Chapter 4 To the end

The door to the room slammed open, and a man appeared in the frame. Amèliä turned, glaring at the figure for a moment, then thought better of it, going back to work. The man walked to her bed to sit with her. Majesta knew who it was before he even sat down; she could feel him like he was a part of her. It scared her that he was that important to her, and yet she didn’t even know his name. When his hand touched her, Majesta jumped and moved to the far side of the bed. She could feel his disappointment, and she wanted to smile, be happy about that. She couldn’t stop the sadness that overtook her at that moment. Majesta didn’t want to upset this man, and she sure in the world didn’t want him mad at her.

“Mo chroí, what is the matter?” She looked at him and wanted to know what he had said; it wasn’t English, that was for sure. The look in those green eyes welcomed her, but she had a feeling she shouldn’t look him in the eye. The feeling of swimming came over her, and she felt her body move back toward him. It wasn’t her, but it was. She lay against his chest and cried until his shirt was soaked.

Majesta’s body was cold to the touch, and when she was close to him, she felt warm. This didn’t seem right in her mind, but she didn’t want to move. The feel of his hands on her body was a welcome joy. She didn’t hear the door close or Amèliä leave. All Majesta knew was him, the feel of his hard body, the way he smelled of cloves. His arms went around her to hug her to his chest; he seemed to pet her. In a deep part of her mind, however, something screamed to move away. That this man wasn’t right for her, that he was messing with her mind.

“Shhh… Grá mo chroí, it is alright, what is making you so sad?” Craven asked, breaking part of the spell.

Why did he care that she was sad? What did it really matter to him? Majesta was confused and wanted nothing to do with this man. What did you do to me? How in the world am I here?” Sniffling, she wanted to back away from him, to hide under the blankets, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to move from his warm body.

“You don’t remember, do you?” It was weird to hear him speak like a normal person. Majesta wanted him to have that Irish brogue forever, but something told her that he did this to blend in.

“Remember what?” Majesta said, looking up at him. She hadn’t noticed the hair or face last time, but today she did. Majesta saw the red hair that ran down to his shoulders and looked like fire spilling down his face. His chiseled face showed no signs of age, like crow’s feet by the eyes. Almond-shaped green eyes seemed to hide under his unruly eyebrows. A slight scar on his right cheek and a dimple on his chin, even with his ghostly complexion, he was handsome.

“I brought you here to be my bride. I have looked for you for over five hundred years. The last time I found you…well… Grá mo chroí, you were taken from me in a horrible accident,” Craven said with such tenderness in his voice.

Majesta pulled away from him and finally really looked at him. He didn’t look over twenty-five, but then again, she was never great with age. As she looked, she noticed that he seemed to hide behind his hair, maybe to keep her from seeing him. Majesta lifted her hands running them through his thick hair. It felt like silk on her fingers, and she heard him moan slightly from the touch. It gave her great joy to make him feel good, but it bothered her that she could find joy in that. Finally, she pushed his hair out of his face and looked him in the eyes until the falling into the sea fell to them. In that one look, she knew so many things; one was that she should fear this man.

“I am not sure I am who you think I am. People will look for me, and if they find me here, they will kill you,” Majesta decided to try to get him to take her home.

“I am willing to take that chance… Grá mo chroí,” Craven told her. He took her chin in his hand to kiss her lush lips.

“I wish you would tell me what you are saying; I don’t understand. You would die to keep me with you? Why?” Majesta asked. Moving her face before he could kiss her. It was something in her mind that told her that a simple kiss would be more than that with this man.

“That is simple, and I know you can feel the pull just as I can. You had the dreams, and I am sure they scared you to death. The fighting that took so much life. It was a horrible way to live. In time, I will tell you what they mean…just not now…” he said as he leaned into her. She wanted to pull away, but something kept her there. Maybe it was the feel of his silken hair on her bare skin, or the fact that his lips felt like petals. Majesta couldn’t stop the kiss this time, and she was the one who pushed it further. He pulled away from her. She sighed into his chest. Taking in that scent of clove and something else, it was an aroma she had smelled before, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Dreams… So many dreams of fire that burned flesh from bone. Knowing that death would come in the end, but not in the way I expect it. To see and know the pain that shows in others’ eyes. Fear chases me in the dreams, but I know I can trust you from the dreams,” Majesta told him the simple truth. The dreams showed her a fiery death.

“You have no idea what I am?” Craven seemed to question her.

“You are a man; I am not sure what kind of man, though,” she said, running her hand up his chest and into his hair again. Majesta. Why was she touching him in this manner? It was too forward for her, not normal.

“Mo anam cara, I am a man, but there is more to that. You have no idea what you have fallen into. I can’t see you die again, it would kill me,” Craven said with a sigh, pulling her hands out of his hair. The spell that she had fallen under by looking into his eyes was snapped.

Anger was starting to flare in her heart, and she knew that she didn’t really want any part of his life. This man was nothing but death. It pissed her off that she wanted him so much, and yet she didn’t.