him to do it. I liked it.”

“Ara? You’re just a gi rl. You shouldn’t be playing games like that with boys.
He
should’ve

known better,” Mike said in a singing tone. “Look. I’m sorry. I just lost it, is all. I just never expected

to see you with bruises, okay? I get it. I’ll let it go. Just, please don’t let him do it again. Promise?”

I nodded, s ecretly crossing my fingers behind my back. I wondered then, if explaining to