CHAPTER ONE ~ RUNNING
All I wanted was to look into his eyes.
Or was it just once more?
I couldn’t detangle the fresh feelings mixed with familiar desire.
I was running down a darkened street. Blinding rain lashed at my face, icy pinpricks numbing my cheeks.
I had no tangible concept of why I was running, only that I was attempting to somehow elude the darkness threatening to engulf me.
Then, at last, I caught a glimpse of him in the dim glow cast by a lonely streetlamp. He was tall, and broad, with a black leather jacket that seemed to absorb what little light there was.
I called out, hoping to be heard above the pelting rain. ‘Wait!’
He continued walking away from me, shoulders hunched against the intensifying storm.
I ran faster, harder, my bare feet slipping along the stony pavement beneath me. I reached for him, struggling to bridge the gap between us, but knowing somehow I never could. ‘Wait, please, wait!’
He was a handful of steps ahead of me when he paused, and turned, his face concealed by the shadows, the night cruelly keeping his secret from me; a secret I was desperate to uncover. I came to a skidding halt, my skin bristling with fear and anticipation.
I sensed he was slipping away. I was desperate. I fought against it, wanting to be stronger than the darkness that sought to draw me into its glacial grasp. I channelled my anger, my fear, surprised when my determination won out. The gathering darkness unexpectedly abated.
I held my breath. He remained before me, like a statue standing watch from a safe distance.
‘Wait? For what?’ His words formed a mist in the shrouds of rain between us. His voice was hard as flint, daring me to ignite his pain, yet it was I who scorched to life at the sound of it. I had yearned to hear him speak, only to find now the sound was so achingly familiar.
I stood drenched and shivering, my black hair clinging to my cheeks in waterlogged waves. I opened my longing lips to whisper, ‘Me.’
For a heartbeat, I could sense his hesitation and I dared to believe; until he squared his shoulders proudly, restoring his steely resolve. ‘You have made your choice.’ The disdain inherent in his every syllable proved the mere arm’s span between us would remain an insurmountable chasm.
I wavered, uncertain, long enough for the dreaded shadows to sense my weakness. A black cloud began seeping into the edges of my vision as I struggled to reinforce my crumbling barriers.
‘What choice?’ I cried, tears mingling with the rain on my face, his words leaving me desolate and afraid.
‘You let yourself be seduced by the darkness, let its inky tendrils swirl so tightly around you that you’ve started to fade away. Tell me, when you look upon the night sky, do you still see the stars?’
‘I don’t understand, what do you mean?’ Reflexively I glanced upward to the sky, but the pummelling rain stung my eyes. When I looked back, he was already walking away. ‘Please, I need you,’ I pleaded, not realising the words were true until I spoke them aloud.
He spun back to face me, fury emanating from his imposing presence, his face remaining a blackened mask. ‘Need me? I grow weary of these endless games. To think she entrusted that fool Gabriel with her life, only to be betrayed like this centuries later. Why don’t you find him instead, I’m sure Gabriel will still do your bidding,’ he said with finality, stepping away, his jacket moulding into the blackness around us.
Terrified by his words, I instinctively reached forward to seize his arm, but as I connected with his well-worn sleeve I was struck by a violent jolt, the force of it flinging me back. I thudded hard against the pavement.
‘Gabriel...’ I whispered, the name triggering something long forgotten in my mind as my lips formed the word. My futile struggle ended, my vision blurred, and the night closed in around me.
My thoughts were in darkness as I felt the sunlight streaming through the window, warming my eyelids and drawing me slowly from my slumber. I could feel the tangle of sheets wrapped tightly around my legs, encasing me in a one thousand thread count cocoon. I could hear the leaves uplifted by the morning breeze scraping gently against the balcony door glass; could smell the faint scent of salt carried on the air from the ocean outside. And as I lay perfectly still, I could hear him breathing beside me, feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek.
I was overcome by a disjointed feeling, as though everything was not as it should be. Something was missing, something was out of place. I kept my eyes firmly shut and breathed in deeply, trying to sort through my flickering thoughts in an attempt to quiet the rising feeling of panic. I was caught in that one moment between sleep and sentience when the body is awakening but the mind is still clinging to a blurred reality.
In that instant reality crashed down and overwhelmed me. My eyes snapped open, expecting somehow to see a rainy street, disappointed to see a familiar elegant bedroom. His bedroom. I sat up too fast, making my mind spin even further. I took several sharp breaths hoping oxygen would clear my fuzzy thoughts. A cold sweat formed across my brow and I gripped the sheets tightly for support. A sudden clamouring noise drew my eyes to the bells of the old fashioned alarm clock on the bedside table, sitting beside the perfectly framed photo of Linc hugging me to his side. A shared moment from a ball we had attended last Christmas, the two of us trapped together in a six by four inch gilded bronze rectangle.
And then my eyes fell on Linc himself, propped back against the oversized pillows, looking curiously at me.
‘Good morning my fleur. That must have been quite the nightmare to get you so worked up.’ He frowned. ‘Do you remember it this time?’
Seeing as they were a regular occurrence, Linc was used to me having intense dreams. I often woke bound mummy-like in the sheets, with my hair sticking out in a very unattractive way.
‘Bits and pieces...’ I was staring down at him, his dark ebony eyes twinkling in the light of the morning sun; his perfect bleached white teeth almost reflecting it.
‘So, should I be worried?’ He ran a hand through his impeccably bed tousled, chin length jet black hair. Seriously, whose hair looked that good this early?
‘Worried about what?’ My mouth felt dry and scratchy. As though I’d been screaming...
‘This Gabriel guy?’ At the sound of his name, the pieces all clicked into place. In a rush of emotion I knew what was missing, and I knew what was out of place with these surroundings.
‘This is a mistake,’ I breathed, as I desperately scrambled my way free of the sheets and dashed toward the bathroom.
‘Sapphira, are you alright? What do you -.’ I locked the door against the sound of his suave voice and grabbed the glass that sat on the vanity, chugging down several mouthfuls of water before sliding onto the shaggy bathroom mat and leaning back against the cupboards.
The leather jacket clad stranger still haunted my mind. I felt certain somehow, that if I’d seen his face I would recognise him at once. If only I’d seen his face! I had been experiencing different iterations of this one dream on and off for the last few months. It was like seeing an exciting trailer for a film that never gets released. I had ached for him to speak to me from the very first dream, and finally now he had. Yet instead of uplifting me like I thought it would, I felt inexplicably shaken. When a voice so contorted with pain warns you that you are surrounded by darkness and fading away, it’s not something you can wake up and forget. Dreams are not meant to leave you feeling like this; they should be about riding off into the sunset with masked heroes named Westley. Either that, or a half-price sale at Prada.
And not to mention this other new matter - who is Gabriel? I tried to breathe steadily but it felt like the walls were closing in around me. I ran my fingers along my throat, seeking reassurance in the angelus custos. I had worn the necklace constantly since that day Cassie and I stumbled upon it, just over a year ago now. At first it was because my dormant antiques gene sensed it was valuable and I hadn’t figured out a safe spot in the flat to stow it. But then something unfathomable had happened. The one time I relented and removed it to avoid clashing with some strands of multi-coloured love beads I was wearing to an 80’s party, the energy it resonated in me had abruptly faded, leaving me feeling somehow... less connected to the world. As I had returned the chain to my neck, I knew, for some undefinable reason, it belonged there - and so I had worn it ever since. Right now though, it felt like a shard of cold ice against my prickling skin. I pulled it up to hang free of my old comfy U2 tee, the one I’d left behind last time I’d stayed here. As I did so, I noticed the angel’s wings had left tiny indents where they had pressed into my flesh all night.
Linc’s knock on the bathroom door broke my reverie. He tried the handle but I knew he wouldn’t be surprised to find it locked. Sometimes I just needed space. My temples were pounding and I felt groggy, from both the lack of peaceful sleep, and the aftereffects of what had turned into a cocktail fuelled night on the town with Cassie. That would teach me for trusting a drink called “Under the Kilt”, poured by a barman who was clearly not Scottish and had no business knowing what should be under any kilt, least of all mine. My one saving grace was that today was Friday, which meant tomorrow I could sleep in well into the double digit hours. I’d never, ever been a morning person - in stark contrast to Linc, who had usually been for a surf and done a full weights work-out before I even reached for the orange juice on weekends.
Linc cleared his throat. ‘I don’t mean to rush you, but I can’t be late for work. I’ve got the meeting with the board this morning. I would use the spare bathroom, but, well, all my hair products are in this one.’
I debated between saying, You own the company, I’m sure they would forgive you or asking Has anyone ever even seen your hair in its natural un-sculpted state? Instead I stood up and groaned inwardly. ‘Sure thing, I’ll be fast.’ I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and sighed. My normally rosy bee-stung lips were dry and lifeless. My elbow-length, naturally wavy hair hung in black knotted clumps around my pale face (eerily reminiscent of my dream-state). There were shadows beneath my dark blue eyes which betrayed that I’d tossed and turned half the night.
‘Sapphira, are you okay?’ Linc asked tentatively, in that tone guys use when really, they are secretly hoping to avoid any discussion that even remotely involves emotions. Plus, it grated me yet again that he was the only person who adamantly refused to call me Ally (‘isn’t that where the common people go bowling?’ he had once mocked).
Linc was also the person who I just as adamantly refused to fall in love with.
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