DARKSPELL

Darkspell

Elizabeth Mueller

Copyright 2011--TreasureLine Books

All rights reserved

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He knew I was here, the place where I dreamed.

Every night he watched me. Every night he fell in love with me. Every night he lost the courage to speak with me.

How could he earn my trust? He never knew how enchanting I could be. No idea at all. Spell or not, he was going to do it, he was going to tell me how he felt.

I didn’t see him as I danced, my arms raised to the moon as I twirled. He swallowed hard, his hands trembling. With slow lazy movements, he wandered over.

“Winter,” the breeze whispered through his lips. My scent of lilac reached him and he closed his eyes.

I froze, my hair rippling in the breeze. My gaze flew wide and I darted behind a willow, my heart pounding fiercely.

He found me easily enough, a dark shape behind the hypnotic ripple of woven leaves. As he materialized behind me, he smiled. I was as graceful as the tree, my golden hair tumbling to my waist. He lifted his hand, anxious to feel its silkiness in his touch. Not yet . . . He did not want

to frighten me.

I spun around and faced him, my lips a surprised “O”.

He tensed under my stunned gaze. The gentle wind kissed his skin and the dancing willow limbs sung a lullaby. Too dazed to care, I basked under his inspection as he did mine: he believed my features fragile, as if sculpted by a capable artist . . . and my lips. His breath caught, he longed to feel their smoothness as he thought of an elliptical sunset, warm and inviting.

He knew my hopes, dreams, and desires. “It’s you,” I said, my voice gentle, musical, his aura one that I’ve felt before, but couldn’t quite pinpoint where. 

He met my stare beneath moon-gilded lashes, and found recognition. He lowered his eyelids, his arms gentle upon my waist as he led me in slow circles. A dance with nothing but night air to hold us. 

I sighed; my eagerness reeled him in and he obeyed—his mouth angled down to mine.

I watched myself through his eyes and something powerful—familiar—whispered to me. His presence felt strongly alluring, and how I fell in love with our very first dream kiss.

I woke with a gasp, my lips tingling, and my heart pounding. His desire was so clear to me, but the more I thought about it, the more it slipped away from my waking mind.

“Alex.”

I flipped to my back as dark nothingness sucked me in. Loneliness, cold and hard, drowned my soul. Was it because I knew the boy in my dreams was just that—a boy in my dreams, not existent? My heart cried out, but he felt so real. Our love felt so real, but I knew I’d never have the chance to meet him in real life. Or maybe I was feeling so hollow because Dad died exactly seven years ago on my tenth birthday.

Despair gripped me.

How strange Alex would remind me of Dad. Why Dad, after what he did to us? I frowned, there was no denying it, and I still loved him. I lay there for another few minutes, trying to figure out the connection between Dad and the boy. I laughed at myself.

For some odd reason, my eyes flew to the old necklace hanging from a tack on my wall. A thick layer of web and dust crusted over like a silvery cocoon. I grimaced at its filth. I was too lazy to chuck it. I’ve had it for so long, I couldn’t remember too much about it, only that I made it once upon a time.

My eyes became heavy, and I felt Alex stirring behind my lashes. A thrill of joy washed over me as I thought about being with him again as I began to drift into sweet dreams.

"Hey, Winster!”

I felt a harsh poke in my stomach and I jumped. “Dang it, Markus! What’re you doing in my room?” I snapped.

“Mom’s calling you.”

I popped up from under the covers. “Not now!” I felt his nose squish as I pushed his face away. After he left, I flopped over to my other side, trying to get back to my dream. I couldn’t stop thinking of that kiss and the love we shared. After coming up empty and angry alike, I tore the blankets off and stomped out of my room. “You called?” I shuffled into Mom’s bedroom. I didn’t care that my hair looked like Medusa’s locks, or if last night’s makeup turned me into the clown from Stephen King’s It. There was no doubt that I looked horrible.