Hope you guys are doing great and I'll upload widgets tomorrow to where the book can be purchased if you're interested. :)
Part I: The Broken Life
In a battle of wills,
of the gods of old.
For each his revenge,
will he forfeit his soul.
On the chess board of blood,
will their narrative play.
aged, innocent lives,
revenge claims her way.
Out of hate will come love,
and love will come hate.
For immortal and man,
have entwined their damned fate.
There was no moving in the moment. Her body afforded her no such luxury as swirling white mist covered the soft, green grass, giving her an ethereal appearance. Crimson danced against the golden sky as the evening moved in quickly, hoping to make way for its dark lover. Samantha gazed about her, trying to make sense of the familiarity she held with her settings, but failed to render her conscious with remembrance. The soft crunch of grass moving changed everything as realization dawned - she was no longer alone.
Her dark sapphire eyes narrowed, brow creasing as a figure cut through the dense, chalky air. He towered over her by a head or two and judging by the large expanse of his shoulders he oftentimes left the gym stained in his scent. As his shape continued to gain clarity from color and size to defined lines of a life well lived, the swell of anticipation grew at the story his facial features might tell.
As he drew close enough for focus, her jaw slacked and her eyes widened with wonder. He was for all intents and purposes a teenager, and yet by his exotic appearance, she guessed him to be a foreigner. Wherever he was from, he was simply beautiful. He stopped just before her, his gaze locked on hers, and try though she may words escaped her cry for assistance. His piercing jade eyes bore into her, dark orange rays stretching lazily from the iris, his skin seeming to glitter as if kissed by the sun.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“For me?” Sam blinked in surprise, taking a hesitant step back.
“Ah, Samantha,” he breathed out, his brow creasing ever so slightly. “Same questions every time, my love. Shall I give you the same answers?”
“W-what a-answers?” She shook her head, attempting to draw in a breath that wasn’t filled with the smell of pure male.
There would be no relaxing in front of him for something was so very familiar and yet alarming to all of her protective senses. Brick by brick, her heart constructed a thick wall that would promise protection. He took a step forward and reached for her hand, but was a bit too late to infiltrate her senses as the wall was up and impenetrable.
She exhaled softly as their skin connected and instinctively let her fingers wrap around his as a sign of friendship. The warmth of his touch sent tingles racing along the corridors of her body and yet still the cold loneliness remained because she demanded it so. No one would ever penetrate her defenses again. Self-preservation had become her lifelong companion simply because life required such company. The momentary experience of loneness brought back her first memories of white-washed walls at the orphanage and the feelings of abandonment, leaving her empty, a wasteland of hopes and dreams.
“Still not ready to let me reach your heart are you, Samantha? I’ve yet to find you, my love.” His voice was airy, but deep; like resounding thunder after a storm.
“What do you mean, ‘your love’?” Sam retorted, pulling her hand from his and placing them both firmly on her hips, her eyebrow lifting sharply, “and it's Sam by the way. No one gave you permission to use my full name.”
Her full name held to many memories to a life that she’d rather forget ever existed. Only a few days old, her mother had left her in a shopping cart wrapped in a dirty yellow blanket. She hadn’t even given her a name. The people in the front office at the orphanage had to name her and just happened to be watching “Bewitched” at the time. She was abandoned in the world on top of having her identity aligned to a worn-out witch on a sitcom. The nickname, “Sam,” would have to do until she was old enough to have it changed.
“Of course, Sam. I’m sorry. You look beautiful. That shade of lavender against your soft skin and beautiful blue eyes reminds me of the essence of color that lingers in the sky just before twilight. You’re such a rare beauty and you’re all...all...” He stopped suddenly.
Wow, a stutter, go figure. At least he’s not perfect. Besides, when you look that good, who cares what’s coming out of your mouth? Sam caught herself before she chuckled out loud.
“You’re all what?” Sam asked, like a chicken with its feathers ruffled.
“And you are allllll-ways beautiful.”
“Thanks, I guess.” She started to relax a little, or at least let it appear as such. “Where are we and who are you?”
Not having focused much on herself, she glanced down to inspect what the boy before her was staring so intently at. Her breath caught in her chest due to the revealing purple ball gown that hugged the curves of her athletic body and created a seductive cleavage. The dress's hem skimmed the ground as shiny black shoes peeked out from underneath.
Sam reached up to touch her hair and noticed that it wasn’t hanging down long and straight on her shoulders in her usual style. Instead, to her surprise, it was wound tightly in a bun, stray pieces caressing her neck.
What the... I’ve lost it and now I’m standing in a grass field in prom attire with People’s sexiest man of the year.
“I’m Marcus. Marcus Greco and you know me, Sam. You visit my dreams quite often, but not often enough.” He shrugged and turned away from her, continuing to speak over his shoulder. “You and I have spent many nights tucked away here and when you go I search for you endlessly.”
Sam inhaled, flooding her senses with the musky tones of his cologne.
“So, you’re the reason I’m in this itchy dress?”
“Guilty as charged.” He stopped briefly to glance over his shoulder, a smile touching his mouth. Sam was certain she’d heard heaven and hell applauding at the beauty that was Marcus.
“Sounds fun,” she said, a bit dazed.
“So, what do you want to do tonight? Dream up your best and let’s have a good time.”
Becoming more comfortable with the fact that she’d slipped into the world of fantasy, Sam decided to test the proverbial waters. She allowed herself the pleasure of engraving him into her memory first. Her eyes moved from his handsome face to his muscular chest, thick arms, narrow hips, and solid legs, finishing with his decadent mouth. A soft gasp left his lips, quickly confirmed by the shocked look on his face.
“Sam, what are you doing?” He moved a step closer, his voice questioning.
“Most teenagers in this era call it ‘checking you out.’ Which I have to admit is like going to the candy store. Such a treat.” She looked up into his eyes.
“Let it leave your lips, Samantha, say it. Tell me you know me. That you’ve missed me,” Marcus whispered. “Say it…. Come on, Sam...”
He reached for her hand, but she backed up, her desire turning into something bordering apprehension. Her internal struggle waged it’s all too familiar war as Marcus’s expression changed from one of desire to concern.
“Why do I have the extreme desire to touch you, to know you? Why do I feel that maybe I’ve already done both?” She glanced up as Marcus moved away, his shoulders sagging a bit.
“I’m sorry, Samantha, that was too forward. I just miss you so much.” His gaze lowered to the ground, as if he were a scalded puppy.
“Walk away, Sam.” A voice as warm as the summer sun caressed her from behind as the wind picked up, circling her body. It was full of excitement and comfort and it reminded her of someone. Someone she loved. Someone she needed and belonged to. And yet she didn’t belong to anyone... Did she? Her head turned slightly to let the words brush along the softness of her cheek.
“What is it?” Marcus demanded, walking toward her, his eyes swirling with mixed emotions. “What did he say?”
Until then, Sam hadn’t realized she’d been slowly backing up, walking farther and farther away from him. Confusion beat against her and beads of sweat formed near her brow.
Her legs refused to obey her silent command. Half of her heart longed to return to Marcus and the other half demanded she run free toward someone far more exhilarating. Her soul wept as the fleeing half of her persona won and she ran hard and fast until she could no longer see him.
The loud masculine voice resounded in the waking world, pulling her from a fitful sleep. Her body jerked upward, drenched in sweat; her heart determined to race its way out of her chest. A network of goose bumps laid claim to her skin as she shivered against the cold air of her dark room.
To no avail she tried recalling the details of her dream in hopes of shedding some light on whose scream had woken her. Exhausted and filled with angst, she flopped back onto her bed and rolled onto her side, succumbing to a restless sleep, the dream a vapor in the ether.