*** This story contains some mild language, suspense, romance, and some frightening images and situations—13 and older, please.

In the Grip of Twilight

By:

Olivia Tannis Moore

Chapter Forty Two:

Week One, Day Two

The Undoing

There were no guards standing outside my door to stop me, as I half-expected.

The hall outside my room was empty. Everything was quiet and still. I walked out into the hall and felt the rush of freedom.

Then I paused, noticing for the first time how my senses were amplified. The teardrop chandelier over my head dazzled my eyes a hundred times more than the first night I'd seen it. The wine-red motif of the hall had such intensity that it seemed to touch a chord deep inside me; chills of pleasure ran down my spine. The hall was quiet, but somewhere below I could hear someone moving around. It was like holding a conch shell to my ear and concentrating until the sounds filtered through: a drawer closing, the echo of footsteps, the rustle of papers…

I lifted my nose to the air and inhaled deeply, which led a bombardment of scents to flood through me and cause me to cough. I could smell the lilies on the floor, the scented water that was just beginning to dry on my sleeves…and something else…I could still smell him from his embrace the night before.

I covered my mouth with both hands and tried to compose myself. I had the strong urge to zip the length of the hall as I had my room, or leap from the staircase. But somewhere in the back of my mind the old Bella was trying to talk me down from the ledge, telling me to take it slow and calm down.

I closed my eyes and calmed. And then I headed for the staircase that led to the east tower. I knew Demetri would be there in the little sitting room where I'd found him the night of my party—his scent seemed strong in that direction.

Before I could even knock on the door to the sitting room, his voice breezed through my head. Come in, Bella.

When I entered, he sat at the small writing desk across the room. He was leaning over the desk; he held his head in his hands, and then ran his hands through his dark hair. Then he slowly turned his chair around to face me. But he didn't meet my gaze.

"Busy?" I asked, uneasily.

His lips tweaked, but it wasn't quite a smile. "You could say that."

I fidgeted, wanting to ask him why he didn't answer me earlier, but the distant tone and the space he was trying to put between us made me pause.

"You did a good job of finding me," he said casually. "I thought I'd put up a pretty decent mental block. But maybe not…"

The rash excitement filled me again. "I followed your scent…you smell like summer grass," I said impulsively.

He blanched. "Did it ever occur to you…" but then he stopped and clamped his mouth shut.

"What?" I demanded. I could understand his short fuse after the emotional night before, but this sounded like something else entirely.

His jaw worked back and forth and he looked up at the ceiling trying to find his own calm. "You used to tell me that…that I smelled of fresh grass."

I shook my head and sighed, sad that we had to go down this avenue yet again. "Are you speaking of me? Or Isabeau?"

"Both," he grumbled.

"Well, why should that be so unusual—you do smell like fresh summer grass."

His hand suddenly came down on the writing table with a loud whack. "It is damned unusual because I haven't smelled like anything in almost a thousand years…"

I flinched back. I wanted to say I was sorry. But I wasn't sure exactly what I should be sorry for…

"Are you mad at me?" I whispered.

"No…" he sighed. "I'm not mad at you."

"What is it, then?"

He laughed harshly under his breath and shook his head. "Just when I think I have a handle on things—especially after last night when it took strength I never knew I had—I thought that if I could live through that, surely I can let you be… But you undo me—you walk in here and say the most ridiculous thing and it loosens every promise I make to myself to keep my distance from you."

His words were so raw that I ached, yet I felt my heart stir as it had the night before when he smiled down on me in the cavern. "Can't we be friends? Would it be unbearable to just be my friend?" I crossed the room and stood before him. "I came here because I wanted to share what was happening to me. It's all so new…"

His eyes softened and he nodded, looking into my eyes for the first time since I'd arrived. "Of course I'll be your friend…I thought you wanted me to stay away after…"

But he didn't have to finish. "No, I didn't use you just to discard you afterwards. I'll always be grateful for what you did for me…always. What you did for me created its own bond between us. I'm just sorry it was so hard on you."

He laughed softly. "You just changed my perspective of last night—just when I think I know what you're about to say, you surprise me…"

And then, as if the air was too emotionally charged, he straightened in his chair and pointed at the drawing on his desk. "I should probably tell you what's going on."

I raised an eyebrow. "Alright."

"I'm planning a strategy." He picked up the pen and drew large circles around what looked to be a circular wall. "The Lycans were at it again last night. They came all the way to the city's outer walls—something they haven't done in a millennia. We're thinking tonight they may try to breach the walls."

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(Thanks for reading. OTM)