I wake up to the feeling of warmth and sunlight. Strong arms surround me, holding me, keeping me safe. It’s not a feeling that I’m used to—I’ve been alone for so long, never allowing myself to need anyone to give me that safety and comfort. As I let myself lie there in Raph’s arms, I let him do all of those things. I tell myself it’s because I’m barely awake, but part of me knows it’s because I’m tired of the cold, my body craves his warmth and in that moment, I let myself give in to that. I don’t allow myself to think about what’s happening or what will happen. I shut out the questions and rational thoughts, because it feels like none of those things belong in this moment.
I shift in his arms so that I’m facing him and when he opens those vivid blue eyes, I forget to breathe for a moment.
Neither of us says anything for a long while as we lie there in each other’s arms, gazes locked, bodies entwined, and it’s probably the most intimate thing I’ve ever experienced in my entire life.
The morning sun is streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows, touching everything with its warmth. But Raph glows with a light all of his own. Everything about him is golden—the perfect hue of his golden skin, his sexily dishevelled ash blond hair like a halo surrounding him and that smile, which in that moment, is devoid of its usual arrogance, is so beautiful, that it’s impossible to look at without losing all coherent thought.
I didn’t realize how much I’d been working to block out the effect that he has on me, until I let myself feel it all in that moment. His very presence makes every fiber in my being come alive and everywhere we touch, I feel the fire. Like that very first day on the beach, I get the feeling like I’ve been sleep walking until now and looking at him is like waking up.
I realize that I, on the other hand, must look like an utter mess. I’m still wearing the red dress from last night. But I’m also still sporting last night’s make-up and I can bet that the smoky eye look has probably now turned into more of a panda-eye look. But the way that Raph is looking at me, those heated blue eyes traveling every inch of my face, as if trying to memorize every detail, makes me forget about all of that just then.
I remember his words from last night—you’re so goddamn beautiful, Jaz, it’s almost unreal.
I’ve always thought that about him but I couldn’t even begin to imagine that he thought the same about me. Suddenly, the memory of everything that he said to me last night comes flooding back and I don’t think I can lie there with him a minute longer without feeling like I’m going to burst into flames or something equally embarrassing.
“I should probably jump in the shower and wash this gunk off my face,” I say finally, breaking the silence.
A mischievous grin plays on those sensuous lips and before he can make a lewd remark, I leap out of my bed and head straight for my en-suite, shutting the door firmly behind me. Yeah, I’m definitely in need of a cold shower.
When I emerge from the bathroom, freshly showered and feeling a little more rational, I find Raph stretched out on my bed, looking like he’s also just showered and changed last night’s tux for a grey t-shirt and faded jeans.
My gaze falls on my open sketchbook that Raph is leafing through. Usually I’d be uncomfortable with someone looking at my sketches—they’re personal, reflections of memories which are sacred to me. But Raph already saw my painting of Rockford Cape that day in the art studio and as he studies the sketches of the same scene, I don’t feel any discomfort.
“You really are one hell of an artist,” he says, as he looks up to find me watching him.
“Thanks,” I reply, feeling the usual embarrassment at the compliment.
“No—really. It sounds insane, but it’s like I can almost feel the wind and the sea breeze when I look at these sketches.”
“That does sound insane,” I scoff, although an art teacher in one of my previous high schools once told me something similar.
“I think it probably has to do with your powers—like you’ve always felt the connection, although you didn’t know what it was,” he says thoughtfully.
His insightfulness surprises me. I realize that he’s probably right. I get the sense that my life before this place was nothing but a shadow, a faded image of the true picture. That before this place, I was nothing but a ghost—wandering through life, but not really living. I tell myself that it’s the vivid colors and breathtaking landscapes of this world that makes me feel alive. But something inside me knows that it’s not just those things. That the face before me now, so beautiful that it’s almost unreal, has something to do with it, too. Raph’s very presence makes every fiber in my being come alive and the thought is so frightening, that I can’t allow myself to even think it.
I’ve been trying all morning not to think about what happened last night, but as Raph’s eyes lock onto mine just then, it’s impossible to keep the thoughts out of my mind. I don’t know what any of it means. I wanted the truth from Raph, I asked him for it, hated him for not being able to tell me. But now that he has, I have no idea what to do with it, and I get the sense that neither does he.
I fiddle with the hem of my sleeve, feeling suddenly awkward, because now that I’m thinking about Raph’s words from last night, I have no idea what to say. But I’m saved from having to say anything because Raph is already speaking.
“I want to see this place. Will you take me?” he asks.
At first I don’t know what he’s asking, but as my gaze falls back to the sketch of Rockford Cape, I get it, although I have no idea how he thinks I can take him there.
“Magnus told me that only Dynasty heads have keys to the portal. Why else do you think I’m still stuck here?” I reply.
That last part seems to cast a shadow over those luminous blue eyes for a moment, but it’s swept away with a rather smug looking smile as he digs something out of his jeans pocket.
“I swiped the St. Tristan key last night. Hopefully, I can get it back to the vault before anyone notices.”