Chapter 3

Late Tuesday night, four hours after its scheduled departure time, Leni boarded a British Airways 777 bound for London. Her flight had been delayed due to an unexpected late April snowstorm. In London, she would transfer to a much smaller plane to Dublin to complete the almost eleven hour journey.

Like all the other passengers, she was tired, cranky and bored from the wait, but there wasn't a thing she could do about it. She spent her time listening to music on her IPod, except for when she was talking with Bridget or arguing with Philip on her cellphone. Philip was becoming a definite problem, one that she knew she would have to take care of when she returned. She wasn't looking forward to that prospect. But at least she had one good thing to look forward to: when she called Bridget to inform her of her flight delay, she was pleased to hear that the weather in Dublin was cool, but clear.

Entering the cabin, Leni showed the flight attendant her ticket and turned left. She could barely suppress a satisfied sigh as she headed for her seat in the front of the plane. She found her seat number, took off her parka and stowed it along with her purse and laptop in the small storage space provided. She sat down in the large, rear facing comfortable seat and grinned.

She had been pleasantly surprised when Bridget emailed her the details of her flight. Always the one with a flair for the dramatic, her cousin had booked her a seat in first class. Of course, Leni made a token protest that first class wasn't necessary, but Bridget insisted, and she didn't argue; Bridget could easily afford it. She often joked to Leni that first class was the only way to flly. Besides her cousin knew how much she hated flying, so she added an extra bonus to the trip.

She couldn't believe how big the first class cabin on the big British Airways jet was. She expected something a lot less crowded than what she was used to in economy or coach, but she never expected this much space. The seats in first class all faced backwards, so her seat was in the row closest to the front of the plane. There were only four large seats to a row, a single window seat on either side of the plane, separated from two large middle seats by a small aisle. The seats were angled slightly to allow for full extension into a flat bed. Her seat was like her own little private space. Not having someone sit next to her, crowding her was great. The fact that she would not have to crawl over two or three other passengers when she needed to go to the bathroom was even better.

She was happy to find out from the internet that her seat turned into a bed; she intended to get a good rest on the London leg of her journey; she needed it after this hell of a day. She had worked overtime last night and had barely gotten to sleep when she was awakend by Philip who was banging on her door at three o'clock this morning. She wouldn't let him in, and he wouldn't stop banging. In the end, she had to call the cops who forced him to go. A few hours later, he began calling on the phone, so she disconnected her landline and shut off her cellphone. She barely got a few hours of sleep before she had to get ready and leave for the airport. He left ten messages on her cellphone.

At the airport, she finally answered his call and argued with him, insisting that he leave her alone. He demanded to know where she was; she told him it was none of his business. She hadn't told anyone where she was going, only that she needed a few weeks off. Philip wanted to get back together; she told him, "When hell freezes over." Finally, she threatened to get a restraining order if he didn't leave her alone. She was sitting in a seat between a column and a large potted plant; the seat was a little secluded from the other passengers; still, she spoke quietly so no one else could hear. The intensity of her voice must of carried, because three large men sitting about ten feet away were watching her intently. She was in a very bad mood and felt like giving them the finger.

She wiggled her butt into the leather seat a few times to get good and comfortable. After fastening her seatbelt, she looked casually around at the cabin as the passengers in the other sections boarded the plane. Sitting next to her across the aisle was a tall, dark, rugged looking man who looked to be about thirty or so. He was one of the men staring at her in the boarding area; the other two were sitting in the same row talking. Although she couldn't tell for sure, he was a least six feet three and weighed about two hundred fifty pounds which were packed on a lean muscular frame.

Thick, gleaming hair as black as a raven's wing was combed straight back from a high, wide forehead and tied with a black leather band at the nape of his thick neck. Slightly slanted, large, clear dark brown or black eyes, she couldn't tell which, were framed in long, thick, black lashes. His strangely haunted but beautiful eyes glowed with intelligence and an inner fervor. Regular features, a golden complexion, angular face, high cheekbones, well formed ears, wide sensual lips and perfectly straight, large, white teeth complimented his big face.

A broad chest, heavily muscled shoulders, a flat abdomen that hinted strongly of a six pack, bulging arms that looked as strong as a lumberjack's, were clothed in a simple, but expensive tan V-neck sweater. Leni could see just a hint of short, dark curls peaking above the neckline below the hollow of his throat. His sleeves were pushed up on revealing strong forearms. A wide silver cuff encircled one massive wrist, and a platinum Rolex watch graced the other. Tight black jeans encased slim hips and long, perfectly shaped legs with muscular thighs and calves. A black leather belt with a large, engraved silver buckle surrounded a trim waist. Black leather cowboy boots tipped in silver clad really big feet.

He was simply the most gorgeous male Leni had ever seen, better looking even than Phil, and that was saying something. Except for the impressive white scar that ran from his ear down his neck to his left shoulder, he looked perfect enough to be a male model. Strangely enough, the scar did not detract in any from his perfection. If anything, it made him look fierce and wild, like a mighty, ancient pagan god. He sat easy and graceful in his seat with his long legs stretched out casually in front of him. He reminded Leni of a great black panther resting sleepily before he made his next kill.

Leni instinctively knew this man was no mere male model; he radiated masculinity, arrogance, power and authority. The way he held is body erect and the way moved, told her that he was a highly trained soldier; she guessed he was a Navy Seal or some sort of Special Ops agent at one time; he probably still was.

He was a man who commanded and expected to be obeyed. An aura of sexuality, so raw and primal it was electric, surrounded him. She didn't have to be told that this man was completely self-aware: he knew exactly who he was and what he wanted. She knew without a doubt, he would ruthlessly do whatever it took to get his way. Everything about him screamed, "Danger, danger! Beware!"

Their eyes met. Leni blushed, ebarrassed that she was caught staring at him. His lips curled up in a lazy, seductive, knowing smile as his eyes moved slowly from her face down to her breasts and remained there for a few seconds; his smile broadened as if saying he was satisfied with what he saw. Slowly and insolently, he moved his eyes back up to hers, lifted an eyebrow and winked at her. His pink tongue slid over his bottom lip. He moved his eyes down to his crotch, knowing her eyes would follow. He was in a state of semi-arousal and he wanted her to see it. He shifted a little in his seat to make it even easier for her.

Leni watched him with a sense of disgusted fascination. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. She couldn't believe that she just had told herself that this guy was gorgeous; he was a pig. His crude attempt to attract her attention was a real turn off, and yet...

She steeled her spine and realized that if he had only said hi, or attempted to talk to her like a normal person, she would have gladly talked to him, but this... yuk, with a capital "Y". She bet he had used this crude come-on a thousand times before; some women liked that sort of thing; she didn't happen to be one of them. Still, his eyes, his smile and his very body language told her he fully expected her to be thrilled by his invitation. Well not this time, cowboy, she thought.

"Wow! Is that for me? You shouldn't have," she said sarcastically "Ew, what a pervert! Does that really work for you? You gotta be kidding me," Leni looked him square in the eyes and snorted loudly. Shaking her head and turning away to watch his reflection in the window over her left shoulder, she saw his eyes widen in surprise; his mouth dropped open a little.

Wow! This guy sure isn't use to rejection, Leni thought. Well, that's just too bad. If there's anything I hate, it's an arrogant, conceited asshole who thinks he's God's gift to women, and this guy sure takes the blue ribbon prize. I've had more than enough of that with Philip, and I'm sure not going there again. Arrogant prick, she said to herself just to prove her point.

Ryodan sat staring at the little blonde in the seat next to the window. He was stunned by her reaction; he was also angry. That had never happened to him before; no woman had ever rejected him; not once. Old or young, pretty or plain, they were all the same, when he wanted a woman, they not only came to him willingly; they often fought over him. Throughout his long, long life he had used thousands of women; the way he wanted to use the little blonde.

He was a good lover; he took pleasure and gave pleasure in return. He treated his women well; he was not cheap; he lavished money and expensive gifts them. Sometimes he provided them with an apartment or a home. Sometimes he even let them work.

While they were with him, they belonged to him, and he denied them nothing. The only thing he demanded in return was absolute loyalty; he would not allow another man to touch what was his. He, on the other hand, never denied himself sexual pleasure when he wanted it. He never promised to be faithful; he never promised love or commitment; in fact, he reminded them that all he was interested in was sex.

When he tired of them, he sent them sent them on their way with more gifts and good memories. If they were unwilling to go, he simply wiped their mind of his memory, and they none were the wiser. No one ever got hurt. Sometimes they were with him for a few weeks; sometimes they were with him for years, but he never let himself become attached. He never wanted to.

He never loved any of them. The only woman he had ever loved was his wife, Zayida. She made him truly happy for the first time in his life. He would never be happy again until he found a way to bring her back. Although human, Zayida was everthing to him; he never wanted another woman as much before or since. She was his life; she was the only bright spot in his long, long life.

He was getting tired of Moira, his current mistress. She was a tall, red head with green eyes and milky, white skin that was as soft as silk. She owned her own travel agency and was the picture of a modern, independent woman. They had been together for almost five years now, longer than he usually stayed with a woman. She had unique skills in bed; she was very creative and her boundless lust almost matched his. Now, however, Moira was starting to cling; she was showing signs of jealousy which was always a sure sign that she would have to go soon. He had no time for a jealous female.

The little blonde attracted him like honey attracted a bee. She wore blue jeans that emphasized her small, shapely high rounded butt and slim legs; Her mauve sweater with its long sleeves made her violet eyes seem luminescent. The neckline was fairly modest, but still showed a little cleavage; he liked that. She had nice, full breasts for a woman so small; he imagined his hands and mouth on them. Her feet were tiny with a high arch; she was wearing old fashioned penny loafters with a shiny penny in each and colorful woolen socks.

She was petite, much smaller than the women who usually attracted him. She wasn't beautiful, or even stiking, like his other women, but she was kind of pretty in her own way. She looked intelligent and interesting. He liked the way her long, curly blonde hair flowed down her back; it looked soft and silky and so alive; he wanted to fist it in his hands as he had sex with her. He liked her flashing violet eyes; he wanted to see them darken with passion just for him. She looked young; he usually liked his women older and more sophisticated, but he could teach her how to please him. Her skin glowed with health and looked incredibly soft; he wanted to feel that skin hot, wet and naked beneath him while he pumped into her.

She had shown a temper while she was talking with a man on her cellphone; she had frowned as she told him she never wanted to see him again. Ryodan liked hearing that, but he wanted to see her luscious mouth curved up in a smile. He had hoped to get to know her. He had hoped would give him a few hours pleasure, even if it was just one time. Yet this little nothing, this little bitch had refused him. What is the matter with her? He thought.

Beside him, Lor and Angus snickered. They had watched him as he stared at the girl in the terminal, and they and heard what had just transpired. They had no doubt what he was doing; they had seen him in action in before. They both did the same thing with women many times, but they were surprised also. They had never seen Ryodan refused by a woman; especially one so small and plain as this one was.

"She's kind of young for you, isn't she, Ry? She isn't your type; she's too small and skinny. Besides, won't Moira be pissed?" Lor said in Gaelic with a grin on his face.

"Shut the fuck up. This isn't over. I'll get her before I am though. I'll make her regret her words; never doubt it," Ryodan snarled back at them. He sat and stewed while the other passengers continued to board.

As the big British Airways jet rumbled down the tarmac preparing to take off. Leni could feel the plane vibrate as mighty jet engines strained hard to gain enough speed to defy gravity and fling them into the sky. The wind howled like a banshee; snow and ice still pelted the plane, hammering hard against its skin, but the intensity of the storm had lessened significantly from several hours ago. Still, Leni sat white faced with fear as she tried to hold back the scream building up at the back of over throat. Just when she thought she would lose control, she managed to take a deep breath; first one, then two, then three. Her fear lessened, but only a little bit.

Leni hated flying, she always had, but take off and landing frightened her the most. Today, taking off during any kind of bad weather brought back horrible memories of the accident that had claimed her parents lives more than 12 years before. Thomas and Sarah Hammond were killed along with sixty other passengers when their plane exploded shortly after eight o'clock at night during takeoff off in heavy winds and snow. A passenger in a plane waiting to take off on another runway had captured the event on film.

Leni was at home in Los Angeles with Clara, her nanny. They had just finished cleaning up the kitchen after dinner and had both went into the den to watch television for an hour before Leni went to bed. Clara grabbed the remote and just clicked the set on when a sharp pain, sizzled through the soft tissue of Leni's brain like a bolt of white lightning. She clutched her head and whimpered in agony as the pain intensified and ripped through her mind. A sudden vision of an exploding ball of fire blinded her vision. The smell of burning flesh, metal and plastic was so strong she gagged and almost threw up all over the white sofa.

Leni clasped her hands over her ears to block out the sounds of people screaming and yelling in terror and torment. She was enveloped in a sense of loss that felt deeper and wider than the Grand Canyon. She knew from someplace deep within her that both of her parents were dead; the mental bond she had with them, especially with her mother, from the time she was an infant was gone. Leni closed her eyes tightly for a moment. When she opened them up, she looked at the digital clock on the cable TV box; it read 8:08 pm.

Five minutes later, the television program was interrupted by a news bulletin. A good looking male newscaster with a perpetually tanned face, blue eyes and hair that looked as stiff as a football helmet, announced in cool, sombre tones that the a deadly airplane crash had just occurred in Denver, Colorado. A United Airlines flight from Denver bound for Los Angeles had crashed after takeoff five minutes before, killing everyone aboard.

Leni watched in numbed silence at a newsclip of a passenger jet flashing down a snowy runway attempting to slip free of the earlth's gravity just before it burst into flames. Clara sat beside her as dumbstruck as she. She didn't need to hear the flight number to know that it was her parent's flight.

Tears flooded Clara's face. Her chest heaved mightily from the deep sobs that racked her own small body. She loved Leni and she loved Sarah and Thomas. She had taken care of their little girl since she was a baby and loved her like she was her own. She moved to comfort Leni now, but Leni was in shock, her body rigid, her arms straight down at her sides; she couldn't move a muscle. All Clara could do was wrap her bigger arms around the little girl and pull her close. She suspected that Leni had seen her parent's death as it occurred. She had believed for a long time that Leni had "Second Sight."

Tears ran down Leni's small face; they dripped on to her chest, but Leni didn't move or utter a sound for what seemed like an eternity. Clara lifted her to her lap, and Leni began to scream. She screamed until her throat was raw and swollen. She screamed until she was exhausted and could no longer utter a sound. Clara did not try to stop her; she held her for a longtime, then got up and called Leni's grandmother and her aunt.

After the funeral, Leni Hammond went to live with her grandmother, in Sea Isle a small island off the coast of Southern New Jersey. She was ten years old at the time. Although Leni loved her grandmother dearly and stayed with her every summer, it took a long time to adjust to the loss of her parents. It took a long time to get used to the loss of her friends and the only real life she had ever known, but Catriona was patient; she gave Leni all the love and time she needed to heal.

Sitting stiffly in her seat, Leni told herself that her fear was irrational. She had flown many times before with no incident. A rational person would have overcome her fear by now, but she hadn't. She felt like coward, and she hated that feeling. She fervently hoped no one else on the plane knew she was afraid; if they did, she would die from embarrassment.

She forced her hand away from the arms of the seat. With her right hand, she pushed the sleeve on her left arm up and began to rub the solid gold cuff that totally encircled her left forearm just a few of inches up from her thin wrist. A familiar warmth began to suffuse her body. Merely touching the cuff gave her a sense of security and serenity; it always had from the day she first put it on.

The cuff was about three inches wide, and it was heavy. It was beautifully engraved odd symbols both on the inside and outside. She was told the symbols were actually Celtic runes that formed a magic protection spell just for her. That made her feel good.

The gold cuff was Leni's favorite piece of jewelry, and it was the only piece of jewelry that she never took off, except to shower or bathe. She received it as a present from her grandfather, Danal, on her fifteenth birthday more than seven years ago. That was the first and only time she had ever met the mysterious man who was her grandfather.

When she was young, her mother had said that her own father was a soldier who died in the war before she and Aunt Diana were born. Leni pressed her mother for details, but Sarah Hammond claimed she knew nothing, except the little bit she learned from her mother. When Leni asked Gran about him, she always changed the subject; it was clear that did didn't want to talk about him, but Leni always saw a haunted look in her eyes. She also saw a look of longing.

All through her young life, Leni made up stories in her mind in which Danal was a handsome young man who swept her grandmother off of her feet, married her and then died a tragic hero in some far off foreign war. Leni always assumed Danal was an Irish immigrant like her grandmother.

Leni would never forget that strange day. She had just come home from school to find him in the kitchen with her grandmother. He was tall, with long, wavy, chocolate brown hair touched with honey gold. His incredible eyes were copper and glowed luminescently. He looked younger than her grandmother with his golden tanned skin and lean muscular physique. When she looked at him, the word "beautiful" popped into her mind. His voice was deep and musical with a strange lilt. He smiled at her and Leni felt warm; she knew implicity that this man loved her although he had never seen her before.

His clothing was strange. He was dressed in some sort of tunic encircled by a belt of gold. She could see a gold knife with an beautifully hilt etched with strange symbols stuck in an elaborate scabbord on his belt. Wide golden cuffs encircled both of his wrists; they were also engraved with the same odd symbols. They flashed in the light when he moved his hands.

He moved to kiss her on the cheek; his movements were liquid and graceful; he didn't move like other men. For a moment, his hair, skin and eyes glowed with a beautiful rainbow iridescence. The spot on her face where he kissed her burned hot, but it did not hurt; it felt good. For a long time, he stood looking deeply into her eyes as he smiled at her.

"I would know you anywhere. You are one of mine. I am your grandfather, Danal," he said; his smile widened, and he tenderly embraced her. She sensed a warm, electric aura surround them as he held her; she felt safe and secure. Instinctively, Leni knew he wasn't an ordinary man. She loved him immediately, unconditionally.

Nevertheless, it was more than weird to see her "dead" hero standing in front of her, embracing her grandmother the way a lover would. He looked so healthy and vital; he looked invincible. At first, she refused to believe he was actually her grandfather, but after a while she did. The look of pure love on both of their faces was more than enough to convince her.

When the truth finally sunk in, she became angry. She realized that her mother and grandmother, the two people she loved and trusted most in this world, had lied to her for years. For years after that, even though she forgave them, Leni still felt a sense of betrayal and loss since she never had been given the opportunity to get to know this beautiful man who was her grandfather. It was only during the last few months of her grandmother's life that she began to understand. It was only then that her grandmother would talk about the man she loved.

Danal pulled out another gold cuff from inside his robe and handed it to Leni. He told her that the cuff was magic, and made especially for her. He said it would protect her as long as she wore it, although he didn't say what it would protect her from. Her grandmother nodded in agreement. Leni didn't believe in magic, but for some strange reason, she believed every word her grandfather said that day; she trusted him implicitly. She wore the cuff everyday since then, taking it off only to shower at night; she often didn't take it off even then.

As the plane flew through through the night skies, Leni pushed her reclining seat fully back, shut off the light over her head and finally fell into an exhausted sleep. She began to dream.

In her dream, she was laying in a large bed, pressed between silk sheets at the broad naked chest of her lover. The sheets were damp from their lovemaking. The salty tang of sex and the smell of spice perfumed the air. Her lover had collapsed against her with his head buried in her neck. His large body was heavy, and it weighed on her; it was a weight she welcomed

Both of their bodies were slick with sweat and still quivering and weak from their exertions and the force of their joint release. His orgasm filled and suffused her inner core with a liquid heat. They were one.

"Ah, Leni, I love you so much," a deep voice, gravelly with emotion and exertion rasped against the tender flesh of her throat; she could feel the heat of his breath whisper against her skin. The sound of his voice and the words he spoke thrilled her, as much as the physical sensations she felt moments before. But those words, as beautiful as they were, also gave her great pain.

She loved him more than life itself, and had told him so many times, but this was the first time he said the same. She knew it was true, but it did not matter; he would soon leave her forever. Where he was going, she could not follow. Even if she could, she had no place there. He would go to another place and another time. He would go to another woman. A woman he loved more than he loved her. That knowledge was killing her. Even though he lay there in her arms, she felt so alone. She felt empty and bereft.

The dream sequence kept repeating over and over. Starting and ending in the exactly the same place. She could feel the heat of his body and hear the words he spoke. She could feel his hands as they held and caressed her. She could hear the sound sound of his voice; the tone and timbre setting her on fire as it coursed up her spine.

She could never see her lover's face, no matter how hard she tried. Each time the dream was the same, but each time, the sense of loss was more profound. Each time the pain in her heart deeper and stronger.

Leni tossed and turned for several hours; finally she began to awake. As she slowly moved from a deep dream state to semi-consciousness. She felt an awareness of pressure on her legs and felt a large, warm hand touching her left arm, pulling at her.

She knew it shouldn't be, but her whole body was hot, it pulsed with a strange electricity from that touch. She wanted that touch, she needed it so badly. For a moment, she thought she was still dreaming, but this was no dream, but she knew one doesn't actually feel sensation in a dream..

Leni tried to opened her eyes, but they wouldn't cooperate. She sensed, rather than saw, a big body hulking over her. She began to scream.