The Pawn and The Puppet (The Pawn and The Puppet series Book 1)

Despite the beating of the wind, I tune into Dessin’s heartbeat, and I count and memorize how fast it drums inside of him. Trees canopy over the dirt road we travel upon while the city of glowing lights, castles, and painted faces fades behind us into the night.

As we slow down, there’s a small opening of trees parted, just enough for a person to walk through… I recognize it.

“I….I know this place.” We pull over to the side of the road. He helps me off of the bike with both hands.

“Is that right?”

The wind is pushing against our bodies, flying into the opening of trees down a very familiar walkway. I am instantly drawn to walk inside. My mood lifts like a butterfly from a cocoon, unfurling my wings and catching the wind as I fan them out in flight.

“I’ve been here before, Dessin.” My eyes hover over the dark opening. Dessin walks backward to it, facing me.

“Have you?” He urges me to follow him inside. A slight twinkle of a smile unhinges across my lips.

We walk into the opening, side by side. He is much taller than me, wide broad shoulders, and his steps are heavier than mine—sinking into the soft dirt. Above us is an evergreen canopy of trees tangled among one another. The crickets are a symphony tonight, humming into the sleepy forest.

If he’s taking me to the spot I think he is… Then the last time I was there was when I let Scarlett’s ashes go, into the wind, into the lagoon where I knew she could rest.

“Are you an indoor or outdoor kind of man?” I break my own train of thought and ask him the first thing that comes to mind.

He chuckles.

“What?”

“I’ve been locked away in a room for a long time. Which do you think I prefer?”

“Oh.” I look down and blush, plucking a pine cone off the ground. “But you don’t really expect me to believe that you never saw daylight in that time?”

He glances at me from the corner of his eye. The corner of his mouth pulls upward.

I hop over a root bulging from the dirt. “I want something while we are here…”

He raises his eyebrows and grins, giving me a this-oughta-be-good look. “Oh, do share.”

The leaves hanging from the trees begin to change to a bright bloodred color. It is the same place I let Scarlett go. The same place I’d seen as a magical portal into a new world as a little girl. I lose my train of thought for a moment, with a memory tugging away at my heart. “I’m ready to hear what happened to you.”

Dessin stops mid-stride and studies my expression.

“And I’m ready to tell you what happened to me,” I say.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to share.” He steps closer.

I nod. “I’ve been ready for a while. I hope you are too.”

As I complete my sentence, we begin walking again, and the trees open up wide, engulfing the dark-blue sky. Titanic red oak trees are scattered throughout the opening, mountainous in size, and in the center flows a massive light-blue lagoon. Instantly, my mind is on a roller coaster, with clipped, choppy memories. My father and I lie under the biggest red oak in the opening, right on the edge of the cliff where the drop-off to the lagoon is, eating apples and sharing tales of what used to go on here in our little secret place away from the whole world.

My heart swells and aches at the sudden combustion of memories awakening me to another life that I’ve tried to forget. I take in the scenery as a whole, and it overwhelms me, like stepping into a cold bath, jolting my body awake. The lagoon is several feet below the trees surrounding a cliff being fed by a waterfall.

And stepping into this old world I once knew, I breathe in the nostalgic scent of lavender and pine trees—and it’s that momentary paralyzation where all I can do is close my eyes and let the aroma flood my body, taking me back in time.

My eyes flash over to Dessin, who is watching me closely, with a trenchant stare. He nods over to the tree hovering over the lagoon. I wasn’t allowed to climb it when I was younger. My father would always say I would fall off the cliff and drown.

“How did you know about this place?” I ask with calm caution.

He looks over at me and then back at the horizon of red and blue. “Why? Does this place mean something to you?” he asks as we move to the tree to sit, our legs dangling over the edge of the cliff. I pick up a leaf, red as blood. I stroke it between my fingers.

“You know it does. But how—how could you know?”

“Why is this upsetting you so much?” he prompts, eyes drinking in my reaction like I’m his favorite form of entertainment.

“You know why it’s upsetting me. I don’t know how you could possibly know, but you do. I was alone the last time I was here. Alone.” My hands turn into fists. Tight balls of stone and fury.

Dessin meets my eyes, and I suddenly feel so small, so insignificant in the eyes of someone so brilliant. And then his brow creases, the muscles in his jaw tighten up as if he is biting back words. Words that might tell me everything.

“Why were you here alone?” He’s baiting me. Stringing what he knows along like I’m his pet.

Her ashes. You must know.

“Don’t you dare make me say it,” I growl, grinding my teeth until my gums bleed.

He tilts his head, waiting, watching, preparing for the explosion.

“Because this is where I buried her—where I tossed her ashes—or what I told myself was her ashes because I couldn’t identify the body!” The angry words pour out of me like a mist of acid, along with a thick sheen of tears collecting over my eyes.

His expression, dark, like the moon has abandoned him.

“It’s the perfect place for her to rest,” he says as if he knew her.

We turn to the horizon, searching, as if Scarlett dances on the water, floating in peace as she waves to us.

“This place isn’t just special to you… It means something to the other man in my head as well.” He breathes out, reluctant and frustrated. I am coming to realize that he is not fond of losing control, of appearing vulnerable.

“You?” I utter. “You’ve been here before?” Sometimes I forget that he’s had a life before all of this… He must have. He was, at some point, simply a boy.

He nods once. “You always have so many questions.”

“And I know you have the answers. Why is this so hard for you?” I let my hands drop, but he catches them before they hit my lap. He squeezes them gently—both of my wrists in the palm of one hand—and focuses so hard on my eyes that my head spins.

“Have you ever taken a leap of faith, Skylenna?”

For some reason, this question makes me emotional. That feeling like you’re slipping away, maybe into tears, or maybe into a panic. I can’t tell. But a notion in his words triggers it.

“I need you to do that now. Things are going on around you that you are blind to, and I need that not to change. I do have the answers… You have no idea how big this really is. Despite your exhaustion and your frustration with me, I need you to trust me… When the time is right, I promise you will know and understand everything.” He squeezes my hands harder. “And I promise you… That will be the worst day of your life.”

I watch him, wide eyed, my mind filling up with more questions.

“I can’t tell you much… But I can tell you something that I know you must already suspect. This place was a part of the life he had before he became this… Before I became a monster.”

He loosens his grip on my hands, so I tighten mine to keep his grasp. I look down at the rushing water sparkling below my bare feet. A sliver of desire to jump in runs through me.

“Ignorance is bliss, my sweet girl,” he finally adds. I tense up at his term of endearment and melt in a puddle, complete with his warmth and whole with this feeling I can’t describe.

“I never thought I’d come back,” I say.

“And now that you are here, what do you want to do first?”

“Jump in,” I say as a joke, nodding my head at the lagoon below our feet.

He takes one look at me and smirks. To my surprise, he steps up to the edge of the cliff and looks back at me. “How good of a swimmer are you?” Before I can answer, he dives forward as elegantly as an arrow being shot through the air.

“NO!” But it’s too late. My scream echoes across the walls of the cliff’s edges. I hear his body make an impact into the water, cutting through neatly with minimal splash. I jump to my feet and look over the cliff. The adrenaline spikes through my nerves as I feel the wind sway my body to go over.

“Dessin!” I shout. Echoes. He doesn’t come up. What if he broke his neck? What if he drowns?

The sudden reasonable fear of losing him forever jolts through my limbs and sends my body flying off the cliff. The cool forest air pounds against my dress and reverberates through my hair. I squeeze my eyes shut and prepare for the water.

Hold your breath.

An instant rush of cold surrounds my body, filling my nose and ears. My skin is electrified from the cold, murky water. The human instinct to surface for oxygen flickers on, and I start kicking to break for air. I look up at the white streaks of moonlight glistening through the water, and I realize how far from the surface I have sunk. My bare feet are grazing the squishy lagoon floor. And there’s that alarming heat that fills my lungs, like hot melted metal, being poured by a funnel down my throat. That fire in my chest that tells me I need air, and I need it within the next few moments. I kick at nothing, waft my arms around, but the harder I fight, the farther away I feel from the top.

My arm is caught in a tight grip. I’m suddenly forcefully lifted to the surface. Cold water glides over my face, and then the tip of my nose is greeted by a cool gust of air. I gasp and arch my back as I take in as much air as I can. My eyes dart around, disoriented and alert. Dessin treads water beside me, chocolate-brown hair slicked back, and he’s like a mythical creature in the darkness of night and the light of the moon. His features are glossy with water droplets and those eyes, like heaven and hell, bottled into one soul.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I yelp, wiping the water away from my eyes.

“Well, don’t you look like a dream—soaking wet.” That damning smile curls my toes. “Serious question. How good of a swimmer are you?”

I huff. “Just fine when I’m not falling from a cliff!” Murky water splashes into my mouth.

“Good. Follow me.” He flashes me his teeth in a quick smile and strokes away toward the thundering waterfall.

I follow behind him pouting, with reluctant strokes. My dress trails behind me in a heavy, sluggish manner. “Why can’t things ever be simple with you?” I comment.

A muffled chuckle.

As we come closer to the splashing of the waterfall, instead of going under it, he guides me to a large rock formation peeking just above the surface. We grab on like it’s the only lifeboat.

“Let’s go in,” I say, nodding to the fall. The majestic instantaneous drumming of the waterfall gives me a good feeling. A hint of nostalgia.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Dessin glances over at the fall and then back down at me. “I promised someone I wouldn’t go in there until the time was right.”

Curiosity ignites small but bright in my chest. Here we go, yet another riddle. Regardless, now I’m eager to see what’s in there.

“Hey.” He gets my attention, noticing my sudden fascination with this waterfall. “Promise me, even after we leave, you won’t go in there.”

I look at him and then back at the fall longingly. “Will I ever get to go in there?”

He lowers his gaze on me and harnesses a knowing smile back.

“Yes.” A quick nod. “Just not today.”

The smell of rain and moist soil cools my throat. The rock is centered between us, just like the constant obstacle that seems to stand in our way. I swim around it toward him. He watches my movements like a hunter being approached by his prey, like I’m dangerous, like I’m unpredictable and he’s almost… scared of me. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen him nervous… When I move closer.

Our bodies graze each other as I close the distance in the water between us. His deep brown eyes drag across my body up and down, eyebrows knitted together in slight panic. I notice him shift away from me, so I move forward again and grip his arm.

He goes rigid, staring at my hand on his bicep. I glide it over his skin, tracing the drops of water up to his shoulder until I reach his chest.

“Skylenna.” A warning. A question. A plea.

But I ignore the edge to his tone and continue feeling his skin against mine. I know it’s inappropriate, and I should stop. But he’s always the one to initiate this need to touch. And God, he feels so good. I’m drunk with lust, and his eyes burning holes into my head only make me hotter.

“Stop,” he utters as I reach my fingers under his shirt, caressing the lean, shredded muscles of his abdomen. His trim yet wide build is evidence of years of training from Demechnef.

“I want to touch you,” I say breathlessly.

The hunger in his eyes strikes me like a bolt of lightning. My words seem to unhinge him. He snatches my hand from his stomach, bringing it to hook around his neck. The space between us is eliminated, and I’m reeled into his broad frame, chest against chest.

His forehead touches mine. “I can’t have your lips yet…” He’s out of breath, gripping my waist as he holds me against him. “But you can have mine.”

My jaw falls open as he tightens his grip around my body like a snake. His head dips down to the side of my face, and I choke on a gasp. Warm lips graze my jawline. Oh my God!

He drops a trail of light kisses, then stops. “Do you want to know what my tongue feels like close to your ear?”

Bolts of heat spark in my lower belly. Say no. Say no!

“Please,” I say.

Great.

He flicks his hot tongue over my earlobe, teasing me with his wetness. I become pudding in his arms. My bones disappear, and I’m a limp noodle against his chest. He sighs, low and deep into my eardrum, and I can’t hold back the breathy moan that slips out of my mouth.

Dessin stiffens, growling against my skin. It’s then I feel the weight of his erection and the sheer size of his arousal against my lower belly.

Everything about him is intoxicating. I’m losing my morals. I forget why we’re here.

We came here for a reason.

“Wait,”—I push against his chest—“I have questions.”

He blinks. Face unreadable. “Shocking.”

I take a moment to catch my breath, forcing my eyes to watch the rippling of the water around us. Guilt and confusion grow like a tumor in my chest, but I shove the feeling away so I can focus.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if your life was different? If you lived a normal life, with a normal occupation, and a normal wife, and you were happy? Have you ever thought about that?” I want to know what he thinks about in his spare time. Which he, unfortunately, has a lot of. I want to know his fears and his desires.

His eyes soften, he takes a breath. “I’ve thought about it,” he answers, looking away at the waterfall. Squeezing his eyes shut and blinking a few times. Someone is talking to him.

“And?” I push. “Is that something you wanted?”

“I’m not cut out for that lifestyle. That kind of future isn’t in the cards for me, Skylenna.”

I shake my head. “That’s not what I’m asking. Have you ever wanted that?”

He looks down at the narrow canal flowing between our bodies, rushing along the crevices of my wet, wrinkled navy dress. “Why would you ask a question like that?” He sighs as if this topic is draining a great amount of energy from his being.

“Why won’t you answer the question?”

“Why?! Because look where I am, Skylenna. I spend every second of my life locked in a cage. I am a sadistic murderer, marked the most dangerous man alive. How can someone like that ever be allowed to have a family? To live a normal life?” His lips hover above mine, and he’s so close, so full of emotion. It’s a rare moment when I can provoke this. Although the point he makes is true and heartbreaking, I can’t help but feel accomplished for being able to pull this out of him. And yet, it hurts me even more that he’ll never be able to have this.

“But if things were different?” I ask again, defining my question.

“If we had met a different way?” he utters the question so shocking it sends sparks up my body.

I freeze. What did he say?

“If we had what?”

“If I were a normal man living a normal life, would that life be possible for us?” he asks, and suddenly I can’t tell if he is serious. The Dessin I know has a motive for every question. How is the Dessin I know asking this question right now? Does he see me in the way he is implying?

“Us?” I manage to croak out. “I don’t understand…”

He looks over at the waterfall and then down again. Steady breathing. “If things were different for both of us, Skylenna. If we had both lived normal lives, free lives…would that life—married, children, a family, a normal life be possible for us?” His voice is deep, dark, and midnight soft.

The image of his embrace forms once again in my mind. His lips pressing against my forehead. I shake my head.

Has he thought about us before? Does he think of me like this now?

“You said us,” I say again. “You didn’t refer to this life with any person you would marry… you referred to me?” I gulp. He watches me.

“Yes.” He nods. “I did.” He doesn’t say anything else, only looks at me with those warm-brown eyes that could deceive any woman into believing he could have a warm heart.

“You think of me…” Only those words escape my lips. I exhale at the complete loss of thoughts.

His lips part, and he reaches out to touch me. Looks down to the right, listening to that voice. His hand retracts back. I begin to shiver. Possibly at the cold water, but mostly by his action.

“You’re cold. Let’s start a fire.”

My eyes light up as he guides me to shore. Lighting a fire, sitting under the stars—it has nostalgic energy flaring in my chest.

I finally, after a long, long time, feel like I’m home.