LAST TIME:
Despite the rough beginning, Samara excelled with the swords; she was catching on quickly. By the end of the session, she had defended herself on her own twice, without any help from Kalahari. And while she still hadn’t cornered Leela, she had gotten in a few good hits.
When they finished, they ran a few laps around the yard to conclude the training.
Samara was more exhausted than normal. Her body felt like it was turning to stone. She took a hot bath and managed to get in an hour of sleep before meeting Danteous that night.
---
11
Disappointment
It was sunset in the heart of Medynum. The streets and sidewalks were bustling with people leaving work, anxious to return to their homes and spend the rest of the evening unwinding before they would have to get up again the next day.
Danteous’s cloak swished around his boots as he walked with the crowd. He had just come from the train, and looked annoyed.
Turning right between two tall buildings, he entered a long alley where trash and old furniture littered the ground. The towering buildings on either side of him blocked out most of the blinding sun.
He went to the end of the alley where a brick wall barricaded the other side. It reeked here, of rotten garbage from the overflowing tin cans lining the wall.
A man with a gray beard stood in the shadows, waiting for him. He wore a tattered green robe.
“Ah, Danteous.” The old man held out his hands.
Danteous eyed the old man’s dirt-covered fingers and ignored the gesture. The man looked ashamed and dropped his hands to his sides, attempting to wipe the dirt off on his robe.
“What did you find out?” Danteous asked.
The man dropped his eyes to the ground and started to stutter. “I-I’m sorry, Danteous. I know nothing new.”
“You said you had a reliable source.” Danteous’s voice was frighteningly calm.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “My source said he knew, but it turns out he was mistaken. Please, give me one more chance. I’m sure there are others, someone must know something. Just one more chance, please?”
Danteous sighed and reached down to where his sword rested against his hip, his fingers curling around the hilt. The old man’s eyes followed his movements, and widened as he realized what was about to happen.
“I don’t have time for mercy.” In one quick strike forward, Danteous shoved the sword into the man’s gut.
The man gasped loudly and his hands instinctively went to the wound. He wrapped his shaking fingers around the remaining part of the blade as if to pull it out, but he was too weak.
Dark red blood appeared at the wound, soaking the old material of his robes.
Danteous yanked the sword free, slicing the man’s hands. The man gasped again, and, now unsupported, fell to his knees. Blood rushed out of the hole in his stomach and pooled around his body.
“Let this be a lesson for you in the afterlife: there is no room for failure,” Danteous said, ice lacing his words.
The man released his last breath in a hard gasp and left his dead eyes open to stare up at Danteous with a tortured look in them.
Taking a moment to clean his sword on the dry part of the man’s robes, Danteous sheathed the weapon and turned, calmly walking back out into the commotion on the sidewalks.
12
First Time
When Samara stepped outside that night, the first thing that caught her eye was a white long-stemmed rose. It lay on the front porch at her feet. She picked it up, looking around curiously, searching for Danteous. She saw another rose at the bottom step and, smiling, reached down and picked it up. There was another in the grass and another after that, leading a trail to the forest’s edge.
She never would have expected something like this from Danteous—he just didn’t seem the romantic type, but she certainly didn’t mind. She wasn’t particularly romantic herself—she was usually happy just spending time with him—but the gesture made her feel warm.
Before she met Danteous, she had no idea what she had been missing. Now that she had this wonderful feeling of being wanted, desired, and possibly loved by someone she cared so much about, she didn’t ever want to let it go.
She picked up the flowers as she made her way to the forest, where Danteous waited with the final rose in his hand. A red one. He handed it to her right before pulling her up to his lips.
As she melted into him, she knew that she had broken a promise. She said she wasn’t going to allow herself to fall in love with him so soon, but she knew that the light-headedness and her fast-beating heart was a sign that she had betrayed herself.
She loved Danteous.
She wouldn’t admit it out loud, though. Not until he did—if he was ever going to—first.
He ran his gloved fingers through her hair as he kissed her, moving tenderly from her lips to trail down her neck. The gloves used to bother her, but she had grown used to them now.
“They’re beautiful,” Samara finally said.
Danteous pulled away and smiled. “They insult you being described as such in your presence.”
She grinned; she loved these poetic games they played.
“Your flattery is insulting.”
“How so?” He grinned slyly, pulling her closer and wrapping his arms around her waist.
“You want to render me weak and helpless with your words.”
“Is it working?”
“It might be.”
He kissed her again, this time barely grazing her lips with his, teasing her, and then held out his arm. She took it and he led her into the forest.
They walked for a long time and, after a while, Samara realized she didn’t recognize the path they were taking.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“You’ll see.”
A few more minutes passed before he finally stopped them outside of a cave. Orange light flickered inside.
As they entered the cave, she saw that the light was from two torches hanging opposite one another on the inside walls.
She was amazed by what she saw: The cave had been turned into a small apartment. There was a sink and a small refrigerator in one corner. A double bed with a brass frame sat in the other. A small writing desk sat to the left of the bed and had a stack of old looking papers on it. Next to the stack of paper was a pillar candle that had been burned halfway down, which was being used as a paperweight. At the foot of the bed was an old wooden door that had been cut to fit the shape of a jagged opening in the wall that, Samara guessed, led to a bathroom.
“This is where you live,” Samara said, dropping his arm and stepping further inside to look around. She had never given much thought to where he lived before; it seemed insignificant knowledge. But now it made sense why he spent so much time in the forest.
“Yes.”
“Why?” She wasn’t being condescending; she was simply curious as to why someone would choose to live in a cave instead of a regular house.
He walked over to the desk and lit the pillar candle with only a flick of his wrist. Samara had suspected he was capable of using magic since Leela was able to. But it bothered her that he didn’t look at her to see her reaction. Did he know that she was familiar with magic, too? Maybe he just suspected she knew since she was training with Kalahari.
“I like being away from the city. I find the cave more comfortable than a house anyway,” he responded.
“Oh.” She walked around the room, inspecting it. There were no signs of bugs. That was good. Perhaps Danteous kept them away with magic.
“Are you disturbed by this?” he asked.
She laughed. “No, why would I be?”
“How many other people do you know that live in a cave?”
“Good point.” She smiled. “But I can see how it’s practical. No bills, rent, or noise from the city.”
He only smile in response.
Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. Danteous seemed different. Almost melancholic. She studied him for a moment as he looked down at the pile of papers on the desk, lost in his own thoughts.
She decided to let him have a few seconds to himself, and went back to inspecting the small cave.
“Samara.”
“Yes?” she said, not really paying attention. She was trying to see where the electrical cord for the fridge plugged in, if it even plugged in; perhaps it ran off magic.
“Tell me why you’re staying with Kalahari.”
The gentle demand caught her off guard.
Somewhat startled, she looked up at him, forgetting about the fridge. She had promised Kalahari that she wouldn’t speak of the orb to anyone but her and Leela. She didn’t want to lie to Danteous, but she didn’t want to break her promise, either—especially not so soon.
She forced a soft laugh. “Why?”
He took off his gloves and tossed them on the desk. “Curious, I guess.”
Samara shrugged and set the bundle of roses on the counter by the sink. “My grandparents wanted me to learn a few things. They thought Kalahari would be the best person to teach me.”
“What do they want you to learn?”
Guilt touched her. She didn’t like lying, especially to him. She wished there were some way to change the subject without being obvious.
She laughed nonchalantly. “Why the sudden curiosity? Why the questions?”
“Why are you avoiding them?” he challenged, his eyes darkening.
“I’m not . . .” Samara trailed off and looked at the floor for a brief moment before letting out a soft sigh and looking back up at him. “They’re just overprotective is all.” At least that part wasn’t a lie. “I mean I work in a bar, they want me to learn how to defend myself.”
He nodded, though he didn’t seem satisfied with her answer. Could he tell she was lying?
She stood there, studying his expression, trying to decide if she should try and explain more. He looked deep in thought again, as if something heavy weighed on his mind. It was almost frightening.
Concerned, Samara made her way to him and took his hand.
“Danteous, what’s wrong?”
He smiled, playing with a strand of her hair. “Nothing, I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
He shook his head and kissed her fingers. “I won’t bore you with the details running through my mind.”
Before she could think of anything else to say or ask another question, he kissed her deeply. It was almost forceful, hungry. His thumb gently stroked her throat as he kept his lips pressed against hers, sending warmth through her veins.
His other arm wrapped around her waist and molded her against him. She felt the warmth of his strong chest against hers. Her heart palpitated.
He moved his lips to touched the flesh right beneath her ear and there he whispered, “Tonight, Samara. Now.”
She nodded, unable to find her voice, and initiated the next eager kiss. Danteous walked her backwards and then laid her back on the bed.
* * *
She found herself walking down a dark passageway. Her bare feet brushed over a dirt floor. The path was very narrow. Rocky edges bulged out of the cavern walls. A torch here and there, barely lighting her path.
She was alone, and felt afraid. This place was dangerous; she shouldn’t be here.
She had to find them. Leela, Kalahari . . . Danteous. Once she found them, she would be safe again.
She ran.
Down the corridor. She tripped, but steadied herself before she could fall.
After a few minutes, she stopped to catch her breath, grasping a rocky protuberance in the wall for support. There was something warm there. Something wet.
Blood.
There was blood on the wall. A trail of it leading the rest of the way down the corridor. Her feet were covered in dirt and blood. The white gown she was wearing had dragged through the trail, staining it red on the hems.
She screamed once, wiping her dirty, bloody hands on the dress. The scream echoed, bouncing off the walls, and she covered her mouth, choking down tears. She clamped her mouth shut in case the one responsible for the bloodshed was still around.
She had to find them. She started running again, checking periodically over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being followed.
Finally, she reached a fork in the corridor. The blood led down the right path, the left was clear. She imagined the blood leading to a prison, a trap, so she went left.
She bumped into the hard chest of a male. Fear clutched her heart and she backed away before realizing it was Danteous.
She started to rush back into his arms, knowing she would be safe with him. But he grabbed her wrists, clutching it so tightly she was afraid the bones would snap.
“What are you doing?” she gasped.
He held her there in place, ignoring her pleas. His eyes looked like they didn’t possess a soul. His hands were bloody, his right holding a blood-stained dagger.
“Danteous, what are you doing? Stop!” Samara screamed. She struggled to get away from him. He brought the dagger up and then down . . . .
She opened her eyes before the knife could hit her. She was back in Danteous’s bed with his arm around her waist. Her heart was starting to slow down now that she knew she was back in the sanction of Danteous—the real Danteous’s—arms.
He was propped up on one elbow and looking at down her. When he saw she was awake, he smiled.
“Watching me while I sleep, creep?” Samara said and playfully pushed at his shoulder as she turned on her side to look at him.
“I couldn’t help it,” he said, kissing her forehead. “You looked so peaceful . . . up until the last minute or so.”
She frowned, raising an eyebrow. “How did I look then?”
“Beautiful. But troubled; you must have been dreaming.”
She thought for a moment, remembering the blood and him wielding the murderous dagger. The dream was one she wished she could forget; Danteous had been terrifying.
“I don’t remember anything,” she lied. She didn’t want to tell him what she had seen, how he had been, even if it was just a dream.
He lowered his mouth to hers and she snuggled against him, taking comfort in the feel of his warm, naked flesh against her own. She was safe now.
When they pulled apart, he was looking at her with warmth in his eyes and she smiled again.
The warmth faded and was replaced with smugness as he traced an invisible line down her cheek and onto her neck.
“It’s my turn,” he said.
She gave him another confused frown. “What do you mean?”
“How many men have you been with?”
She hesitated, uncomfortable with the subject. “Two,” she admitted after a second.
“Is that all?”
“Are you being condescending?” she said offensively.
He smiled and kissed her softly, an apology.
“They were both mistakes,” she explained. “I said I wouldn’t let it happen again after the second one and I didn’t.” She didn’t like being reminded about those two nights, but she had lied to him enough already; she owed him some honesty.
“Until now,” he pointed out.
She shook her head gently and when she spoke again, her words were soft, quieter than before.
“This wasn’t a mistake.”
He looked to be holding back another smug grin. “What made the others different?”
She hesitated again. Somehow it felt like he was trying to compete with the other men.
“The first one was just a friend and things went too far. After, I told him I didn’t want it to happen again. And the second was . . . embarrassing, really.”
“How?”
“It was the first—and last—time I ever got drunk.”
Danteous chuckled and she punched his shoulder. He didn’t seem to notice.
“It’s not funny!” she said, though she was smiling and holding back laughter.
Giving her fingers a quick, assuring kiss, he said, “You’re right, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you want it to happen again with your friend?”
“I didn’t love him.”
As soon as she said the words, she regretted it. They had just come out, she didn’t think before she spoke. And it was the truth; she hadn’t loved her friend, not in that way . . . not like she loved Danteous.
Too late to take it back, now, though. Holding her breath, she waited for him to freak out.
The laughter melted from his eyes as they narrowed. He looked guilty about something and Samara wished she could take back what she had said.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound like I-” she stuttered, trying to cover up the slip. She started to sit up, keeping the blankets over her. “I know it’s too soon for us- I don’t want to freak you out-”
“Samara, stop.” He sat up and held two fingers against her lips. “It’s okay.”
She sighed and eyed him skeptically. Was he really okay with her slip? Her admission?
He brushed the hair away that was curtaining her face and kissed her. It was a reassuring kiss. She relaxed her shoulders, feeling relieved.
Danteous pulled her against him and then laid her back on the pillows, keeping their lips connected.
He pulled away only for a second to say, very softly, almost hesitantly, “I do, too.”
She was too caught up in the feel of him against her, of his lips going to her neck, and moving down to her chest, to wonder if he meant it or not.
...to be continued in part 11...
P.s. ...Didja read the memo? I think you should read the memo ;-)
