The Ylem (39 page)
I turned my face and stared at him over my
bare shoulder, his lips so close to mine. “I love you,” I murmured,
so intensely it took my whole breathing. It wasn’t hard for me to
say it any longer, and I wanted to make sure those words would
brand his heart. His defeated tone yesterday still pricked my
mind.
He smiled and tilted his head to kiss me. We
spent a delicious long time stroking each other’s lips, stopping
briefly and smiling, then returning to the soft, deep kisses,
unwilling to bring them to an end. It felt like every time we
parted our lips, a small piece of our soul was flying into each
other, dancing inside our chests. And that same amazing vortex of
bliss was around again, wrapping us in our own magical cocoon, as
if nothing more than this moment existed.
“I don’t want to,” he breathed and kissed me
again. “But we need to go downstairs.”
“No,” I kissed him. “Let’s stay here.”
He pulled me against his lips again without
thinking it twice. His long fingers reached my hair and brushed
through it, stroking my scalp with each kiss. “Kalista.” He took
back again his oh-so amazing lips. “You need to eat something. The
pills—”
I cut him off with another kiss. Who could be
thinking of food when you had his sweet mouth?
He pulled away. “I really, really hate this
but we do need to go. Taking pills with an empty stomach is a big
no-no.”
“But—”
“We’ll come back after you eat. And then,” he
pressed his mouth to mine. “We’ll kiss as long as our lips allow
us.”
“Promise?” I said, hesitant.
“Believe me…I'm more eager for the kissing
part than you are,” he said, sliding his thumb over my lower lip.
How could I resist?
“Fine,” I said.
He smiled, but it wasn’t an eager smile. “Put
your shirt on.” He kissed my shoulder and walked to the sitting
area, giving me some space to change. I’d forgotten I had the tee
pressed under my arms with my whole back uncovered. And we’d been
kissing so close, really close. If someone would’ve entered the
room a few seconds ago, I wouldn’t have blamed them for
misunderstanding the whole scene.
After I dressed, I reached for his hand, my
head spinning a bit.
“Everything okay?” he looked at me concerned,
resting his other hand on my face.
“Just a little dizzy.” And worried. And
extremely, extremely nervous. The idea of facing Julian frightened
me.
“You’re still weak,” he said softly, lowering
his eyes to mine. “I’ll carry you.” He bent down and lifted me up
in his strong arms, careful enough not to touch the scratches on my
back.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled
myself tighter to his chest. He gave me a sweet smile and leaned
his lips over mine to give me a short, strong kiss. It was edged
with sadness, as if he was saying good bye. But I decided to ignore
the thorn in my throat when he started moving and concentrated on
my surroundings.
We descended a wide marble staircase, like
those at a fancy ball with symphonic tunes and long skirts swirling
in the air. It was beautiful and shiny and smooth. I turned my head
and discovered a vast, bright foyer with a massive crystal
chandelier hanging from the ceiling and a large mosaic tile
spreading in the floor. A large living room, encircled with
two-story windows, sat to the right. Pale green and white colors
embraced large, lush sofas, reminding me of Marie Antoinette
somehow.
On the other side of the foyer, a rounded
room, filled with board games on small elegant ottomans, was
surrounded by three curved leather sofas on a brownish Persian
carpet. And the kitchen, well, my dad would’ve looked at it as his
own heaven. It was four times bigger than ours, with black marble
countertops that looked as if white gold had been embroidered in
it, light wooden cupboards of an incredibly silky surface, a big
counter at the middle, with barstools standing on cabriole legs and
fancy metalwork half wrapping the seat. A huge black fridge took at
least one third of the kitchen.
They eat a lot
, I remembered.
Tristan set me down on my feet. We were the
only ones there, the only sound the faint hum of the jumbo fridge.
He led me to the seat and walked up to the glass-ceramic cook top.
All the ingredients for an omelet sat next to it, as if someone had
already known we were coming. And that was exactly what’d happened,
I realized. Tristan must have told someone via telepathy.
“I hope you like mushrooms and Gouda,” he
said, as he cracked open the eggs.
Mushrooms and Gouda? Oh, yes I did. It was
the perfect combination for an omelet. And a few minutes later,
Tristan’s creation proved me right. The omelet tasted delicious
with all those herbs on top. He was an awesome cook.
“You’re as good as my dad,” I sighed,
dropping the fork on the plate. “And I don’t say that often. I
think I’ve only said it once…well, twice now.”
He smiled. “Who had the privilege to be the
first to such honor?”
“A friend,” I said, my mind travelling to the
past. “He made the best grilled cheese sandwich. He said the secret
was on doubling the cheese and the butter, and cooking it over low
heat.” I smiled, remembering the day he’d finally decided to reveal
his culinary secret after some whining from my part. “It was a long
time ago. I was six. I can barely remember things from around that
time. But…I never forgot his words. I hate cooking, but I loved his
grilled sandwich so much that I never forgot.” I looked down.
And I never forgot him
, I thought to
myself with a pang in my chest. He’d been my first best friend and
the big brother I never had. I loved him. And he’d claimed, too,
that he loved me as the little sister he never had. But he’d
abandoned me, without a word or a reason. Years of crying after him
hadn’t lessened the pain in my heart. Thinking about him still
hurt. A lot, which is why I didn't indulge myself in those
memories.
Tristan stood behind me and wrapped his arms
around my waist. “What happened to this great cheese sandwich
cook?” he whispered above my ear.
“I don’t know.”
I would love to
know
.
He tightened his arms around me and paused,
remaining silent for a moment. “Kalista...” He sighed. “You need to
be careful. Gavran is still out there, somewhere. He’s not here
but...he’s an imminent danger. He wasn’t here to hunt humans. He
came for something. We still don’t know what it was, but we’re
almost certain he didn’t find it—and something tells me he won’t
stop until he does. You need to keep your eyes open, okay?”
I wanted to tell him I had that something
they were looking for, but like it’d happened once, something
stopped me. That little voice in my head told me to hold it back,
to keep it secret. I didn’t know why. I only knew I
had
to.
I could tell him one thing, though. “Gavran
had a tattoo on his neck,” I said. “Maybe it’s nothing, but it
looked like it had some sort of meaning…”
“What was it like?” Tristan asked,
intrigued.
I brought the dark image to my mind. “It was
a black star, rather small, with several points.”
He nodded. “I saw it on the other Insurgents,
too. Some had it on the back of their wrist or shoulder. Maybe
you’re right. Maybe it means something. We’ll have to check that
out and—” He stopped and pulled back his arms from me.
I turned to look at him. He’d moved away from
me and was looking to the other side, as if he’d suddenly been
caught in the middle of something he wasn't supposed to be doing.
But he hadn’t been doing anything wrong, just holding me close
and—
Julian strode inside the kitchen. Then I knew
why Tristan had released me and was acting so weird. In his world,
holding me was wrong. “Good morning, Kalista,” Julian smiled
politely. “How are you feeling today?”
“Uh…” I climbed out of the barstool in
haste.“…much better. Thank you.” I straightened myself up
nervously. I felt as if a principal had just shown up in a
classroom.
Only most principals didn’t look like Spartan
soldiers.
“I'm glad to hear it,” Julian nodded. Then,
he looked at Tristan, who was a few steps behind me. Julian must
have seen something in his son’s face because he said straight
away, “I know this situation is uncomfortable for both of you so
I’ll be as quick as possible.” He lowered his eyes in a frown. “I
understand you’re both really…close, which is a problem for us. I
think you’re already informed about everything.” He aimed his eyes
on mine again. I nodded, gulping. “You now know things that need to
be hidden from everyone. We trust you will keep all of this to
yourself.” Again, I nodded nervously. “That being said, we go on to
the complicated part.”
I could feel Tristan tensing behind me.
Julian looked up and stared at us. “As a
leader,” he said with a soft nod, “you don’t have my consent to
carry on with this.” It was like a punch to the stomach. There
wasn’t a chance for us in this world. We were divided by
resentment, fear and control. There had never been a chance, just
an illusion, now shattered by reality.
“But as a father,” he added with a subtler
tone, “I agree to give you some time to digest things and find a
convenient solution. I know I'm asking a lot from you, that it
requires great inner strength to do so, but you both have the
faculty to reason properly, and I trust you’ll find a way to deal
with this.”
A small flame of hope lit inside of me.
Perhaps we had a chance to work this out. And Tristan seemed to
think so, too. He reached for my hand and laced his fingers with
mine.
“Let’s go to the library,” Tristan told me
quietly. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said to Julian.
“You need to talk.” He nodded in
approval.
I followed him in a daze, trying to focus on
the softness and warmth of his skin on mine, because my heart was
pumping wildly under my chest.
What we were going to do?
When you think of a house library, you
picture bookshelves full of books, or an entire wall, tops. But
this wasn’t an ordinary house, and knowing already that “ordinary”
couldn’t describe Tristan’s life in any way, the library shouldn’t
have been a surprise to my eyes.
Iron chandeliers hung from an arched ceiling,
casting a dim golden light on towering walls of books. Buttoned
leather couches and upholstered chairs (probably more expensive
than my entire house) sat at the center of the vast room with a
huge Persian carpet beneath. And the lamp tables, made of dark wood
and metal, reminded me of architectural elements found in
medallions, crown moldings and ceiling tiles throughout Europe.
I couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of
this place. “It looks like the library of a castle,” I said, moving
my eyes around hundreds of ancient and contemporary books. It was
like witnessing the fusion of past and present.
“That’s what it is, in fact,” he smiled. “My
father used to live in castles. He spent most of his time reading
in places like this. He finds comfort in classical structures.”
“Castles? He lived in castles?” I asked. Was
I dealing with French royalty here?
He let my hand go and hugged my waist. “His
family was an important wine producer in Bordeaux during the
eighteenth century. They even had land in the region of Champagne.
When my grandparents died, he inherited several acres of vineyards
and chateaux. But as you know, he got bitten and had to stay away
from the public eye. He sold everything at Bordeaux except for two
chateaux he still owns and are managed by his representatives. The
land at Champagne was sold as well to the Rouzaud family, the
owners of Louis Roederer, better known for its premium champagne
Cristal.”
“Cristal? As in one of the top crème de la
crème Champagne brands?”
“Yes.” He chuckled at my wonder-struck face.
But I couldn’t help it. He was part of the Cristal history! And
that
was really cool.
“So your father is on the winemaking
business?” Bordeaux produced the most sought wines in the
world.
He nodded. “Our wine is shipped only to
exclusive clients. You won’t find it anywhere else unless you place
an order with both chateaux.”
“Wow,” I sighed. In addition to this gigantic
house and concept cars, he had castles in France. “Do you make
white wine?” I smiled.
“Yes, why?”
“It’s my dad's favorite.”
He brushed his hand through my hair and
placed it at the back of my neck. “I’ll go to the cellar later and
see what I can find for him.” He smiled, and then, a shadow fell
over his eyes, clouding them in sadness.
Reality barged in again. Ignoring why we were
here and pretending that everything was normal was easier than
facing the situation. “What are we going to do?” I asked with a
weak frown on my face.
He took a deep breath. “I…I think I know what
we could do.”
His hesitation sent a thorn into my stomach.
“We have to stop seeing each other?” I said, holding my breath.
“No,” he sighed, pulling me closer. “There’s
a way for us to be together. Just one. And my father is aware of
it, I'm sure that’s why he gave us time. But it’s not going to be
easy.”
“What’s your plan?”
He moved his face closer to mine, looking at
me intently. “The Benandanti are always looking for the compliance
of the Covenant. They’re the eyes of the IPO wherever a pack is
settled. So without the Benandanti’s reports, they don’t have a way
to know what’s happening in those settlements, to know about the
lives of the Shifters.”
It didn’t took me long to grasp what he was
implying. “You’re planning to kill a Benandanti?” I said in
shock.
“That wouldn’t be a very good idea—and I
would never kill a spiritual guardian,” he added. “Every time a
Benandanti goes down, another one comes up. There’s some kind of
physic link that bonds them together. If one dies, the Tessitors
and the other guardians sense the death. So you see, killing one
would be a helpless solution. And, anyway, our Benandanti is
already…dead.”
