The Dark Rising, Page 3

  He rummaged through it, picking out a few items before he thanked me and headed into the bathroom.

  My eyes followed until he closed the door, disappearing from my view. I started shaking like a leaf, the shock and reality making its way through my system. I slid my hands up over my cheeks and I let out several long breaths, trying to comprehend everything that had happened.

  He’s alive! I thought to myself. He doesn’t remember! I felt totally dejected.

  Turning toward the bed, I noticed all of the photographs I'd left strewn across it.

  I walked over and sat down, reaching to clean them up. I found myself stopping to look at each one, while I organized them into neat piles in the order the events had occurred. I was finishing up the project, when Vance came back out, dressed in a t-shirt and sweats.

  I glanced up at his slightly messy, towel dried, hair, thinking of the way he used to style it.

  “Wow,” he said, spying the piles of pictures, and he walked over to pick some up. “You weren’t kidding, were you?”

  “No, I wasn’t,” I replied, moving to stand next to him.

  He slowly began flipping through, before he paused on an image of himself, the one I'd deemed my favorite of him.

  “What am I looking at in this picture?” he asked, staring.

  “Me,” I said, and the memory flooded over me. “I’d just walked into the chapel. It was the first time you'd seen me that day.”

  “Oh,” was all he said, though he continued to stare at the shot for several moments. I wondered if he could connect at all with the emotion he saw. “You looked pretty,” he added, when he shuffled through a few shots of me in my wedding gown.

  “Thank you,” I replied with a smile. “You were quite dashing yourself. It was a happy day for us.”

  He turned to look at me, hesitating before he spoke. “I see these things and I want to remember Portia. I really do. But I don’t.” He held up the picture of himself. “There's all this emotion on his face ... my face ... the face in this photo, but I can’t recall any of the feelings that go with it.”

  Every word he said stabbed through me like a knife.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, but these are the facts,” he spoke with a tender voice. “I don’t remember.”

  “Can I be completely honest?” I replied, taking a breath trying to control my shaking insides.

  “Please do.” He placed the pictures on the nightstand before turning to face me.

  “You may not recall, but I do. I love you, and I married you with the intention of spending the rest of my life with you. Honestly, at this point, I’d almost be content just to sit next to you as your friend. I thought you were dead.” My lower lip started trembling against my will and I tried to get control over my wavering emotions, before I continued. “I only want you to give me a chance—us a chance. Maybe you'll never remember, but perhaps we could build something new together. If you want to hear about the past, I'll tell you. If you don’t, I won’t.” I sucked in a deep breath. “Forgive me if I seem desperate. I thought I'd never see you again. I didn’t think I’d ever get to hold you, kiss you, or even make love …,” I trailed off, knowing I’d gone farther than I'd intended. “I’m sorry.” I turned away. “I didn’t mean to go there.”

  He placed his hand on my arm and he turned me around to face him.

  “It’s okay,” he said, his eyes flickering over me. He paused before he reached to brush a strand of my hair behind my ear just like he used to do. “You have very pretty hair,” he added, out of the blue.

  That was the final straw for me and the tears I'd been holding back came rushing to the surface, spilling out over my face.

  “Wait. What’s wrong?” he asked confused. “What did I do?

  “Nothing,” I answered, with a half laugh.

  “What is it then?” he questioned, truly concerned. “Why are you crying?”

  I lifted my hand, touching some of my thick locks and running my fingers through it. “You used to love my hair,” I told him and I gazed into his face. “You would spread it out with your fingers over your chest when we were in bed together, constantly toying with it.” I smiled at the memory, before I spoke again, seriously. “It’s hard for me to have you here, standing in front of me, talking to me like you used to, yet hearing you say it isn’t you. I have to pretend you aren’t who you are to me, when all I really want to do is …," I paused. "Oh, never mind.” I moved to turn away from him.

  He stopped me once again, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t turn away. Tell me what you wanted to say.”

  I shook my head. “No,” I replied, feeling frustrated. “I don’t want to upset you.”

  “Portia, tell me. I want to know. Really,” he said, seeming sincere.

  I stared into his eyes, desperately searching for any remnant of the person I knew and loved. I read hesitation, curiosity, and compassion. Seeing the compassion began to give me some hope. I decided in that moment to answer him honestly.

  “I want to kiss you,” I said, a blush creeping over my face, and I waited with baited breath for his reaction.

  I wasn’t expecting the one I got, when he surprised me with his next words.

  “Then do it,” he said softly.

  Chapter 3

  “What?” I asked, confused.

  “Kiss me if you want to, but I have to warn you I might be bad at it. I don’t remember doing it before,” he said with a slight grin which brought his masculine dimples to the surface.

  “Now that would be impossible,” I replied, returning his smile. “Your mind may not remember me, but I'm beginning to think your body does.”

  “Why do you say that?” he asked, curious.

  “You keep saying and doing things like you used to do.” I gave a shrug. “Then again, it could be wishful thinking on my part.”

  “Well, there's only one way to find out, isn’t there?” He took a voluntary step closer to me, so our bodies were as close as possible without actually touching one another.

  “Why are you doing this, Vance?” My voice quivered in anticipation.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe because you need it,” he replied honestly, staring into my eyes. “And for some reason, it seems I’m ..." he paused, searching for words, "drawn to you, I guess.”

  “What do you mean?” I swallowed the knot which was forming in my throat and the tiny spark of hope inside of me began to take flame.

  “I don’t know,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “But even while I was in the shower, a room away, I missed you somehow. It sounds funny, but it's almost like it hurts…in here.” He lifted his hand to tap his sculpted chest over his heart.

  He could still feel the connection between us I realized. But I didn’t have time to contemplate the meaning of that because he leaned in, dipping down to kiss me on the mouth, touching me only with his lips and nothing else.

  I closed my eyes and savored his soft and tender touch, not even able to breathe as an explosion of sparks rushed through my body—like they always had whenever he'd kissed me.

  He pulled away from me suddenly, and I glanced up to find him staring at me with a strange emotion. I held still, not moving an inch while I waited for him to decide what he was feeling. It only took a second to make up his mind.

  He reached out and grabbed me, wrapping one arm around my waist and sliding the other hand into my hair. His lips found mine again, meeting me with the same intensity of days gone by, and his tongue slipped out to tease my lips, coaxing them apart.

  He kissed me long and hard, almost frantically, for several moments. Then the hand which was tangled in my hair, softly pulled my head to the side, and his lips worked their way over my cheek. He trailed down my neck to his favorite spot, licking the sensitive area once, before he closed his mouth over it to begin sucking hard. He sucked so hard I knew he’d leave a mark.

  My heart was pounding, but I didn’t stop him. He was my husband. I wanted him to want me. He moved back to my mouth, and
I wound my arms around his neck, running my fingers into his hair.

  I found my knees backed up against the bed and he pushed me until we both fell over, bouncing onto its soft surface.

  “Portia, what’s happening?” he whispered near my ear while he placed a kiss there.

  “Something inside of you remembers.” I was breathless as he feathered light kisses down to my collar bone.

  “Was it always like this?” he asked, moving in the direction of my lips once again.

  “Yes,” I whispered and he lifted his head to stare into my eyes.

  It didn’t surprise me to see the red irises were back, but the thought was lost when he returned to his fervent assault of me.

  “I don’t want to stop,” he panted in between kisses.

  “Don’t,” I replied. “There's no reason for you to.”

  “But I barely know you.” He paused again, searching my face for any sign of hesitation.

  “You do know me … intimately. You just don’t remember.”

  He continued to lavish me with his kisses, until I was completely consumed, my mind becoming hazy with passion and I reacted instinctively.

  “I love you, Vance,” I whispered softly, in the heat of the moment.

  He was off me in an instant, rolling over onto his back.

  I watched him as he stared at the ceiling for several moments, resting his arm against his forehead.

  “I can’t do this.” He looked over at me, his breathing heavy.

  “Why not?” I asked him blankly while I tried to catch my own breath. “You're my husband. We're married! It’s your right.”

  “Don’t you get it, Portia? I’m not him! I don’t love you! I barely know you!” he said loudly, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

  “You are him!” I argued back in aggravation. “Everything you've just done is reminiscent of him! You! Every touch! The way you look at me! Even the spots you kiss on my body! They are all Vance! My Vance! Listen to this!”

  I leaned over and grabbed his head between my hands, pouring all of the memories he'd ever given to me back into his mind through the mental link we shared.

  He registered an expression of shock when I made the connection with him. He struggled against me at first, before his mind finally relaxed and he began to really absorb the images and feelings I was sending.

  It was all there, his childhood, his parents, his magic, running away, meeting Marsha, and moving here. I showed him his memories of joining the coven, seeing me for the first time, and how he was falling in love with me before I even knew he had an interest in me. I gave him back the nights we had spent together, meeting in my dreams, and the binding spell. Then I let him see how our world had changed with the explosion at the school, the near demon conversion, and killing the shape shifter.

  The withdrawals came next, attempting a cure, him leaving, me going to find him, the bloodlust, his proposal, his father, the demon kiss, and the kidnapping, followed by our wedding.

  My memories of our honeymoon poured out, and I began to notice his physical response to me, along with the rapid change in his breathing and the flush over his skin, when he witnessed the intensity of images.

  We were at the manor house now, reliving the poisonings, the pregnancy scare, and the Festival of Beltane ritual. Flashes from our rescue, killing Brian, capturing Darcy, chasing after his mother, slipped from my head into his.

  Tears streaked down my face and I shuddered again over the moments in the stone circle, his attack, watching him being stabbed before he’d drunk Douglas’s blood. Then he started to receive the Awakening right before his death, and I cried again over the memories of me doing CPR while I desperately tried to save him.

  He felt every emotion of mine when I showed him the burning of the demon corpses, and then bringing him home, burying him, only to find him alive again.

  I didn’t hold back one single moment of our lives together. I knew some of the memories he’d be able to experience from his own point of view, because they were previous ones he'd given me, but the rest were all mine.

  When I was finished, I collapsed back onto my side, breaking the mental connection but not taking my eyes off of him. “I’m sorry to assault you this way,” I apologized, sighing. “I just wanted you help you to understand.”

  I waited for his reaction, watching while he tried to process the massive amount of information I'd dumped into him. After several minutes, when he hadn’t made any comment, I moved off the bed and went over to the dresser to get my pajamas.

  Pulling out a tank top and boxers, I straighten and turned to find him standing behind me.

  He reached out to place a hand gently on each of my arms and he looked softly into my eyes.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said sincerely, repeating the same words I’d heard a hundred times over the last few days, only it was more ironic coming from him. “And I’m sorry I don’t remember. You giving me these things does help me to understand.”

  “Really?” I asked, feeling the hope swell larger.

  “Yes. Those memories and emotions that came from him … I could relate to them all, just the way he did.”

  “They're your emotions. You are him,” I corrected him, wondering if I was fighting a losing battle.

  He sighed while he stared back at me, his red eyes still present and glowing. “That may be, but I still don’t feel like him,” he replied. “It is easier for me to refer to him this way. Do you understand?”

  I nodded, my throat clenched, feeling like I was losing him all over again.

  “I can say this with a certainty though,” he paused, reaching out to run a hand over my hair and down my back. “He loved you more than anything else in his life.”

  “I know,” I whispered in a choked voice.

  “And you felt the same way about him,” he added, looking into my tear filled eyes.

  I nodded, unable to speak.

  “Let me make a deal with you.” He continued to run his hand over my hair.

  “What kind of deal?” I asked.

  “I’ll do my best to be sensitive to your situation, if you'll do the same for me. I don’t want to be forced to be someone I’m not. I admit I'm intrigued about where a relationship with you would go. Obviously there's a strong attraction between us. Whether or not it’s this body remembering things I can’t, I'm unsure, but I'm willing to take this one step at a time, if you are.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m asking you to let me get to know you as me, at least the new me. I've seen you through his memories and yours, but I want to get to know you myself, and if that happens to lead somewhere, then great. If it doesn’t … well, we'll address that if we come to it. Do you think you can live with this arrangement?” He gave me a concerned look.

  “Absolutely,” I breathed, knowing I'd do anything he asked as long as he was willing to give me—us, a chance.

  “To new memories then?” He bent to lean his forehead against mine like he used to.

  “To new memories,” I agreed with a smile.

  He lifted his head to place a chaste kiss on my brow, before he released me, stepping back away from me.

  “So where do you want me to sleep tonight?” he asked and his eyes trailed over the bed before moving around the room.

  “Well, you're welcome to climb in with me,” I replied, secretly wishing he would. “But if you think it'd make you uncomfortable, I could make up a place for you on the sofa downstairs. I'd put you in the guest room, but your mom's in there now.”

  He mulled things over for a minute. “How about we compromise,” he suggested.

  “All right, what would you like to do?” My heart still beat a rapid staccato at the idea of being next to him.

  “I want to be in here with you, but I'll sleep next to your bed on the floor instead. Sound okay?”

  I smiled at him, glad he wanted to stay with me. “Sounds uncomfortable for you,” I replied.

  He shrugged
with a grin. “I’d say it’s a step up from a coffin.”

  I laughed out loud. “I would imagine that's true,” I responded, and I went over to my closet to pull out some extra bedding.

  He grabbed a pillow off my bed and tossed it on the floor while I got him a couple of blankets. He took them and arranged himself a place, before lying down and covering up.

  “See? It’s perfect.” He smiled up at me, placing his arms back behind his head.

  It is perfect, I thought. I was just happy to see him here.

  I stepped over him to crawl into my own spot, waving a hand toward the light switch. The room went dark, only a soft pale glow coming in the window from the moon outside.

  The sound of him chuckling reached my ears. “That was cool,” he said. “Can I try?”

  “Be my guest,” I answered, laughing at the irony that one of the most powerful warlocks in the world would find the simple act of turning off a light as being something cool.

  “How do I do it?” he asked.

  “Use the memories I gave you,” I suggested, thinking this might be the best way for him to remember how to use his magic.

  He was quiet for a few seconds and then I heard his fingers snap together. The light popped back on.

  He glanced up at me and a huge boyish grin crossed his face. “That was fun,” he said, and I laughed at him.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I replied, and I couldn’t help letting my eyes wash over his beautiful masculine form.

  He noticed my look instantly, and I watched the grin slide slowly away to be replaced by something else … desire.

  I swallowed hard as he stared back at me for several long moments and I had to remind myself to breathe.

  “Guess I should turn off the light,” he spoke finally, breaking the spell between us.

  Nodding, I turned and snuggled into my pillow, my mind drifting over the events of the day.

  He flipped the light out once more. “Portia?” he spoke into the quiet night.

  “Yes?” I answered him, my eyes popping open at the sound of his rich timbered voice.