🌐
Ｓａｖａｎｎａｈ，Ｇｅｏｒｇｉａ
𝟾:𝟹𝟾 𝚊.𝚖.
The drive into Savannah knocks the wind from my sails. The further into the perfectly squared districts we go, the less my thoughts are on those men back at the airport. No, now my calculative thoughts have turned into murky memories from long ago.
My reflection echoes back at me through the tinted windows showing a woman, no longer a girl, with messy white hair. Her ice blue eyes narrow, not truly irritated at her reflection as much as at her surroundings. I yank off the damn infinity scarf and throw it to the floor.
Alec clears his throat just as I begin to brush my fingers through my tangled hair. "There's going to be a welcome home party when you get there. Just thought I'd give you a heads up."
I sigh, rolling my eyes, as I fall back into my seat. Of course there will be. My grandmother never passes up the chance to frolic with Savannah's high society, even if that means putting me as the reason for coming on the invitation.
I blandly eye my clothes before letting my head fall to the side where I once again stare out the window. If I show up in leather and covered in mud, it's her own damn fault for not giving me an advance notice.
"The party will officially begin at your approximate arrival at 0900 hours. It's set to end at 1300 hours. After which you're to have tea with your grandmother. At 1400 hours, you'll join your grandfather in the cigar room where he has an announcement to make for you alone. At 1600 hours, you'll dine with your immediate family members. After that you're free of any other engagements as far as your family is concerned. As for Foundation appointments, you have a cellular meeting with Walter and Benedict at approximately 1800 hours. They wish to discuss Benedict's infiltration in France with you. Gabriella also wishes a conference call with you immediately after with Declan. There's a disagreement between the two and Walter is begging for you to solve it in his stead as Declan rarely listens to anyone but you. There's also a possible mission tonight Walt wishes to discuss with you while you're in the area."
I look over to Alec who is scrolling through an email on his phone that he's reading from. He began to whisper so only I can hear as soon as he got to Foundation subject matter. The last thing we need is to have the suits reporting in to my grandmother. She's been itching to uncover what I've been up to these past three years for a while now. Paw knowing some of what I do is one thing, she's a confidentiality crisis waiting to happen.
She's the only reason I do not disclose everything with Paw. I'd trust him with my life, but he loves her and love can be the most persuasive enemy in my experience. It's hurt me to have to keep Gabriella out of most inner circle intel since she's married my brother, but she loves him and I can no longer be sure something won't slip through her lips. I can't allow my loyalty to cloud my judgement. Our cause cannot become susceptible to infiltration.
Our enemies are many and our allies, none.
Even Paw's precious Syndicate would love nothing more than to watch my organization's downfall. I nod to myself, going over my itinerary in my head - party, tea, meeting, two conference calls, and a possible mission.
"Busy day." I say under my breath.
Alec huffs a laugh, still scrolling through the email for any other key points to go over with me.
I smile to myself and look back out the window, fingers drumming over the window control panel.
"Any updates for me via the Foundation?" I murmur to him.
My eyes seek out from the peripheral the suits up front. The driver who'd pulled the car up to the airport and scooted over to the middle seat for the head of security, has his head tilted subtly towards us. The driver, Bill, is almost too focused on driving and the passenger, Ryne, is apparently enraptured in his phone.
Alec looks up briefly at them. We share a look and readjust as subtly as we can so his mouth can whisper into my ear. Alec keeps his eyes on the two front passengers while I keep mine on the driver," Walter will discuss Benedict's problem with you tonight, but as for the others - Declan has met an unfortunate firewall in the Ukrainian Embassy's database. He can't get in no matter what he tries."
I pull back, eyes honing in on his. He nods at me when my eyes narrow," Exactly. If he can't get in, our efforts in Russia will have been for nothing. It's part of the issue between him and Gabriella. She insists on personally infiltrating the embassy herself. He insists it's too dangerous, often reminding her of how you feel about sending her out nowadays now that she has children."
I look down deep in thought. That's problematic indeed. If I don't choose correctly, I could lose a very good agent and friend. The weight on my shoulders with sending Gabriella out these days is tenfold. She's invaluable at gathering intel, seducing unwitting fools with a mere look. However, if she were to fall to enemy hands there'd be next to nothing I could do. I'd try my damnest, but once a worm is in the nest it's near impossible to get it out. I'd not only risk the life of a friend and comrade, I'd risk the life of a mother.
It's a bit personal to me, mothers.
However, losing Gabriella as an agent isn't optional. If she insists, I'll have to allow it. It's her decision to go in, not mine. With how unstable things are in our Russian/Ukrainian efforts, I need her. Bad.
Alec purses his lips when I look up again, seeing the decision in my eyes," Also, Hennessy has met some unfortunate circumstances of his own in Turkey. He can't get his hands on..."
We both look up when the middle suit tilts his head even more in our direction. Alec leans even more until his lips are brushing directly against my ear. I make eye contact with the nosy suit and glare at him.
"The item you've sent him in to get. It's heavily guarded."
I pull back and nod," I'll handle it."
He nods back, not questioning my intentions," Nightshade has officially landed in Sydney. He sent word not an hour ago that the target is in sight. He guarantees success by dawn tomorrow."
I nod in answer," Tell him I said to be careful, will you?"
Alec smiles fondly at me and nods," Will do, Miss Callaia. Anything else I can do for you in your stead?"
I nod," Keep your eyes and ears open for me while we're here. We're on enemy territory now, even with my grandfather's invitation. I need to know if there's any tyranny underway. Things seem to be volatile in our family as of late. The garden is under threat as far as I'm concerned."
Alec bows his head," As you order, Commander."
Both of us pull away, sitting back in our seats to stare out of our respective windows as if nothing out of the ordinary conspired between us. This life is a layered one, the line between friend and enemy often blurred. Each action, every word, is hidden under codes and secrets. One never knows when ears are listening, when fingers itch on a trigger just around a familiar corner. Friendly fire, enemy fire, sometimes it all becomes one and the same.
My eyes scan the bright and sunny world I've returned to. Savannah is almost like a bubble, where the real world doesn't exist within it. The things I've seen and done do not touch this place, but the things Savannah has done to me still lingers. It hides in the shadows of the shade trees where old women sip at iced tea and wear floppy spring colored hats.
At a red light, we come to a halt, and my eyes land on a very familiar building. Lost in the past, I take note of how the school hasn't changed in the slightest. Savannah Country Day School, an elite private school that teaches students from the time they're three weeks old until they're ready to go off to college. The red brick is still the same. As are the white window panes and the glass greenhouse attached to the backside.
It's identical to how it'd been when I'd gone there.
Through the glass panes of the cabinet in the school foyer, I study the picture on the middle shelf. The frame is made of hand carved mahogany and forged gold. The colors in the photograph are fading, barely giving any life to the two rows of dashing young gentlemen in the debate club. They wear tweed suits and black ties with the school's emblem at the knot. They have full heads of hair, all slicked back with oil and hair creams.
In the center is a boy in his last year there. His white hair falling rebelliously to his shoulders, icy blue eyes glinting mischievously at the photographer. He keeps one hand in his pant's pocket, the other on his hip. This boy holds himself like royalty, his eyes gleaming with arrogance.
Underneath the photograph are the words:
From left to right, first row: Calvin Dean, Emilio Cortez, Henry Thames, Thatcher Cole.
Second row: William Grey, Ivan Sosa, Reginald Elm.
The Savannah Tribune would like to congratulate the Savannah Country Day School's Debate Team for winning the National Championship Debater.
My young eyes gaze longingly at the photo of the arrogant man, wanting to be just like him. Even back then, he was confident and bold. I agreed to go to this school only because he'd confided in me that he himself went here. I had felt that if I walked the steps in these halls that he'd once walked, just maybe I could learn to be as bold as him. Maybe I could get my lips to part and words to come out.
Clacking heels echo in the halls as a group of girls come from the cafeteria. They giggle and chitter loudly, not taking notice of me at first. I turn around when it becomes uncomfortably silent.
Their eyes are on me, half narrowed, half in wide glee. Fifth grade has proven to be unexpectedly difficult and it's all thanks to the ring leader of this clique. Winter Marie Stirling, stands dead center in the group of eight. Some hold her arms as they whisper and giggle under their breath. Others stand around her like a blockade, arms crossed and faces sneering.
I raise my chin, making eye contact. I wouldn't cower. Paw wouldn't have.
"Well, well, well..." Winter sings. Her blasé expression slowly morphing into a smirk she can't seem to help. "If it isn't our local mute terrorist."
I feel a quiver at the base of my spine. The last time I'd been alone with these girls...
I glower out the window as the car passes through the red light.
"Be wary, soldier." I whisper to myself. "We're with the vipers, now."
🌐
Pulling up to the Sosa estate has my spine burning in expectation. I sit up straight and narrow my eyes on the wrought iron gate. Two sentry buildings are on either side, two suits in each that are armed. I eye the discreet bulges from under their black suit coats.
The driver rolls the window down as two men exit from either sentry building. One stands in front of our car, a semiautomatic in his arms. He has it dangling in front of him with apparent ease, but his finger is on the trigger - ready to roll.
The other adjusts the open flaps of his suit jacket, fastening a single button as he heads our way. He nods stoically at Bill, who nods back.
"The package?" He inquires, eyes swiftly darting to look at Alec and myself in the back seat. We make eye contact.
Bowing his head, he says with an emotionless air of professionalism," Miss Sosa, a pleasure to have you back."
I slouch back in my seat, raising my right brow," Is it now, Sam?"
Sam ignores me, turning his attention back to Bill," The border has been secured. You may proceed inside the Garden, where The Package is to be escorted directly indoors."
I blandly share a look with Alec who rolls his eyes. There's less bullshit to get through customs. Not to mention, customs actually uses our names instead of ridiculous codes. The only threat I'm worried about while on the home front is the threat of tacky designer clothes and society gossip. Not to mention the vile toy dogs hiding in plain sight in little carry on custom bedazzled bags. I've never been more startled in my life than when I'd been talking to a debutante two years ago and her evil Yorkshire shot out from under her arm. Damn cretin flew at me.
I'm pretty sure there's still an animal abuse charge hiding in a file somewhere from that day. Apparently it's bad decorum to pistol whip a rabid animal lunging at you in midair. I still claim it was reflexes and self defense. The humane society wouldn't have been so pissy if it'd been a rat.
There's a mechanical humming as the suit by the gate enters a code on the panel and steps out of the way. Both salute us as we drive through the still opening iron wings with the Sosa emblem embellishing its intricate lace design - a viper curling around a bold 'S'.
"Is any of this really necessary?" I droll. Alec chuckles and goes back to playing secretary for me on his phone. He kind of just fell into that roll over time. An ace pilot extraordinaire with excellent office skills it turns out. The eager to please man can fly us through hostile territories and enemy fire at the drop of a dime while still finding time to put together my itinerary and organize my emails.
He's priceless.
"The safety and security of the Sosa family is our highest priority ma'am." Ryne says as if he practiced saying that in the mirror every night before bed.
"Until you get a few drinks in you and play poker with me until the ass crack of dawn." I quip.
His ears turn red, but he doesn't respond at all. They're a pain my ass, but make for an interesting night of drunken gambling when I start to feel the walls of this place closing in on me.
"Sore loser." I snip when he continues to play deaf. He grunts yet still refuses to acknowledge me and take my bait. Pity.
I snort and turn my eyes to look at the towering live oaks that line our driveway. I use to climb them as a child, hiding away from the army of nannies and staff that were determined to iron out my heathen ways. There'd been this gardener, an old man by the name of Earl, who'd always pretended he didn't know where I was. He'd send them off my trail and leave my lunch out for me down below with a secret wink.
Last I heard, he's retired to Florida to spend time with his many grandchildren.
When we got past the tree arbor I could see the estate staff finishing the set up along with some early arrivals under the grove by the gardens. It's a whimsical sort of decor with garlands of flowers draping from the trees and little confectionery treats adorned in ornate creations. Tablecloths of lace from an era long ago and high end tea lights dimly lighting the beginning of a summer day.
The Rolls Royce pulls to a stop after circling the stone fountain depicting a siren rising up from the waves. My Paw and grandmother stand at the top of the stairway to the front porch, perfect depictions of aristocracy.
Grandmother is still beautiful even in her sixties. Her hair is now sterling silver instead of the inky black it'd been when I was but a dirty ragamuffin arriving on her front steps in the middle of a winter night many years ago. It's in a perfect twist on her head. Her eyes are still an abyssal black, gleaming hatefully down at me as if I'm insulting her with my mere presence. Her nose, still lovely and aristocratically shaped, is tipped upwards as if there's a crick in her neck that won't let her look down like a normal human being. Her pale skin is barely aged, her money buying her more youthful years than most could afford.
She's dressed in a black gown that's classic in design, formidably tailored to give off an air of aristocratic elegance while remaining professional all at once. Over her dress is a black cloak with military buttons. Her pantyhose and black Chanel heels finish off her governess from hell look.
Paw is as dashing as ever and immediately we smile at one another. He's in another one of his three piece suits - a white one today that looks hilariously like a certain Coronal that sells fried chicken by the bucket.
His tie has cartoonish airplanes and camels on top of a grey background. I see the familiar gold chain tucked under his shirt today - my gift to him from my ventures to Egypt. His snowy hair is styled devilishly, reminding me of his debate photo I use to look at years ago. Most importantly I see his kind blue eyes - identical to my own - that sparkle happily down at me.
There's a few things off about him that I notice right off the bat though. For instance, the black cane with a wolf's head that he's bearing his weight on a bit heavily and the subtle clouding in his once pristine blue gaze.
My lips twitch as I try to keep my smile in place. I try to push that to the back of my mind for now, stowing it away for a more appropriate time. I run up the steps with a grin and throw my arms around his neck. Somehow, someway, Paw has this magic ability of making me a little girl again. No matter what trials and tribulations I've gone through in between the times we see each other, when he's there I'm free of it all.
With Paw, I feel as if everything will be okay, as if someone is looking out for me for a change. It's a heavy burden I carry - being Commander of a secret intelligence team, being the one who runs to the rescue, the one who helps run an entire undercover operation. Everyone depends on me and my decisions. Everyone expects me to be ready for everything.
With Paw, he takes that burden away even if only for a moment. I get to be the twenty year old I am without repercussions. There's no Calla to the rescue in existence at his house. Paw saves the day around these parts.
The Garden, as it's been dubbed, is both part heaven and part hell. It's a bittersweet paradox. While Paw is my safe haven, my superhero in Armani, the vipers coil here as well. Stay around here long enough and you find yourself with venomous coils of your own.
I bury my face in his neck, latching on like a child who refuses to let go. I inhale deeply, cherishing his arctic tobacco scent. It's the scent of home.
Paw chuckles low and sweet like a soothing jazz song, wrapping his arms around me tightly," I've missed you too, my sweet little Vandrare."
I find myself smiling a dopey grin as I nuzzle into his neck deeper. We have a special bond like no other. It's unexplainable and has always been since the very beginning of our story.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was taken from her homeland. It was very scary for her. Her mama had gone away forever and a man in a strange suit took her from everything she knew. He said to call him father. This father put her on a plane and took her to a big mansion in a place called Savannah. It was so late into the night that not a soul was out. At the door of the big scary mansion she met an old man who crouched down to her height.
Unlike father, this man had kind eyes that looked just like her own. He spoke in gentle tones, dismissing father without much afterthought, and took the little girl upstairs to clean up. He gave her a big pretty room and many pretty dolls, but the little girl wouldn't say a word.
Even so, she clung to him and refused to let him go too far out of her sight. It was during this time when the little girl didn't talk that he learned what her heart wanted to say even when her mouth couldn't speak.
Even today he hears my heart when my lips are still. I never have to say I love him. He already knows.
Even so," I love you."
He squeezes me tighter and whispers right back," I love you more."
With a chuckle I pull away, though we still hold hands. I'm not exactly short, being six inches over five feet, but Paw has always been a towering figure in any crowd. He's always been tall.
He gives me a mischievous wink," How was Tokyo?"
I smirk back," Long story."
He throws his head back and laughs, tucking me under his arm as he leads me inside," You'll have to tell me all about it later then."
I grin giddily and tuck my head under his chin as we both walk towards the grand staircase in the foyer," Can't wait."
🌐
Ｓａｖａｎｎａｈ，Ｇｅｏｒｇｉａ
𝟷𝟷:𝟻𝟼 𝚊.𝚖.
I'm not drunk enough for this shit.
"How marvelous, darling! Why, I wish I could dream of being as frivolous as you." Margot Finnegan drolls out whilst sipping on her champagne. Margot is notorious in our circle for being a drama enticer. The girl loves nothing more than to gossip and rumormonger. Her red hair is beautifully twisted into an ornate updo, giving her grey eyes full disclosure to the masses. She's wearing a gold lace dress that teases her knees with hand sown bronze flowers on the skirt. It's so designer I doubt even the designer knows the designer.
Giselle Whimsey, our dearest friend, stands beside her as we chat. Giselle is a closet alcoholic who I caught snorting pills she'd crushed in our bathroom once. Her brown hair falls to her waist in lovely curls, but her blue eyes are hooded and glazed over as she giggles mindlessly to our conversation. I doubt she even knows what planet she's on right now. She wears a silk coral dress that's form fitting and billows like rose petals to the ground.
A bold choice considering she can't even stand up straight.
I smile prettily and wave my hand at her as if flicking away a pesky fly," I assure you, it's anything but frivolous."
We giggle to each other as if sharing a secret while Giselle zones out on a butterfly duet fluttering nearby. "So pretty." She coos with a dreamy smile.
Technically, these are my closest and dearest friends. We were set up as playmates back in sixth grade and became 'inseparable'. A family matriarch's polished talons are never to be underestimated. Appearances are everything in the garden of vipers.
There was once a time where we sat at lunch together at school and took turns doing homework at one of our manors. Nowadays, we only see each other at get togethers like this one, preening and cooing at one another as if life itself is dull without the others in it. We all know the skit. Poor Giselle knows it so well, she takes drugs to challenge herself to try to forget it.
Margot gets a snake like glint in her eyes as she scans the length of my body. I chug my champagne down as if I'm dying of thirst and flag down a server with a fresh tray of mimosas. Definitely not drunk enough for this.
After exchanging my empty flute for a new poison and facing the duo yet again, I get the spine tingling experience of witnessing her faux coy gaze as she mindlessly pets her lower lip," I dare say, Callaia, you've become bold in your fashion tastes haven't you?"
I purse my lips as I think over the dress I'd snatched out of my closet in a hurry earlier. Grandmother had been quite cross that I'd shown up in leather and painted with dirt. Looking back, I truly had chosen something I'd typically wear overseas. Outside of this city, I dress as I please. Here however, I'm suppose to always appear ladylike and modest in design while still maintaining an air of ritzy taste. The black dress definitely challenges high society standards.
First and foremost, it's black. Luncheon parties are typically expected to be in the spring color spectrum, black is reserved for high end evenings at galas and operas. Grandmother herself changed into a white ensemble before joining the garden party. It's something I should be well versed in by now. How could I possibly forget the scandal that ended up published in the society papers when I wore white heels after Labor Day?
The dress is mostly see through on top, wrapping around my neck in a choker like fashion and clinging to my torso erotically. A black brazier is on display underneath the sheer material. A triangle at my bellybutton is cut out, where it attaches to my semi full skirt. The skirt is in a handkerchief fashion, falling to above my knees in the front and billowing behind me in the back.
I gulp down half the mimosa, already blindly waving down anyone with a drink tray in the vicinity. I force a pleasant smile on my face," Silly me. It's all the rage in Paris. Perhaps I spent too long over there and forgot myself."
Margot chuckles coldly, forcing amusement into her gaze," My, my, what ever will we do with you my dear Callaia? The papers will have a field day with you frolicking about like that."
I have to bite my cheek hard enough to bleed to stop myself from glaring at her. I chuckle, as does she, neither of us successful in our attempts to look like the closest of friends. The longer I'm away from this place, the harder it becomes to pretend. Anywhere else in the world accepts me as I am. Anywhere but here.
"I hear you're to be married." I politely inquire, trying my damnedest to steer clear of anymore topics that could lead to a classy cat fight under the grove trees.
Margot preens at my inquiry, practically chirping with glee as she flashes me an enormous wedding band that could feed an entire village in South Africa for a year," Oh, yes! How could I forget to mention my dear Mr. Burberry? We're to be wed in the spring. You will come, won't you?"
Mr. Burberry has got to be pushing fifty if I recall and has lascivious appetites. He couldn't keep his filthy hands off a pretty woman if his life depended on it. Considering Margot's own expensive tastes, they're probably a match made in heaven.
Her eyes are practically gleeful as she adds on," My dress is being done by an underground Parisian designer."
She leans in as if to tell a secret," Between you and me, rumor has it Laurent uses child labor. Most here would have a field day, but I feel it puts their grubby little hands to good use. Idle hands are the devil's playground after all."
I nearly jerk back as if she'd slapped me. I need to get out of here if I expect to leave without another arrest on my record. I look over her head and pretend I see someone. Waving at the nonexistent person enthusiastically, I tell her," Oh, I see someone I know! I'm sure I'll see you around."
I playfully swat my hand at her in the air while joyously announcing," We totally need to catch up sometime. Call me!"
I fast walk across the garden to get as far away from her as I possibly can and hide behind one of the huge oak trees. I'm grinding my teeth so hard that when Declan picks up, he says," Who fecking pissed in ye're champagne?"
I let out an inhuman growl before biting out," I need you to look into a Parisian fashion designer by the name of Laurent. He's underground, whatever that means, and is possibly using child sweat shops to make his creations."
"Ey! Hold onna minute!"
I hang up without another word and toss back the mimosa in one go. I throw the flute violently at a tree, feeling only slightly better when it shatters into oblivion, and force myself to reel in my flyaway emotions. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply and hold as long as I can.
Paw always said my most beautiful attribute - my passion - is also my most dangerous. What I feel, I feel tenfold and tend to act out without thinking on those feelings. It's something I'm seriously trying to work on. I can't be a dependable commander when I fly off the rails every time I find child pornography in someone's possession or every time people say something stupid. Like fucking Margot.
Exhaling, I roll my shoulders back and crack my neck. I center my thoughts, burying the anger over Margot's blasé words - The evil bitch. Ok, I'm done, I swear.
I turn sharply around the tree, stalking towards the party with an almost sinister purpose. As I dive further into the crowd, I reel in those predatory reflexes and roll my neck around. When my head centers again I'm all pleasant smiles and darling laughter. I briefly nod to the Mayor who eyes the senator's fifteen year old niece like she's a delicacy. He raises his glass my way and mockingly bows his head with a faux smile before returning to his circle of conversation where his eyes stray to things they shouldn't.
I walk up to an elderly woman, a Mrs. Fairfax who is secretly called the black widow. May husband number seven forever Rest In Peace. Resting my hand on her peach covered shoulder, I lean in as I pass by and smile at her. We share pleasantries briefly before I continue on through the crowd.
The Chief of Police, Donahue Roy, nods his head at me as we pass each other. His best detective, Arnold Sweeney, is hiding on the edge of the gathering with his arm resting on a tree. He's grinning down at a notorious fame monger with an angelic face. It's always amusing when the prey thinks they're the predator.
I snatch another flute off a passing drink tray and make my way towards the entertainment. It's a jazz band from New Orleans that Grandmother shipped in at the last minute. Something she's bitterly reminded me about all morning. The singer is an older man with very dark skin. His voice is smokey and morose as he sings about a love that sank to the bottom of the Mississippi River.
"I'll never find a gal,
Like the one from N'Orleans." He sings as if cast under his own spell.
"At the bottom of the Mississippi is where she lay. Dear god I've prayed, that that day will never be."
I smile, easing closer to his enchanting tale of woe without thought. I cross an arm so I can rest my elbow on it.
"I pray, that my love, at the bottom, of the Mississippi River, will come. Back. To. Me."
When the song trails off, I find myself clapping daintily with my flute in one hand. He looks over to me as if startled. I grin at him and tell him," That was beautiful."
He merely grins without a response and takes off his bowler hat to bow at me. I turn to move along, not wanting to get him in trouble with my Grandmother, but turn right into a man's chest.
I grunt when my nose gets squished against his unrelenting muscles. He wraps the arm holding his own champagne flute around my shoulders and uses his free hand to steady me by the arm.
"Damn it." I grumble as I rub at my nose before I can even think about what comes out of my mouth.
"Are you alright?" Comes a voice so deliciously sinful that even the devil himself wouldn't let him in. I step away from him without looking, still holding my tender nose," I'm fine. Sorry about that. I wasn't looking where I was going."
A warm hand, massive and slender, grabs my hand and pulls it away from my nose. My eyes open only to nearly jump out of my skin from how close he is to my face. My eyes narrow immediately. He seems to not notice as he tuts," Seems your pretty little nose is unscathed."
I yank my hand from his and take a careful step back. I know him. If I recall, he'd been enjoying a cup of coffee in a certain airport this morning while blatantly staring me down. His long hair isn't in a ponytail though, hiding the silken length in a man bun. His dark eyes though remain unchanged, still peering down at me from behind his glasses. Those hellish eyes of his are like dark coals, fireless pits that take note of all.
He's tall. Probably as tall as Paw is and under his attire are poorly hidden muscles. He wears black slacks with a white button up, the top three buttons left undone. A champagne flute, half sipped, is in his right hand.
We merely stare at each other. I stare with well learned caution and he looks down at me like a predator. A wolf finding a yummy rabbit.
I calm my roaring thoughts that want to immediately jump into the deep end and demand he gives me answers. Blandly, I raise my flute and take a sip," Read a newspaper lately?"
His eyes smolder instantly, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. A dark chuckle rumbles from his chest as he mimics me by sipping his own champagne," As a matter of fact."
His voice is like liquid seduction, all dark and promising.
I raise a brow, refusing to blink as we stare off. His smirk grows," Though I must admit, I'd been a bit distracted."
I blank my face, my eyes piercing," Distracted? Not a good quality for a man to have among our circle."
His smirk turns wicked," Indeed." Without even a glance, he places his half empty flute on a passing tray and holds out his hand for me just as the band begins to play a slow love song about a voodoo queen from Metairie.
He bows his head, those dark bedroom eyes whispering naughty promises to me," Care for a dance?"
I nonchalantly place my hand in his, following him cautiously as he leads me backwards towards the dancing area. A few couples are slow dancing, but most are sitting or standing in little groups as they trade business intel and catch up on the latest gossip. I place my flute on a table we pass without looking.
He gives me a devilish smirk as he takes me into his arms. He forgoes standard procedures of etiquette and pulls me in closely until my breasts press into his firm chest. We're silent for a minute or so, unwavering in our studious gazes of one another as we sway along to the enchanting song. It's a battle of the wills.
As he spins me away from him and tugs me back into his arms, he finally breaks the silence," There's quite a few tales about you trickling through the party."
Pompously, I look away from him and pretend to be interested in the guests around us," Is that so?"
He jerks me to his body, causing my heart to stutter for the briefest of moments. He stares me down, no longer smiling," Yes, it is."
He reminds me of the incubi my mother told me about as a child. She told me tales of devilish creatures that were inhumanly handsome. Their eyes fierce and passionate, sensual orbs of black that lured in their prey. That's exactly the sort of man he is - smoldering and dangerously seductive.
"And just what do my dearest friends and colleagues have to say about little ole me?" I nearly droll out in boredom, entirely disinterested in what those vile people have to say. He leads me backwards in the waltz, turning us counterclockwise as we swoop around the other dancers as if in a world of our own. It's a dangerous sort of business meeting, where two fight for the reigns through an artful and dangerous choreography.
Without any humor, he emotionlessly states as if recalling to me, word for word, an article he'd read in his newspaper today," Your grandfather speaks very highly of you. He told me of your big heart and wild spirit. He commends you for your tenacity to help others and your unwavering bravery in times of great crisis. 'Fearless in the face of danger and selfless to a fault' were his exact words, I believe."
I scoff as if uninterested in his compliments, even though my heart warms knowing how Paw speaks of me when I'm not even there to hear it. "You know how blind family can be, I'm sure." I look up into his eyes and state," They put their children on pedestals."
His lips twitch minutely as if he wants to smile, but he squashes it and carries on as if I'd said nothing at all in response," Others tell tales of a restless girl who frivolously spends her family fortune to travel the globe like a cliche spoiled heiress. I've been told you are a troublesome child, with an undignified background. Some call you a heathen, others call you a promiscuous woman. Quite a few told me you're a criminal involved with the most unpleasant sort."
I glower blatantly at him, waiting patiently to see where he's going with this. He twirls us again, weaving about the other dancing guests as if at a ball instead of a garden party.
"I personally think they are over exaggerative."
He continues on,"I've also had the pleasure of mingling with some of your family. They say you're the black sheep, a spinster in the making. They tell me you're a money hungry fiend that's more trouble than you're worth. Called you a vain bitch too."
That'd be one of my lovely cousins undoubtedly. I glare at him, shoulders tense, head held high like the Queen of Sheba.
"And you?" I bite out, waiting for him to make his point, waiting for him to tell me how much of a disgrace I am to my family name. Such words aren't foreign to me, even though this world of pretty dresses and sweet tea under shade trees still eludes me after all these years. One can attempt to take the girl out of the desert, but will undoubtedly fail to take the desert out of the girl.
His lips slowly pull into a smirk. His coal eyes smolder as they take me in fully. This devil of a man leans down until his sinful lips graze the shell of my ear. As if saying something deliciously dirty, he whispers," I think it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I like a little mischief with my champagne."
I can't help it. I tremble with laughter I'm trying hard to suppress. This man could very well be sent here to finish me off, or paid to undo my life as terribly as he can manage, but his subtle sort of humor and blatant flirting aren't easy to dislike. It's oddly flattering and I'm not one to be easily swayed by smooth words and smoldering gazes.
When he pulls away I see his eyes are poorly concealing their own amusement. I find myself smirking, hating that I'll probably have to put a bullet between those beautiful hellacious eyes of his before long. A damn shame.
"Then, I'd say you hit the jackpot."
He chuckles darkly and pulls me in close as we waltz amongst the garden of vipers. For a moment, I feel like a young girl enjoying a dance with a handsome gentleman showing his obvious interest.
But then reality hits me in gentle waves, and I remember the circumstances. I remember my training and years of hard learned lessons. Figures I'd be attracted to a man that's most likely been hired to assassinate me by some criminal I'd taken down in a land far away.
Time and patience, I tell myself. The viper to strike first, is the one that's often caught off guard. I must lie and wait in the unseen shadows, where an opportune moment will eventually present itself.
"Callaia Sosa." I tell him as our dance nears its end. He lowers his head until his smoldering eyes consume my sight," Axel Toma."
He takes my hand in his own and raises it to his lips. He kisses the tender skin of my wrist and says in a smokey tenor," A pleasure, I'm sure."
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