[Hey. Well, I've changed my mind, this is not going to be the last chapter, I'm gonna have one more after this one. It's not that I'm trying to drag the story out or anything, but I feel like the whole ending shouldn't have to be squeezed into one chapter. Anyway, here we are, chapter-second-but-last...]
I have been sitting here for three hours staring at the pay phone two feet away. Athar tried to talk to me a few minutes ago, but after I barely heard what she said, and stalked off somewhere in frustration. I've been building myself up to call Kennet, get me another job, but I cannot bring myself to. I don't feel like I can leave. Leave, without so much as closure. Because I know if I did leave, then I would be abandoning my dreams of vengence against Selene and Cal, and the whole of Amyranth, the dream that has spurred me on to become what I am all my life. But everything is different now.
I'm quiet. I've been so worked up over the past few days I feel too tired to be anything else. I wonder what phase she's in. If she hasn't already shacked back up with Cal...
How could I ever get involved with a MacEwan? The most putrid, evil of all the notorious dark dynasties. For all I know, she's already got blood on her hands. How was it that she never seemed dark then? How was it, with all my capacity as a agent of the good-guys, a simple pair of hazel eyes deceived me and made me practically doubt my own sanity?
I am such a pitiful figure. Here, slumped over an old desk, somewhere in Scotland, dreaming about a girl who I should not want, and who doesn't seriously want me. Why would she, when she has an American stud already in her house, and probably her bed.
Goddess of all, I admit it. I have fallen in love with a girl named Morgan, with the flowing mahogony hair and the sexy brown eyes, where I see pure happiness. But we won't be. Because we can't be. And there is no point getting angry and doing something I may still regret. Goddess knows what all this could drive me to.
-Giomanach.
'Hello?' I called out at the desk of the Bed 'n' Breakfast. The silence was almost eerie over the dusty countertop. I waited a minute until I felt his energy, like a tsunami on the shore. Abandoning the polite signing-in method, I started exploring. It seemed like an eternity walking up that hallway to the only door I could see. What if he didn't want to see me? Thoughts started popping up in my head. What if this has all been for nothing, and I'm thrown out onto the street? Because there is no way Da will have me back...This has been a stupid mistake. Even as I came to that conclusion, I kept on creeping towards that door. The triangle of dusty sunlight that slid out of the ajar doorway lit up and warmed my cheek and I could see the dustmotes dancing and spiralling with every breath I took. He can't love me, not a MacEwan, not ever, I thought as I pushed open the door.
I noted a floral patterned room, with a yellow dullness to everything, including the several wicker-backed chairs around tables that littered the room. Everything seemed dusty, old and sun-bleached. In the first few seconds I was dazzled by the light hitting off the lino of the table-cloths and french windows at the back, and I thought there was no one there. But as my eyes adjusted, I saw a blonde young man sitting with in a chair a few metres away, staring out the window ponderously. He hadn't even sensed me, I realised, not sure whether to be nervous or amused. Now what do I do? I thought, suddenly not wanting to alert him to my presence at all. But the dustmotes where against me and they were surrounding my nose. I sneezed.
He shot around at once, his seeker reflexes kicking into action. His eyes shot up and down at me, and then settled on my eyes and I knew I didn't have to say a word to explain. I felt rooted to the spot as he walked closer to me. First pacing, then striding. His arms came around me and pulled me to him, and all in a second my hands were at the back of his neck and in his hair pushing his face down to me. I kissed him and he kissed me so strongly I felt my heart surge. It felt like we had just dropped a match onto a lake of oil the way we kissed and moved against eachother.
It felt better than the exhilaration of a circle, because I was sharing it with him. I felt right, and he felt right. And before I knew it we were up the stairs and backing into his bedroom. I kicked the door shut as he fell with me onto the bed.
The next morning came, and I woke up, rolled over, and I panicked to feel my back leaning against a warm chest. Goddess, how had I ended up in bed with Cal?
Before I could jump out an arm came round my waist and my senses flickered on. Hunter's slightly grinning face turned up from the pillow. I had to take a second to take him in. He had his back to the window, and the sun outlining his fresh naked chest and short golden hair was amazing. I felt my breath fall away.
'It is the East, and you are the sun.'
I was startled to hear my own voice quote Romeo & Juliet, a piece of my GCSE English Lit. course I thought I had long forgotten. Hunter seemed amused, 'always nice to wake up to the sound of Shakespeare.'
I could have blasted him. Instead, I giggled as he started kissing my wrist and his lips climbed up my arm. And I don't giggle.
His slightly stubbley mouth felt fabulous as they slightly grazed against my neck and I sent my hands slowly exploring over his back and neck. He was far better at this than Cal, the thought emerged in my head. I felt slightly sickened by myself, and pushed it out of my mind. The worst of witches can sense the slightest of thoughts, and I was sure Hunter would be alert to anything comparing him to his half-brother.
We carried on like this for a few minutes, until I felt his hands moving over my side and stopping to examine something. I ripped my thoughts away from the passion welling up for him. He had stopped on my athame birthmark.
Like a blind man on braille, he traced the outline of the Woodbane dagger, and turned to face me, an intriguing expression in his focused green eyes, one eyebrow slightly lowered. I suppressed a shiver.
'Deny thy Father, and refuse thy name.' He make it sound like a serious question.
'I will,' I replied. I should have stopped there, continued in our passion, but I didn't, I just had to quote once more, 'But what's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.'
'You know what's in a name,' he said, all joking gone,'especially yours.'
Too late, I remembered Killian telling me about what had happened to his family, how he had become the vengeful orphan he was now. Dad had told me more than once that the legacy of the dark wave flooded through MacEwan veins, though I knew no details. I didn't blame him when he backed to the other end of the bed and pulled on his boxer shorts.
But I wasn't prepared to just let him walk away from me. 'I am not my father!' He turned to face me, 'And I'm no murderer, and never will be. I'm just someone who left her family and everything she's ever known just so she can come here and say she loves you!'
He looked at me, analysing and judging like a Seeker always did. I grew angry. I heard a bird twittering outside the sun light-room, scratching at my brain like all the other things overloading my mind. And I lost control. My hand flew out in rage and I felt my astral self take hold of the tiny bird, so joyful at the rare sun, and pinch it's heart into stillness. It was a tiny little robin and it fell, cold and flightless to the goddess that hadn't wanted it to rejoin her so young.
My heart felt like that bird as he stared at me in hatred, 'No murderer, not ever,' he quoted.
I crumpled in on myself, and he slammed the door behind him. My energy followed him out of the house, where he mentally slapped it away. Despair touched me then, tainted me worse than any bloodline, cushioned me like a suffocating, piercing shield of self-hatred.
I turned and threw up over the side of the bed.
[Hmm, ok, definitely the last chapter next time. Sorry if the Shakespeare was corny but I read the 'deny thy father' line a while ago n just figured the situation was sorta ironicly similar. And if ya dont agree, you know where ya can stick it....on the review page!;)]
I have been sitting here for three hours staring at the pay phone two feet away. Athar tried to talk to me a few minutes ago, but after I barely heard what she said, and stalked off somewhere in frustration. I've been building myself up to call Kennet, get me another job, but I cannot bring myself to. I don't feel like I can leave. Leave, without so much as closure. Because I know if I did leave, then I would be abandoning my dreams of vengence against Selene and Cal, and the whole of Amyranth, the dream that has spurred me on to become what I am all my life. But everything is different now.
I'm quiet. I've been so worked up over the past few days I feel too tired to be anything else. I wonder what phase she's in. If she hasn't already shacked back up with Cal...
How could I ever get involved with a MacEwan? The most putrid, evil of all the notorious dark dynasties. For all I know, she's already got blood on her hands. How was it that she never seemed dark then? How was it, with all my capacity as a agent of the good-guys, a simple pair of hazel eyes deceived me and made me practically doubt my own sanity?
I am such a pitiful figure. Here, slumped over an old desk, somewhere in Scotland, dreaming about a girl who I should not want, and who doesn't seriously want me. Why would she, when she has an American stud already in her house, and probably her bed.
Goddess of all, I admit it. I have fallen in love with a girl named Morgan, with the flowing mahogony hair and the sexy brown eyes, where I see pure happiness. But we won't be. Because we can't be. And there is no point getting angry and doing something I may still regret. Goddess knows what all this could drive me to.
-Giomanach.
'Hello?' I called out at the desk of the Bed 'n' Breakfast. The silence was almost eerie over the dusty countertop. I waited a minute until I felt his energy, like a tsunami on the shore. Abandoning the polite signing-in method, I started exploring. It seemed like an eternity walking up that hallway to the only door I could see. What if he didn't want to see me? Thoughts started popping up in my head. What if this has all been for nothing, and I'm thrown out onto the street? Because there is no way Da will have me back...This has been a stupid mistake. Even as I came to that conclusion, I kept on creeping towards that door. The triangle of dusty sunlight that slid out of the ajar doorway lit up and warmed my cheek and I could see the dustmotes dancing and spiralling with every breath I took. He can't love me, not a MacEwan, not ever, I thought as I pushed open the door.
I noted a floral patterned room, with a yellow dullness to everything, including the several wicker-backed chairs around tables that littered the room. Everything seemed dusty, old and sun-bleached. In the first few seconds I was dazzled by the light hitting off the lino of the table-cloths and french windows at the back, and I thought there was no one there. But as my eyes adjusted, I saw a blonde young man sitting with in a chair a few metres away, staring out the window ponderously. He hadn't even sensed me, I realised, not sure whether to be nervous or amused. Now what do I do? I thought, suddenly not wanting to alert him to my presence at all. But the dustmotes where against me and they were surrounding my nose. I sneezed.
He shot around at once, his seeker reflexes kicking into action. His eyes shot up and down at me, and then settled on my eyes and I knew I didn't have to say a word to explain. I felt rooted to the spot as he walked closer to me. First pacing, then striding. His arms came around me and pulled me to him, and all in a second my hands were at the back of his neck and in his hair pushing his face down to me. I kissed him and he kissed me so strongly I felt my heart surge. It felt like we had just dropped a match onto a lake of oil the way we kissed and moved against eachother.
It felt better than the exhilaration of a circle, because I was sharing it with him. I felt right, and he felt right. And before I knew it we were up the stairs and backing into his bedroom. I kicked the door shut as he fell with me onto the bed.
The next morning came, and I woke up, rolled over, and I panicked to feel my back leaning against a warm chest. Goddess, how had I ended up in bed with Cal?
Before I could jump out an arm came round my waist and my senses flickered on. Hunter's slightly grinning face turned up from the pillow. I had to take a second to take him in. He had his back to the window, and the sun outlining his fresh naked chest and short golden hair was amazing. I felt my breath fall away.
'It is the East, and you are the sun.'
I was startled to hear my own voice quote Romeo & Juliet, a piece of my GCSE English Lit. course I thought I had long forgotten. Hunter seemed amused, 'always nice to wake up to the sound of Shakespeare.'
I could have blasted him. Instead, I giggled as he started kissing my wrist and his lips climbed up my arm. And I don't giggle.
His slightly stubbley mouth felt fabulous as they slightly grazed against my neck and I sent my hands slowly exploring over his back and neck. He was far better at this than Cal, the thought emerged in my head. I felt slightly sickened by myself, and pushed it out of my mind. The worst of witches can sense the slightest of thoughts, and I was sure Hunter would be alert to anything comparing him to his half-brother.
We carried on like this for a few minutes, until I felt his hands moving over my side and stopping to examine something. I ripped my thoughts away from the passion welling up for him. He had stopped on my athame birthmark.
Like a blind man on braille, he traced the outline of the Woodbane dagger, and turned to face me, an intriguing expression in his focused green eyes, one eyebrow slightly lowered. I suppressed a shiver.
'Deny thy Father, and refuse thy name.' He make it sound like a serious question.
'I will,' I replied. I should have stopped there, continued in our passion, but I didn't, I just had to quote once more, 'But what's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.'
'You know what's in a name,' he said, all joking gone,'especially yours.'
Too late, I remembered Killian telling me about what had happened to his family, how he had become the vengeful orphan he was now. Dad had told me more than once that the legacy of the dark wave flooded through MacEwan veins, though I knew no details. I didn't blame him when he backed to the other end of the bed and pulled on his boxer shorts.
But I wasn't prepared to just let him walk away from me. 'I am not my father!' He turned to face me, 'And I'm no murderer, and never will be. I'm just someone who left her family and everything she's ever known just so she can come here and say she loves you!'
He looked at me, analysing and judging like a Seeker always did. I grew angry. I heard a bird twittering outside the sun light-room, scratching at my brain like all the other things overloading my mind. And I lost control. My hand flew out in rage and I felt my astral self take hold of the tiny bird, so joyful at the rare sun, and pinch it's heart into stillness. It was a tiny little robin and it fell, cold and flightless to the goddess that hadn't wanted it to rejoin her so young.
My heart felt like that bird as he stared at me in hatred, 'No murderer, not ever,' he quoted.
I crumpled in on myself, and he slammed the door behind him. My energy followed him out of the house, where he mentally slapped it away. Despair touched me then, tainted me worse than any bloodline, cushioned me like a suffocating, piercing shield of self-hatred.
I turned and threw up over the side of the bed.
[Hmm, ok, definitely the last chapter next time. Sorry if the Shakespeare was corny but I read the 'deny thy father' line a while ago n just figured the situation was sorta ironicly similar. And if ya dont agree, you know where ya can stick it....on the review page!;)]