True Mate Saga Book One: Demetri

Chapter Seven

"I've already told you my life story, what else could you possibly want to know?"

"Delphia."

A voice called to her in the middle of her sleep. She shooed it away, rolling over in an attempt to return to her dreams. Not that she wanted to relive the nightmarish events of walking down the street in New Orleans in search of something to stuff her face with and ending up in a fight. No, she just wanted to see dream Demetri again. Preferably shirtless this time.

"Delphia."

Something poked her gently in the side and Della swiped her hand to shoo it away, her skin making contact with something solid and icy. Her eyes shot open and she stared into the chocolate brown contacts of Demetri. His beautiful face was stretched wide with a look of mirth that reached his eyes as he loomed over her. Della did what any other person would do in her position.

She wished she could have said she grabbed his far too expensive shirt and crashed his lips to hers but that didn't happen. Of course not, Della was not that with it in the mornings. Della, in that moment, screamed bloody murder.

Demetri looked absolutely shocked and he moved backwards rapidly as if she had smacked him. The hurt look that flashed across his features forced Della's heart to free fall into the pit of her stomach. His expression changed rapidly, showcasing a great many emotions that surged with a sudden ferocity that she thought he might make a run for it. Stricken with something she only recognized as an emotion close to grief, Della instantly begin apologizing in hopes of bring the carefree and cheerful smile back to his face.

"Oh Christ, I'm so sorry. You freaked me out, I've never had a face that close to me when I woke up before. I'm surprised I didn't hit you, to be honest. Are you okay?" she asked in a rush, the words coming out so closely after each other that it would be difficult for most people to identify what she had said.

Clearly not having an issue understanding her statement, Demetri's expression changed and his face showed hints of a smile once again, although faint. Della was relieved as he walked over to the table and sat in the chair that he had occupied the night before, motioning towards a bag that was sitting in the middle.

"It is quite alright; I apologize for startling you. I hope you don't mind but I have taken the liberty of obtaining your breakfast."

Della nodded and swung the covers back to allow herself out of the warm bed. "Give me a sec." Stumbling her way into the bathroom, Della flicked the light switch and the overhead fan on so that Demetri wouldn't be able to hear her use the restroom while he sat not twenty feet away from it, that would be embarrassing. When she was done she washed her hands and turned to him. "So, how'd you get in here anyways?" she inquired as she took a seat in the remaining chair.

"I apprehended one of your room keys before I took my leave last night." Demetri stated as calmly as if he were pointing out that it was sunny outside.

"Not that I don't appreciate breakfast, because let's be real here food is love and this looks delicious, but you can't just walk in here unannounced. What if I had been naked and doing, I don't know, the Macarena or something?"

Slowly Demetri's lips stretched upwards, his eyes crinkling in the corners just slightly as a wicked grin touched his features. Words were not needed to know what he might have been thinking in that moment. Della pointed her right index finger at him and, in a mock stern voice, stated accusingly, "Those are bad thoughts, mister."

Demetri chuckled, the sound was close to what she knew thunder in the distance to sound like as a storm rolled in, "They are not my worst, I can assure you."

Deciding that a change of subject was in order, because there was no way she could easily take such a beautiful accent, man, and innuendo this early in the morning without further impiety, Della asked, "So, did you already eat?"

Delphia had just realized that Demetri had never eaten in her presence. Not only had he not eaten, but he'd had trouble with his drink in the bar several days ago. Thinking about it, she began to make a small list of oddities that made up this beautiful being in front of her. Starting with the fact that his skin was freezing, she wondered if he had some sort of condition and prayed that it wasn't cancer or something equally dilapidating. She'd hated to see someone suffering, especially someone like Demetri, who had obviously been through a lot in his years, however many they may be.

If it didn't hurt him, she hoped to help him eat something for his sake if that be the case.

"I've already acquired nutrition for this day, diletto."

Della simply nodded and decided to bring it up another day, taking quick note of his eloquence. Outside of movies from decades past and old novels, Delphia had never heard someone speak in this way other than when she jokingly did so with Herman. She loved this manner of refined speaking, but it was odd for someone in their mid-twenties to do so every moment words exited their mouth. She wondered if this was how Italians were taught English, or if it was just him and his way of articulating. For a moment she entertained the idea of asking him, but decided to continue making a mental list of Demetri's idiosyncrasies to bring up at another time, when she'd gathered more information.

She ate the waffles he'd brought for her as she pondered. He wasn't talking, and she didn't feel the need to either. She felt as though his eyes never left her while she ate, her head bowed over her plate and posture surely leaving much to be desired. She knew she wasn't graceful when she ate but hadn't ever really cared about table manners, as long as she didn't snicker during her Gramps' prayers or belch at the table then she figured she was doing all right. Tossing the used plastic ware in the trash can behind her when she was done, Della once again turned to look at Demetri, "How much do I owe you for breakfast?"

"Not a penny, I have gathered your meal as an apology of sorts for pursuing you without consent."

"My acceptance of your apology is in pending," Delphia grinned at him, "You're not getting away with it that easily."

Demetri's eyes flashed again, this time he didn't look wounded. Instead there was a playful glint in his eyes that cause Della's body to feel as though liquid fire was erupting and coursing through her veins. She let out a shudder of breath, he looked too good. The way his dress shirt hugged against his lithe form and his dress pants were tightened on his hips as he sat, he'd crossed his legs and reclined just enough so that his torso was angled slightly backwards, one elbow rested on the arm of the chair and his fist resting against his face while the other arm was draped casually across his stomach. Giving off a sort of aristocratic yet relaxed look. He looked like an angel, with his dark and hooded eyes staring at her like he would give her the whole world, she need only ask for it. Her mind was giving her body the most unattractive images she could manage in order to calm her own reactions to the man before her. Fight it, Della told herself, if you sleep with him you'll be gone again before he knows what hit him.

Unaware of the internal battle Della was fighting, Demetri spoke, "I eagerly await your forgiveness, Della, in the meantime I should like to learn more about you."

Della, still trying very hard to banish her earlier ponderings from her head, willed her voice to remain steady as she responded, "I've already told you my life story, what else could you possibly want to know?"

"Everything." Demetri specified, his face was set in a way that made Della realize that he was not joking. He wanted to know every detail, she was rather shocked if she was being honest with herself. Usually when men showed interest in her it wasn't for her history. Men simply wanted a romp, and at times she willingly gave into that urge. Clearly, he had not followed her across the country simply to get laid, that she knew. She could feel a deeper sort of connection in the works that seemed to pull on her very soul, not just her loins.

She stared at him, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought casting a silence that was rather deafening. She wondered if it would be to invasive for her to ask him of his life, his dreams, goals, and aspirations. From what she had learnt the night before, he had a complicated past. He didn't know his own birthday, and that lead her to believe he may not have known his parents or his family just may not have cared. He seemed to have money, but how had he gotten it? What was his occupation, to have such nice clothing and be driving a rental BMW across country? She was trying to trust that he wouldn't hurt her, but she understood nothing of him other than his obvious intellect and graceful mannerisms.

"Actually, Dem, would you mind telling me a bit about yourself, first? Like, what's your last name, where do you work, stuff like that." She inquired tentatively, hoping those questions weren't too invasive and at the same time not caring if they were, he'd followed her and he was lucky she was fighting her instinct to run.

Demetri stared back at her, and then huffed what sounded like an indignant sigh. "Of course, though I cannot be completely forthcoming at this time."

"Why not?" Della asked, raising her eyebrow.

Demetri's stare turned pleading, "Please, Delphia, trust that there are certain things I cannot share with you just yet."

"But you will?"

"I will, when you are ready."

Deciding that it wasn't worth arguing over but filing it away for a later confrontation, Della nodded and decided to add it to the ever growing list of things to bring up at a later time. That list was growing by the minute.

Demetri inhaled deeply and then began, "I do not know what my original surname was. As far back as I can remember I have used the name that belongs to the organization of my employment, Volturi. The name goes back to Latin origins, and would now be translated as 'vulture.' It was a name given to the group by our enemies and it stuck throughout the ages for all of their malignant and petulant stands against the… ancestors of my employers the organization became preeminent and unrivaled."

"I've never heard of them." Della pointed out.

Demetri nodded minutely, "You would not have, they are predominant in southern Europe."

"So, Demetri Volturi, what is it you do for this… group?"

"I, for the lack of a better description, find individuals."

Delphia blinked back at him, "You find people?" she shook her head as some pieces snapped together like magnates, "So that's probably how you found me then, it's what you do?"

"Yes, Delphia, I find people. I can find anyone in the world if I were to want it done. No one is hidden from me. Well, that is not entirely accurate any longer, there is one that has the ability to thwart me though I haven't had the need to find that particular individual in years." Demetri smirked, "I will always be able to find who I am looking for."

"Is Volturi another name for the Mafia? Oh Christ, are you in the Mafia?" Della's eyes grew wide and her heart hammered in her chest as she thought of the implications of her newfound… friend, if that's what he was to her, was a member of the Mob. The FBI, or the CIA, or the NSA or whatever abbreviation, could be listening in through her phone that that very second and she would be none the wiser.

Della's mind began whipping around scenario's. Demetri was in the Mob, he went to Detroit because Della's aunt Mary must have gotten mixed up with them somehow and that was why Demetri followed. There would be no running from the Mafia, she realized. Della was going to be taken to the mobster's lair and she would then be killed when they realized that Mary didn't care whether the girl lived or died. Or maybe what happened in New York had gotten back to the mob bosses and they didn't want to leave a loose end so they tracked her down and sent their somewhat unassuming handsome Demetri to get close to her and do the job. As her mind was fabricating this novel length scenario complete with dialogue and exactly what way she would gruesomely die, Demetri began to sense her distress. He was out of his chair and kneeling before her.

Della could feel the coolness of his touch as his hands landed on each of her knees, shocking her back to reality, "Delphia, whatever it is that your mind is conjuring I can assure you your worries are unfounded. Please, breathe." He waited in front of her until she seemed to visibly calm before continuing, "I do not work with the Mafia, nor does anyone I know."

She nodded and took a deep breath, "I believe you, sorry about that. Mind went haywire for a minute there. I've seen all three Godfather's." She laughed shakily and placed her hands over his where they were still sitting lightly on her knees and squeezed gently before releasing them again. "Thanks for being concerned."

His hand reached up to brush her left cheek and pushed some of her hair back, "Do you trust that I would do no harm to you?"

His voice was low and sultry, almost as if he were asking himself the question. He implored her with his eyes and she couldn't help the feelings she was having at the look of raw emotion that settled there, which had gone from brown to jet black since she'd last taken notice to them. Despite noticing his changing eye color, and the fact that he currently wore no contacts, she smiled down at him and nodded slowly, "I don't believe that you would, if you wanted to you could have already done it many times over, but you haven't." But there's just something unnatural about you that I can't figure out, she added to herself.

"Have you had problems with the Italian Mafia before?" He asked, a fire lit in his jet black eyes as his voice remained steady and unchanging, his hand pressed delicately on the back of her head.

She shook her head, "If I had, I would surely be dead right now, I imagine."

It seemed like that was enough for Demetri, he stood and trailed his fingers back along her cheek as he walked away, towards the door. "I must leave for now, diletto, I will return by nightfall."

~.~.~.~

After Demetri had left, Della had taken it upon herself to pay for one extra night at the motel because it was going on one in the afternoon and she'd yet to call around and ask about camp grounds. Truth be told she didn't know if she wanted to remain in New Orleans anymore after the previous nights' events. Now, she was getting to know the mysterious Demetri and something told her he would follow her to her camp if she were to follow through with that idea.

She would decide if she wanted to move on or not the following night. No need to make hasty decisions based on one experience. Plus, she wanted to stay off the road as long as she could.

Demetri had been gone for three hours now, and Della had simply lounged around scrolling through internet vlogs on the motel's spotty wifi and working on her assignments for the classes she was missing. She found that she was having trouble focusing on just one thing and had about six internet tabs opened, but nothing captured her attention for long as her mind kept drifting back to the fact that Demetri's eyes fluctuated in color, and the realization that when they had been black, the visible ring of the contacts he wore had been gone, but he'd not moved and taken them out in the entire time she'd been speaking with him.

So who, or rather what, was Demetri Volturi.

She tried to put it all together, but she was coming up blank.

On one hand, he'd stalked her across the country. Logic told her that this was a cause for caution, but her sensibilities, misguided as they were, told her that she was okay with him, and that his insistence that no harm would come to her were truth. Demetri was cold to the touch; his eyes were black without contacts though she never saw him take them out. He appeared out of nowhere in the blink of an eye, making no sound. Della was certain that he would have, and could have hurt, no, killed, the men in the ally the night before.

On the opposite hand, Demetri had rescued her from a flying fist. He had been honest with her about the fact that he had followed her. He'd told her he worked for an organization called the Volturi, even if there was nothing on the internet about them. Even the mob had history, so she couldn't understand why this group wouldn't at least have a poorly written Wikipedia page. He'd never given her reason to believe he was going to lay a hand on her. And besides all of the previous rationalities, she had the distinct feeling that he just would not intentionally do something to her that she wouldn't consent to.

On the outside she seemed alright, just scrolling though things on the internet, but inside she was trying to unravel a mystery.

Della sighed and shut her laptop, she wasn't in New Orleans to sit around a motel room. It was daylight, and the weather was supposed to be nice until around four so she grabbed her keys and her over the shoulder bag and headed out once again, walking in part because she didn't want to drive again so soon and on the other hand because she didn't want to waste gas in case she needed to make a hasty get away and out run Demetri if she had to, because she still didn't trust him.

Della walked along the streets of the French Quarter, taking in all the smells and the sights before her. The loud jazz was playing all over the place and even though not one of the songs matched with another they all seemed to blend into one symphony that Della found herself easily appreciating. She threw a couple singles in a hat of one particular man playing a saxophone as she continued to walk down Bourbon St.

The quarter was just as she'd remembered it from the last time she'd been there as a girl. She'd heard that most of the area hadn't flooded in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina because the Quarter itself was above sea level. The surrounding residential areas, however, had been flooded exponentially and Della wondered just how effected the area still was, now ten years later.

Walking passed Madame Marie Laveau's Voodoo shop, Della decided she'd step inside and browse. Though Della didn't harbor a particular belief in the existence of magic, she did believe that there were things that couldn't be explained by human standards. She figured that if the Bible claimed that God, the Devil, Demons, and Angels existed, then it would stand to reason that there must be more that also existed. Perhaps on a different plane than what humans were on. She didn't know. It was just a speculation that had haunted her for years. If heaven and hell were real, then perchance wouldn't a sort of earthly purgatory also be? Furthermore, couldn't all 'supernatural' creatures have a place in the world?

If she'd brought that one to attention in front of Gramps' she might have been in some serious shit over her blasphemy. Devout Christian that he was.

Bless the man.

Shaking the nagging thoughts of her fault for Gramps' death from her mind, Della entered the shop and began to walk around. There were so many little objects with tags that explained what they were for. Potions for different healing rituals, objects for protection, even gris-gris bags. You name it and it seemed to be littering the shelves. Della assumed that these things were not authentic, however. What kind of voodoo community would sell off their secrets and sacred items to a general public? It went against every book Della had ever read.

There were so many beautiful trinkets, though, and Della was rather captivated by them. She was so enthralled that she hadn't heard someone come up to her until they had spoken.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" a thick Cajun accent asked gently, almost melodically. Della jumped a million feet in the air and gasped, looking to her left she saw a woman of dark, but clearly pale enough to signify years of avoiding the sun, complexion smiling almost like a predator down at her. The woman was clearly at least half a head taller than Della at least, and she wore robes that made her look as though she had come from a 1900s African tribal meeting, a solid brown cloth wrapped around her head delicately like a snug hat. It was as if Marie Laveau had stepped out of the portrait of herself in the entrance of the shop that sat on the wall to stalk the stores customers. The woman stared down at Della, and Della noticed one thing that startled her more so that the woman's sudden appearance by her side.

Crimson red eyes.

"Woah, nice contacts." She said, smiling at the woman in an attempt to ease her jitters.

The woman smirked as if she was privy to information that Della was not, "Thank you, child. I wonder, would you like your future read to you, free of charge?"

"No." Della stated bluntly, and then realizing how rude she sounded she quickly explained, "I don't want to know about what my future entails, but thank-you for asking."

The woman's smirk faltered briefly and her head tilted to the right as she questioned, "You… fear the knowledge of your future?"

"It's not that I'm scared of knowing what lies ahead of me. I would just rather wait until things happen, I'm an 'in the moment' type of person." Della shrugged.

It wasn't uncommon for strangers to approach Della and for Della to become enraptured in a sort of philosophical conversation with them. It had happened many times before, and it was the fault of her mother. Lyn would stop and chat for hours with people whom she would never meet again about things that most other people would over look. Many times, Della could remember having lengthy conversations with total strangers alongside her mother about the meaning of life, something that had taken decades from even the world's most formidable philosophers to formulate an opinion on.

So, Della wasn't at all surprised when the woman continued to converse with her.

The woman motioned for Della to follow here to the front of the store. "Surely you must harbor some curiosity. Life, with all of its unexpected changes, must be a cause for great concern. I have seen thousands of people in my day and have yet to find one to be unconcerned with their lives direction."

Della laughed happily, standing at the front of the counter while the woman moved to stand behind it. "I can imagine. The thing is, I just don't particularly care. I could die tomorrow, but I wouldn't want someone to tell me that my fate would be so today. What I mean to say is, if I don't know what is going to happen, when, and how then I can be content living my life as fully as I can in the time that I have, the way that I want. If someone were to tell me I would die in less than a day, I would be running around panicking and trying to cram as many activities in one day as I could. But, if no one told me I would take my time, do some things that I felt like doing that day without a care or concern." Della took a deep breath in order to smell the incense burning near where she stood, the scent was divine, "Essentially, I already live my life the way I want to. Are there things I have yet to do that I want to before I die, yes. But I would be content were I to die tomorrow."

"And what if you were to die tonight?" The woman cackled, her red eyes sparkling with a dangerous glint that caused a shiver, an instinctive bodily action, to crawl up her spine.

Danger.

Della, knowing to trust her instincts, decided that a lengthy philosophical conversation was not on the list for this particular day. Not with this woman, anyways. "Well, then I might want to grab some gumbo before that happens, right?" She responded cheekily, smiling as if she was joking so as not to cause alarm in the even that this woman did harbor ill intent, "Geez, now I'm feeling Gumbo. I was just browsing; I might come back in a couple days. Thanks for your help!"

Turning to leave, Della all but raced out of the shop as the woman said her 'good-bye, thanks for coming in and have a nice day' spiel. Once outside in the afternoon air, Della's panic started to decrease exponentially. She started walking quickly down the street in an attempts to put as far a space in between her and that shop as she could.

Walking passed The Gumbo Shop, where she had originally intended on having some Gumbo the night before, Della walked in and ordered some to go. It wasn't long before Della had made it back to her motel room and was sitting in front of her computer. This time she had a few more tabs opened, looking up Voodoo fortune telling and the history of the Marie Laveau shop, and in another attempting to discover if there was any reason someone would have red colored eyes.

Something about the clerk in the shop really freaked Della out. She wasn't sure what it was. At first it was the red eyes. There was no way that they could not have been contacts, but she hadn't seen the outline of the contact around the whites like she could when she saw Demetri's. Then it was the comments she'd made about Della dying.

None of that seemed right to Della.

A knock on her door startled her back to reality.

"Hello?" she called out, not moving from her desk. She could feel her heart racing in her chest, worried that it would be the lady from the Voodoo shop.

A muffled voice came from beyond the door, "It is Demetri, may I enter?"

She stifled a giggle at herself for her own paranoid thoughts. She took a deep breath, thinking that it was a good thing he'd actually asked this time. The warning gave her enough time to close out the tabs that she had been using to Google this Volturi organization. "Yeah come on in."

He still had the room key, she hadn't asked for it back despite having scolded him for using it without permission, so he walked in with the key in hand and a smile on his face. Della took note of the fact that his contacts were back in place as he sat down in the chair that was quickly becoming the norm for him. His mirth had returned and with him an almost child-like grin stretching across his sharp features. He folded his hands together and placed them on the table.

Demetri stiffened and raised his head just a small amount as his forehead crinkled. He seemed to almost be… sniffing the air. Just as quickly as he'd done this, his eyes met hers and he slacked again. It was almost like a robotic move, and Della became curious filing the action away into her mental folder. Another thing to add to the growing pile.

She would have an arsenal of questions to use when the time came, that she would be sure of.

"May I ask what you are working on?" Demetri's head cocked slightly to the right, his eyes wandering from Della's face and then down to the computer that was shielding everything below the neck.

"Nothing much, I tried to start an essay on the Anglo-Saxons but I couldn't get into it. I've been wasting time walking around in N.O. I just got back a little bit ago. I have some left over Gumbo that you're welcome to if you'd like."

Demetri shook his head and gave her a sort of blank look. Silence passed between them and Della wondered what was running through his mind. She also wondered if he thought in Italian, surely he would, since it was his native language, right?

"I pay no mind to the language I think in, diletto. Though now that you bring it to my attention I can assure you that most of my thoughts are Greek." Demetri stated calmly, the radiant smile placed back upon his face. She couldn't get over how beautiful he looked when he smiled.

Wait, had she said the thing about the thoughts out loud?

Oops.

"Uh, why Greek?" She attempted to cover the fact that she had spoken and she hadn't known it with a follow up question.

"Because I am Greek, Delphia."

Della was confused, "I thought you were Italian?"

"I was born Greece, it wasn't until years after I was born that I journeyed to Italy, before that I had lived in Egypt. Italy happens to be the home that I have chosen, or rather Italy has chosen me." Demetri chuckled as if privy to a joke that only he knew.

"So how many languages do you speak, Demetri?" Della was genuinely intrigued as she shut her laptop and gave him her complete attention.

"How many are there?" He countered, the look on his face was absolutely serious. "I am well studied in the twenty-three most common European languages, Arabic, Japanese, Mandarin, Latin, and Ancient Greek. Do you speak any languages besides English?"

Delphia was struck dumb. She couldn't believe there was any way that he knew twenty-eight languages in his mere twenty- something or so years. How would that even be possible? Did he perhaps just have a bit of insight into certain languages? He couldn't be a master of that many languages at his age unless he was a prodigal genius!

"I took a few French classes. I know the language well enough to get around Quebec if I needed to." She barely wanted to answer and face her own mediocrity in comparison to Demetri's plethora of knowledge and skill.

It was in that moment she realized that she was way out of her league here. The thought caused her heart to pitfall. This guy, he followed her. He seemed to have a connection with her. But he was so far out of her league that it was painful. By looks alone the guy was probably the most beautiful creature she'd ever seen. His knowledge gained him even more points as he would be able to entertain even the brightest of minds, as his was one of them she assumed.

What was he doing in a dingy motel room with her, Delphia the nomadic girl with a heart for travel and no plans to settle and make anything of herself. She was a nobody, whereas clearly Demetri was someone rather important.

He harbored secrets, but then who didn't?

"Please, Della, tell me more of yourself." He leaned forward in his chair and rested his chin on his folded hands, elevated by his elbows on the table.

Della gaped at him. How the shit was she supposed to come close to topping knowledge of almost thirty languages? She was so mediocre it almost hurt, "As I said before, there's really not much else to talk about. So, whatever questions are in your mind just ask them and I'll answer." She smiled, though it was forced.

Demetri fired question after question at Della with her permission. He asked about all of the mundane things she had done and seen, he asked about her favorite colors and foods, he even asked if she had any close friends. Demetri seemed enthralled by every answer she gave and he took no time to ponder her answers before he asked the next. It was almost as if he'd pre written a questionnaire and she was verbally filling in the answers that he would process later for an article.

She wondered what the title of such an article would be.

By the time midnight rolled around Della had practically fallen asleep still answering Demetri's questions. Chuckling, Demetri simply picked her up and laid her in the bed, drawing the covers up over her. He kissed her forehead chastely and left the room with a content smile.


Author's Message

The Mafia thing will go into further detail down the line when Della starts spilling some truth about something that happened when she was in New York. That's still probably ten (give or take) chapters off though.

Historically speaking, Marie Laveau was a hairdresser. Now, in this story, Marie has her hands into just about everything in NO, the shop will be explained more in a couple chapters. The plot is really going to start taking off now, as most of the preliminary and introductory work is pretty much complete. I hope you guys will like Marie in the future.

Also, yes Demetri spilled the beans about the Volturi, but remember that it's inevitable that Della will be one of them, even against her will and even if Demetri doesn't want it to happen based on Della (if she were to have a bad reaction, that's not saying she does) therefore, in my story, he has every right to share his information, though he should be using serious caution.

Thanks to all the new favorites and followers, and to the reviewers! I love you guys!

The beast got her grades back last night, 4.0 you beautiful readers. 3 She's on top of the world, so don't forget to

Feed the Beast