Carpe Diem

by Kysra

Ayla sits in a garden chair outside with her back to the road and her heart in her throat. There is a small card table in front of her with two cups resting on two saucers gleaming in the sun. The cups are filled with cooling tea – one with a bit of cream and a splash of bourbon while the other boasts a full third of sugar.

She is twenty-four now and yesterday was her wedding day. The set up is still there – rows upon rows of white folding chairs, ornate and unearthly flower arrangements capping each line and countless seemingly unending white ribbons curling and writhing upon the light breeze.

Her hand nervously stirs her sugary brew then eases the spoon edge against the cup, tapping lightly before setting it along the saucer with a light 'clink.' She hasn't been waiting long, and he's always been a few minutes late; but his tardiness never fails to scare her just a little, even if it is somewhat expected.

The neighbors peek out of their doors, crouch among their gardens, gather and whisper about her as if she isn't there to witness it. She's been an outcast nearly half her life, but this type of isolation is more welcome than the first. I'm sure I'll hear all about my handsome 'gentleman caller' tomorrow at the market and how absolutely evil I am to entertain him the day after my wedding where everyone can see.

"Serious as ever. Do you ever smile?" His voice sounds from behind her, and she starts before turning slightly in her seat to give him the smile he requested, her entire body is soothed at the sight of him all casual and smirky in a tailor fitted leather jacket, wife beater, torn denim and boots.

He bends to kiss her right hand – a common greeting between them and one that caused several arguments between herself and her fiance, then moves to sit in the chair placed across from her, taking up his cup and swirling the tea/bourbon mixture about the rim. "Did you miss me?"

Her smile grows a bit brighter as she comprehends the way he seems to fill every part of her that has been hollow for too long and too completely. "I did. How is everyone? Is Laurel walking yet?"

His eyes follow her left hand as the fingers curled around the teacup handle, the cup rising to her lips. "I came to see you first, so you probably know the answer to the first question better than me; and Laurel took her first steps just before I left this time. She had her little arms held out to me and that look. I swear, one day I'm going to come back home and there's going to be a line of punks trying to lure my sweet girl away from me."

Ayla lowers her eyes, still feeling his eyes glued to her hand. "You have nothing to worry about. She's already a smart girl." Certainly, smarter than me. "She knows her daddy is the only man she needs."

A pause and then. "You know," she sits back against her chair and raises her arms in a gentle stretch. "It gets lonely here sometimes . . . if you or Pearl ever get overwhelmed, I'd love to have the girls for a night or two."

Instead of answering the offer with a direct response, Eury leans forward slightly, eyes focused in that piercing way that sometimes terrified her in the early days of their acquaintance. "I heard a rumor on the way up here . . . "

The moment of truth, Ayla swallows against irrational panic and tries to remember the speech she had rehearsed over and over again since yesterday. "A rumor? You shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"I didn't believe it. Not until just now."

"Really?" She tries to regain her smile as his grin grows. "So the Gardners really are aliens sent to subjugate the planet?"

"No, but it seems you forgot your wedding ring . . . or maybe there was no wedding . . . "

Looking away, Ayla squirms a bit under his amused stare but ultimately decides that the time for games was years ago and now she just wants to be honest, even if it means having her heart broken. "There was a wedding. I just couldn't . . . I mean, I left."

He had not expected her to be so open but covers his surprise by moving his chair next to hers and lacing their hands. "What happened?"

"I loved him . . . but I loved him like I loved Lord Yakoh." Ayla still would not look at him though she could feel his sudden concern.

Why would she leave someone she loved? "Ayla?"

"Do you remember the way Machika was with Methuselah? She used to cry and laugh and smile and become so angry – all in a matter of seconds. She loved him, but that wasn't what made her follow him after . . . . He not only had her love, he had her passion."

Eury breathes deeply, beginning to understand, remembering the feel of her wrapped around him, the sound of her cries, the smell of the grass on the outskirts of Siren's Castle so many years ago. Well, this is unexpected. He stands abruptly and tugs her up by the hand he still holds, and he is somewhat gratified when she doesn't protest or resist as he starts towards the house.

It is a short walk and as he reaches for the door, Ayla places her free hand over his and speaks, her entire body shaking with the force of her words and feelings, "I love you, Eury. With a passion."

He already knows this, but it doesn't stop him from thinking that if he believed in God, now would be the time to thank Him; and without another word or glance, Eury throws open the door, pulling Ayla close behind.

There is a moment of calm in which Ayla's eyes catch and hold his as he swings her around before him; but that moment dies as her back presses against the kitchen counter and Eury closes the gap, sucking all the air out of the room, creating a vacuum of pure sensation and heat.

Ayla has had two lovers previously. Lord Yakoh was the first, and they had only coupled once, a few days before he was killed. It had been awkward and messy and painful, but she had been happy to be with him in such a way, felt comforted at being so close and tangled with him. She had made all the little plans: engagement, marriage, babies, dotage – had believed he was all there was.

First love. Puppy love.

And she survived his passing, if only barely, survived banishment and danger and near-death only to realize that if her little plans had come to fruition, she would have been content, yes, but she would have never discovered just how much pressure could burn her, how much pain could rebuild her . . . how strong she could be, how good it could feel to be wrong about another's character, nor the bitter sweetness of loss tinged with satisfaction at the end of an adventure.

It was three years after Calvaria fell, after Methuselah was gone and Machika faded away, that she reunited with Binh, a man from her own clan. Four years of casual friendship bloomed, interrupted only by the arrivals of Eury's first two daughters, Marigold (Ayla still doesn't know what the child's mother was on when she filled out the birth certificate) and Raine (Eury's hand had penned that one).

That long friendship had shifted smoothly into an uneventful courtship, culminating in an expected engagement. They became lovers shortly after the ring was introduced to her finger and, as with Lord Yakoh, it had been awkward, messy, and painful. However, as time went on and practice was had, she began to feel a bit more comfortable, sometimes even reaching an aroused state.

She had been so confused in those days. Her weekly tea with Eury had become entrenched in her schedule since Machika's funeral; and she had no desire to ever abandon them. When Binh suggested cutting ties with the Evanses, Ayla had staunchly refused – one of the few times she had strongly rejected one of Binh's wishes.

When yesterday dawned, she had carefully gone over every last memory, every emotion she had ever felt, and realized that Machika would be ashamed of her. She had known in her heart of hearts that Binh was merely a replacement for Lord Yakoh, and as horrible it was to admit, she wasn't the same girl whose world revolved around the dead man she still loved. She had outgrown that girl; and only one person remained who had seen the formation of the woman she had become.

Eury . . .

Eury was the only man who had ever teased her; provoked her; angered her to the point of rage; could scare her without even trying and still manage to defend her; calm her; make her laugh until she couldn't breathe and tears ran down, and understand her without explanation. He was the one she ran to when the memories were too much to bear; his was the family she considered hers; and if it came down to choosing, if Binh had not heeded her warnings, had he said the words 'It's either him or me,' Ayla knew without a doubt who she would have chosen.

And as fate would have it, she did make a choice.

Where Yakoh was kind and soft-hearted, Eury is brutally honest and hard as nails. Where Binh was gentle and concerned with honor, Eury is rough, pragmatic, and something of an opportunist. He makes love like it is his last day on Earth – crushing, pulling, licking, biting, grinding, thrusting, and grasping – mapping her features with touch and taste, savoring her scent, reacting to her reactions.

He gives her no room to breathe, no opportunity to move. He is in complete control of her body and seems to know exactly where she needs to be touched, kissed, pinched, or tickled.

There is only one moment, sometime between the second his hands lift her atop the kitchen table and the removal of her bra that she is able to string a thought into verbal communication. "Eury -- please . . . the window –"

"Let them watch." His voice is deep and dark and caresses her in ways lovers' hands never have. The sound pushes her into her first orgasm, and suddenly she doesn't care that her neighbors might be watching or that she will be the talk of the town for a completely different reason than running from her wedding.

She is dazed a full hour afterwards, her body cushioned by the down softness of her bed, her head pillowed against his shoulder, and as Ayla comes back to herself, she notes the tightly coiled muscle beneath her hand and cheek, wondering at the tension.

But Eury is a lesson in contradictions, and though his body seems impatiently waiting, his hands are gentle, patient and soothing, trailing through her hair, skimming along her skin.

She wonders briefly if it was all a big mistake but immediately abandons that line of thought. If nothing else, the events of the last – Goodness, what time is it? – few hours have taught her that she and her past partners had been doing it wrong; and regardless of whether it was a mistake or not, nothing could change the fact that somewhere along the way, she had fallen in love with her erstwhile enemy turned best friend. They were both adult enough to handle this new facet of their relationship in a mature, understanding way.

"Eury?" Ayla's voice sounds thin and breathless as she waits. He curls her in a little tighter, strokes her hair a little slower but says nothing; and she continues to sink into shallow reverie.

I don't expect anything to come of this, she thinks, closing her eyes and letting her mind wander. She doesn't want him to treat her as one of his tarts, doesn't want to be one of the many who pine away waiting for that elusive post-sex phone call. For though she is confident he would never cut her out of his life (the children and their attachment to her would make such a move impossible), Ayla is less certain of his feelings, motives, and expectations.

So she kisses his cheek, tells him goodbye in her head, and gives him an out. "You don't have to wait until I fall asleep, if that's what you usually do in situations like this."

He breathes out quietly and shifts so that her head falls from his shoulder to the pillows, his legs lifting to swing over the edge of the bed. "Actually," he ruffles his hair before bending to gather his clothes, "'In situations like this' I stick around until morning to say thanks for the fuck and have breakfast, but since it's you this time around – OW!"

Not minding the sound of her shoe hitting the far wall, Ayla pushes herself to kneeling, an indignant look on her face and the blankets held tightly to her chest. "I can't believe you just said that to me!"

"I thought you valued honesty, you crazy wench!" He jerks his shirt on then leans one clothed knee on the mattress, slumping slightly to study her at eye level. "I'm trying to say you're different than the others."

Ayla blanches then turns away with a blush. Machika's face rises before her eyes, and Ayla believes that her dear departed friends would have advised her to soften, to hear, to respond with something other than pride.

Life is a mere fluttering of a butterfly's wings, Ayla. You have to make each moment count. You have to take what you desire when it is offered. You have to seize the day.

She faces him again, head slightly bowed, eyes peeking up through dark lashes, and mouth set into a neutral line. Self-consciousness and dread fill her, but Ayla has never backed down from any challenge, including those self-made. "You . . . were really going to leave . . . just like that?"

There is a familiar spark in his eyes which Ayla knows means that Eury has suddenly comprehended a concept that previously had him confused. "Well, yeah. I mean, I have a lot of work to do . . . considering."

I don't expect anything. I can't. Eury doesn't commit to anything unless it involves family. He was just being . . . kind. "Oh . . . okay. Then, I guess I'll see you . . . next week for tea."

"Next –" Eury's eyes narrow as he steps back, a strange expression on his face – somewhere between consternation and disappointment. After a moment, he rolls his eyes and mutters to himself. "Right. I guess we never have spoken the same language, have we?"

Then he looks at her silently, seriously, before taking her face between his hands and engaging her eyes with his. "Angel, it took me eight years to seduce you; and I am not a patient man."

She allows a small grin, easing into his hold and scooting a few inches forward to better feel the heat of his body. "I'll be sure to put you up for sainthood."

His answering grin is a touch cocky but completely sexy, and Ayla fights the urge to retreat when he nips the tip of her nose and brushes a kiss across the bridge. "Eight. Years. Do you honestly think - after waiting that long to have you, almost losing you, then finding myself lucky enough to get a second chance - that I was just going to let you go?"

Awed though somewhat ashamed, she settles more firmly into her hips and allows him to support her weight as he cradles her. "I don't . . . understand. I thought you said . . . it was me, and you're leaving . . ." Machika and Methuselah made this look so much easier . . .

Eury folds himself around her, resting his chin upon her shoulder and breathing her in again as if it is the first time. "When I leave here, I fully intend to call Pearl to dress the girls in their best. I will then prepare my house for your arrival. So, you'd best start packing."

She giggles before it hits her that he's serious.

"Then I will call the minister to witness and record the service."

What on Earth? "You're an atheist, Eury."

He pinches her cheeks playfully then lowers her to lay on the mattress, his clothed body covering her nudity. "Yes, but you seem to have this conviction that a marriage isn't valid unless it's done by someone of the cloth. I'm willing to swallow my own convictions to make you happy."

"MARRIAGE?!" The word shocks her so firmly that, had he not rolled out of the way at the precise moment, her head would have crashed into his nose as she shot up to sitting again.

Satisfied as the cat who got the canary, Eury smiles into her eyes and takes her hands in his. "Yeah. So, whaddya say? Mrs. Ayla Evans has a nice ring to it, don't you think? Besides, I've been thinking of settling down for a long time now (If that jackass hadn't proposed first, I would have a long time ago); and the kids need a mother . . . I don't want them to grow up the way we did, and they love you."

Struck dumb, Ayla fumbles for words that continuously escape. All she knows is that her chest feels full to brimming and sweetly painful, and she doesn't want to cry but tears begin to flow anyway. Here is Eury Evans - the boy who had once tried to kill her, the rake who had attempted to pick her up in a men's bathroom, the man who had saved her life and (though she certainly had not made it easy) become her dearest friend, most trusted ally, and greatest love - basically telling her they are getting married . . . tonight.

"We've wasted too much time. Machika would have kicked my ass a thousand times over by now over this procrastinating." He kisses her nose again then seals his mouth over hers, and she can barely contain her sobbing as he rests his forehead against hers and whispers, "I love you."

Author's Note: There are currently two prequels in the works for this one