He hated to remember, but some things were impossible to forget. Especially when he was sealed away inside of his home, forced to seek the refuge of his abode when the sun fought its way through the ever-present clouds rumbling over Forks. Those days when he couldn't step outside for the risk of enlightening the humans to his secret. Those days when there was nothing else to do to entertain his eternally aware mind that could never fade into the unconscious bliss of slumber again. Those days when he secretly mourned the past that he'd never be allowed to return to.
Liam Gray shifted in his arm chair, turning his shoulders so that his body was aimed toward the wall rather than the window, annoyed by the brilliant sight of the sun glistening through the glass. His aristocratic face folded into the darkened lines of a frown, his brows furrowing over two ruby red eyes. Why did he mourn the past? He hadn't a clue. Who would mourn something that plagued them daily? Supposedly his gift for sliding over the boundary between mortality and immortality, though he felt it held the ring of a curse more than anything else.
He had but to touch anyone he wished, and his mind would rapidly fill with thousands upon thousands of images of their past. Like a ghost he would slide from one memory to the next, a phantom spectator on their private thoughts and feelings. He'd know them better than they even knew themselves.
Liam Gray seldom touched anyone.
For this, and a load of other reasons, Liam fought to keep himself secluded. He valued solitude like a drowning man would value a merciful strip of land. It was the only precious gift he could give himself when everything else he'd had had been ripped away.
Growling, Liam sifted through his dirty blond hair with one angry hand as he felt the persistent tug of the past playing at the strings of his mind, goading him to return to the memories. His gift wouldn't allow him to sever ties with the past, and his curse was to relive it. Daily. Though it was difficult to tell whether the particular memory hovering around the outskirts of his thoughts was in response to his gift or his own subconscious desire to return to that small fragment of time and fix his mistakes.
Liam spared a simmering glance over his shoulder and noted that the sun seemed to have every intention of burning through the rest of the day without the interruption of a single stubborn cloud. Meaning, unless he wanted to escape into the forest for an aimless roam, he had nothing else to do until he could return to his charade of pretending to be a student at Forks High tomorrow. So there was really no point in fighting it then, was there?
The blonde vampire closed his eyes with a grimace and allowed himself to float, a little reluctantly, back to the past. And it was so easy for him to remember. Every detail, every minute description. As if it was the present, he stepped back into the past, back into his life as a human, and he relived that one vital night in his father's ballroom.
~!~!~!~
The music was dull, the chatter was dull, the faces were dull: all of it blended into an ugly mess in the background as Viscount Liam Edmond Gray pretended to be enjoying himself. He stood to the side of the dance floor, surveying the dancing couples, and not envying them in the slightest.
It was all foolishness, a large game of charades. Liam could hardly stand to watch it. That much was obvious. Despite Liam's best intentions to appear as if he was enjoying himself, there was an incredibly sour expression on his face.
Liam was hardly trying to impress anyone, though he seemed to do just that anyway, despite his obvious displeasure over his current situation. Yes, the girls were quite smitten with the young Viscount. From his dirty blond hair to his chiseled frame and even his frosty blue eyes, Liam Gray was quite attractive. And this evening, tucked into his tailored clothing, he looked particularly charming.
It wasn't that Liam wouldn't use his looks to his advantage, but this evening he wasn't particularly looking or craving for companionship. The girls gracing his mother's ball with their presence were not extraordinarily attractive, at least not as far as he'd seen. He'd already put of at least a dozen off them, having yet to give anyone his first dance, and he intended to keep it that way.
His mother could throw as big of a fit as she pleased, but it would not persuade him one way or the other. She was simply lucky that he was here at all, and she mainly owed that fact to his father.
Liam tucked his arms behind his back and clasped his hands together. In a bored manner, he tilted his chin and turned his head to the right, seeking out the dominating form in the crowd that would be his father, Count Alexander Gray. He was easily viewable, even in the crowd, and he was the only reason that his mother could be found, seeing as how she was clinging to his arm.
Alexander Gray was a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark brown hair that still won out over the grey. His mustache was of the same dark color and thick over his lip. He exuded an essence of power, and all those around him respected him even if they didn't know him. Perhaps that was why he was one of the few, if not the only, person Liam obeyed.
Considerably less noticeable, his slender, elegant mother, while beautiful, was currently attached to Count Gray's left arm, and unable to stand out in the crowd in any other way. Her hair was starkly blond, her eyes the same blue as Liam's, and she was, altogether, a formidable force when not overshadowed by his father.
Liam, however, was not intimidated by her, though it went without saying that those of the female gender usually were. His mother could go from bubbly, loved hostess to the queen of frost in the blink of an eye.
Still, she was only frightening to those that did not have to live in the same home as her. A week earlier, when she had decided to throw yet another ball--one of her favorite pastimes--Liam had coldly refused to make an appearance. At first, his mother had tried to prod him into it with guilt, and then with tears, and then with a little bit of begging. When all three methods failed, she turned utterly hostile and used the last card up her sleeve: the one she knew would always work.
She went to his father. Count Gray had quietly commanded his son to go, and Liam had not put up a single fight, though he seethed on the inside. He wouldn't--couldn't--deny his father anything, but he always hated being maneuvered.
He knew he was simply a pawn to his father, yet another piece in his game to keep the Gray fortune and name alive. He would use his son in whatever means necessary to insure his name lived on. But, even knowing so, Liam could not seem to resist. Grudgingly, he obeyed being used for his looks and his bachelor status, something his father wielded when wanting to gain friends with single daughters.
As if she sensed him, Elizabeth Gray glanced up in time to see her son looking her way. Her hostess smile faltered for a split second, but immediately regained itself, and she lifted a hand and beckoned her son to her.
To badger him about his lack of companionship, Liam was sure, and he ignored her.
Frowning, Liam looked away from his parents.
He knew his mother well, however, and knew that if she didn't see him perusing the crowd of eager young ladies she'd make her way to him and begin her quiet, yet annoying complaints. With that as motivation, Liam turned and slipped through the crowd in the opposite direction, hoping to find a new spot that would conceal him from his mother's view.
Liam already had the perfect place in mind: a shadowy corner whose only current occupant was an ugly rubber plant.
The Viscount nodded to a couple of his father's friends as he passed them, as was required of him, but paid no one else any heed.
That was until he bumped into her.
His first impression as their shoulders brushed was of shock. The word immediately on his tongue was: cold. The brief contact of their arms brushing had caused his fingers to graze hers as well as she passed by, and he'd felt surprisingly chilled.
Liam was not one to take second looks, but something pulled at him to do so. He turned, ever so slightly, and what he saw caused him to freeze completely, his venture to the corner to blend in with the scenery forgotten.
A goddess inhabited his father's home. A goddess with fiery red hair that tumbled down to her waist in a silky cascade. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes locked with a pair of emerald green ones. Her lips, full and lush, parted in surprise, as stunned as he was by the sense of invisible electricity pulsing between them, and her cool breath caressed his face.
She was nearly a head shorter than him, clad in a green, billowy dress that still emphasized her curves, with rose-colored earrings hanging at her ears. She was the picture of utter femininity, and Liam had never seen a creature so breathtakingly gorgeous.
For a moment, one that felt like eternity, the two merely stood staring at each other in a strange sense of disbelief, as if the same thoughts were racing through both their minds.
As if magnetised, they both turned toward one another simultaneously, their gazes locked, their eyes wide. Liam realized his heart was pounding, and he had no idea why.
But he did know one thing: he did not want to let this woman turn to go.
"Would you like to dance?" he asked, a little breathlessly.
The woman nodded, and he offered her his hand. One again, he was struck by how cold her slender, pale hand was, as if she'd been standing outside only seconds before she'd came across him. Liam found that he didn't care what temperature her body was. He only wanted it near him.
He led the red-head to the center of the floor, and, almost greedily, pulled her into his arms. She fit against him perfectly, as if they were both of the same mold. One of his arms looped her waist as one of hers wound around his shoulder. In unison, they both lifted their free hands and joined them together. It felt like a perfect match.
Liam Gray had never felt so completely mesmerized by anyone.
Liam had danced the waltz so many times previously in his life that it was eternally ingrained in his being. He moved them both through the steps with the ease of a veteran, hardly thinking of the dance at all.
No, instead, his every thought seemed to be tuned to the woman in his arms. This mysterious, surreal woman that he could not explain. Liam had a brilliant working knowledge of every woman around, and he did not recall this one. Surely he would remember her if he'd met her before. She was new.
"Sorry, I did not ask your name," he began, though even to his own ears he didn't sound like himself. He sounded like a teenage boy with his first crush, nervous, unsure of himself. He hated being unsure of himself. "I'm--"
The woman cut him off, a small smile turning up her lovely lips.
"Viscount Liam Gray, I know," she whispered.
Liam could have swallowed his tongue. Her voice was as magnificent and as exotic as her face. It was low and sultry, the kind that would have a man hanging on her every word. Much like Liam was doing now. For a brief second, Liam had the insane notion that perhaps she was a witch. A witch that had poisoned the drink of water he'd taken earlier with a love potion of some sort. He could not rationally explain the effect this woman was having on him.
He wanted to know her name, craved it desperately. By God, it was embarrassing the way he was feeling right now. Like a silly school boy with a crush. Liam made a point to never be the chaser, but now he almost wanted to be.
However, his mysterious dance partner saved him from that scrap of embarrassment.
"I'm Kaidence James," she finally told him.
Kaidence. The word rolled around over his tongue. Silently, his head repeated the name as if saying it brought him some sort of pleasure. It almost did in some strange, twisted way.
"I've never seen you before." It was an idiotic thing to say, but it escaped Liam's lips before he could resist.
He was usually a man of control, one who was known for his casual aloofness that usually bordered on cold.
Kaidence's smile deepened, and she remained silent for a moment to study their joined hands as if she did not quite understand it. Liam didn't understand it either. Not at all. But he didn't want to let her go. He wanted the song to continue on and on.
"A pity," she voiced the words that he was thinking.
Liam kept the silence this time, afraid to say anything else, fearing the chance that he may something else that was foolish. However, when the song was finished, Liam was still just as reluctant to release Kaidance. He wasn't finished marveling over her profound beauty, drinking in the sound of her voice speaking his name.
"Would you like to get some air?" he asked.
Kaidence simply nodded in reply, and Liam led her to the large glass doors that led out onto a balcony. He'd used this ploy to woo many of his dates, but he didn't know if that was why he led Kaidence there now. He simply wanted to be alone with her, to drink her beauty in solitude.
Once they were outside, Liam turned to her, and was overcome once again by speechlessness. Perhaps the moonlight magnified her beauty, and the stars shining vibrantly in the sky offered the perfect background behind her. The sight of her nearly brought Liam to his knees. His heart was pounding again, his mouth was dry, and he knew that he'd never felt so awkward before in his entire life.
What had happened to his charm? His charisma? It seemed that Kaidence had stolen it from him.
The sultry red-head simply returned his gaze in the moonlight, a coy smile now on her perfect face, as if she could read Liam's thoughts. She stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and Liam's breath caught.
He wasn't used to not being the one to make the first move, but this was even more than that: she stunned him, like the prey caught in the predator's sight. Slowly, almost unbearably so, her hand came up, trailing across the collar of his shirt. Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight, and she leaned in still closer, breathing deep.
Liam nearly shuddered. What was going on? How did she seemingly have such control over him without saying a word? A lump formed in his throat, and he felt utterly idiotic.
"Viscount," she breathed, "your heart is beating rather quickly."
As if to emphasize this, her hand trailed down the material of his shirt until it came to a stop just above his heart, which truly was thumping erratically.
He wanted to be angry that he so obviously amused her, but he couldn't be. He was dazed, mesmerized, under her strange spell.
"Is it?" his normal voice finally returned, low and dangerous.
An animal instinct flooded through his senses as he realized she was challenging him. Yes, she was challenging him, indirectly and subtly, but it was still there, and he wasn't one to be bested. He knew what she wanted, because he wanted it as well, from the moment their gazes had locked. Or maybe even from the moment they'd brushed shoulders.
He was the one taking the step forward this time, he was the one slipping his arms around her waist again, and he was the one pulling her roughly against him.
"Who are you?" he asked her, his eyes burning down into hers as a triumphant smile bloomed across her face.
For the time being, he didn't really care. Almost angrily, his lips found hers. Her hands found his hair, clenching, and he found himself straining towards her as he had never strained towards another.
That night, Viscount Liam Gray shared a fiery kiss with a mysterious woman, and his life was changed forever.
~!~!~!~
The ruby red orbs of Liam's eyes slowly refocused on the cramped living room of his one story home. For a moment, a sliver of pain was encased in that blood red gaze, but he blinked once, and it was gone, a sly remnant of his past that had overstayed its welcome.
Women. Liam gritted his teeth. If there was one thing the past several centuries of his life had taught him, it was to stay as far away from the opposite gender as possible, save for when he obeyed the harsh, arrogant demands of his thirst. He'd been a fool once for trusting one, and he wouldn't make the same mistake again.
With the image of a beautiful redhead burning through his memories, Liam shoved to his feet and began to pace. His body was tall and lightly defined with muscle tone, and, in effect, his movement was almost graceful though it was still heavily masculine in some unknown way.
It was going to turn into a horribly annoying day of captivity, he already knew, and he hoped feverishly that tomorrow would come with some sort of quickened pace.