Sunder Page 4

  Briton reached his right hand out to the frail old man who now seemed to glow with health, “You’re the best friend my father ever could have asked for and the best mentor I could have ever asked for. I could help you, if you like.”

  Miles took his hand. “No, as much as I want to be here for you, I do not want an eternity of this life.”

  “I do not blame you. Had I been able to choose, I would not have chosen it either.” Briton shook his head. “Perhaps, if my entire family hadn’t been slaughtered things would be different.”

  “I have loved and lost and lived. Those are the things that make all of this somewhat short journey worth while.” Miles sighed. “I know you have done those things too in your many lives, and if I could break your curse, I would. You’re the son I never had. As you well know, my own son never got past eleven, so I have always seen you as mine too.”

  Briton nodded. “I believe your son would have been a better man than I, Miles.”

  Before Miles could come back with a retort, Betsy made her descent. She was dressed in an old ball gown, no doubt from years earlier, when she was much younger. It was out of date by about twenty years at least. Briton had to give it to her though, she still looked fit enough to wear the dress. The gown was a dark-blue with three-quarter sleeves and a pale-blue skirt trimmed with black lace along the bottom. It looked very ‘Marie Antoinette’ and gothic. The round neckline was respectable for an aging woman. She had a dark-blue sapphire necklace hanging just above the bodice. Her white hair was up in a bun, and in his mind, he compared her to the fairy godmother in Cinderella, the Disney cartoon.

  “Betsy, you look amazing,” Miles spoke softly.

  She blushed and spoke equally as quietly, “Oh Miles, stop. Now you two look handsome. I feel like the belle of the ball coming with two dates.”

  Miles offered her his arm. “Hmph, let him get his own date.” His eyes sparkled as he led Betsy out the front door, leaving Briton laughing.

  The ball, as always, was held in the town hall, which had been built, renovated, and added onto until it was grander than a town as small as Wolfville required. The huge white hall was located downtown and dwarfed everything but the high school.

  “Do you know your way, Briton?” Betsy asked as they neared the huge building.

  He nodded. “Yes, uhm . . . I have been here once a long time ago, when I was very young. Not much has changed though.”

  “Oh, I don’t recall that visit.” She sounded confused.

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, we never stopped at the house, it was a quick trip to go to a safe-deposit box my father had. My mother wanted something from it.”

  She whistled. “You have a very good memory.” She looked at Miles and laughed. “Guess that’s what happens when you get older.”

  Miles laughed along. “Indeed, I don’t even remember where we are half the time.”

  In the rearview mirror, Briton could see them chatting. He smiled, enjoying the way they flirted, regardless of both appearing to be about mid-seventies.

  He parked the SUV next to an old station wagon, and the three walked up to the hall together. He tried not to notice anyone, as he entered and followed Betsy to a table. The hall was done up beautifully with lights and autumn-themed decorations. The lighting wasn’t great, but it created a pleasant atmosphere. The room was filled with round tables with white linens and harvest themes and had a large dance floor with a band. The white lights everywhere made it look homey, and the brightness of the décor gave it a dressed-up appeal. It was grandeur for such a small town.

  “Would you like a drink?” Briton asked the older couple as they got situated.

  Betsy nodded sweetly. “Oh thank you, sweetie. I’d love a glass of punch.”

  “I’ll take a scotch, son.”

  Briton nodded, laughing at Miles. He walked across the room to the bar and leered at the female bartender.

  She smiled back. “I might need some ID there, love.” Her Maine accent was very strong, almost like a Newfoundlander in Canada. He looked into her eyes and spoke softly, “I’m old enough.” He felt his powers of persuasion wash over her as her face relaxed and he gave his order silently. He still hadn’t reached the drinking age of the United States. He hadn’t aged from his eighteenth birthday on.

  She spoke like she was in a trance, “Yes, of course you are. Two scotch rocks and a punch, coming right up.”

  He gave her the sexiest smile he owned. She was blushing and nearly coming across the counter at him. Her heartbeat was louder than the soft music being played. His eyes were stuck on her nearly bared chest in the tee shirt she wore. He licked his lips, staring at her pulse blatantly. The fashion for the young ladies had drastically changed over the years, improving on the acceptable amount of flesh that was shown. Tight V-neck tee shirts were amongst his favorite things. He could almost taste her creamy skin from where he stood.

  The music started to pick up. He put money on the counter and took the drinks from her, deciding he might need a little taste later. The scotch would hopefully dull his appetite for the sexy young woman, just a bit. He didn’t need any distractions, regardless of wanting them.

  He brought the drinks to Betsy and Miles, who were getting on like a house on fire. He gazed back at the young bartender as he sat back down; she still watched him like she was hunting him.

  He drummed his fingers on the tablecloth as he looked around the room, waiting for the Michaels clan to arrive so he could accomplish what he needed to and then whisk the bartender away.

  The front door opened, bringing with it a cold wind and a small party of people who caught his eye. He followed a scent on the breeze to where they walked in, and he forgot why he was there.

  The young woman in the group took his breath away. She was like him, out of place, and maybe, time. Her dress was retro, like one he had seen in France ages ago. Her face was delicate and stunning. She still looked young but not too young—seventeen, maybe older.

  It wasn’t her age or her face that caught him, it was something else. Something he couldn’t put into words. Hers was a scent a man caught on the wind and chased down desperately, always to be disappointed when it got away. The problem with a girl like that was you got addicted. He knew to stay away.

  One taste was never going to be enough.

  He hadn’t seen a girl like that in a long time. Hundreds of years, if he was honest with himself. She made his mouth water and his chest feel as though there was a heart beating inside of it.

  Briton watched her and fought the changes happening in his body. He barely had control of himself—not something that happened to him, ever. Well, not since he had been a lad.

  She appeared unsure of herself, maybe a visitor or a relative from another town. She seemed out of place. She didn’t seek out friends, but kept her head down. Maybe no one would notice if she went missing. A girl like that ran away and no one was close enough to her to know why. There was a definite conflict on her face.

  He could lure her out the back, convincing her to come away with him. The cellar in the old house—he could make her believe it was something lavish. He could taste her virtue on his lips, his breath picked up. He could see the plan forming. He had to shut that off before he acted without thinking. It had never been his way, regardless of blood lust.

  Her dress only made matters worse for him. She wore a vintage Dior knockoff, if he wasn’t mistaken. Not something one would wear in a place like this. Its peacock colors and stunning cut made her slight curves stand out. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the swell of her chest at the top of the dress. Her skin had a healthy glow to it, regardless of being incredibly pale, contrasting perfectly with her bright-blue eyes and blonde hair. She easily had one of the most beautiful faces he had seen. It was the electric-blue eyes. They were innocent, and yet devious at the same time. He wanted to know what she was thinking, was she laughing at something secretly?

  Her blonde locks were swept up in a half-ponytail leaving the remaini
ng tendrils brushing along her bare shoulders.

  Briton didn’t take his eyes off of her but spoke, “Betsy, who is that?”

  “Oh, that’s Olive, I believe that’s her name. She’s the new doctor’s daughter. She’s either just graduated or just starting grade twelve. I don’t remember. Close to your age though. Her father is Doctor Daniels and he’s recently married to one of the Michaels’ girls. Oh, what’s her name? You’re really testing me tonight. Uhhh . . . Judith. She’s a veterinarian. They bought the old mansion on Orchard Crescent. It’s been completely redone inside. Rumor has it, he’s a city doctor from Chicago. He and Judith fell in love and eloped, and he has just moved here. His poor wife died of cancer a few years ago. It’s a sin really.”

  Briton nodded. “You know a lot.”

  She blushed. “Well, it is a small town.”

  Miles chuckled and Betsy swatted at him like they were old friends. It was odd, the way they acted.

  The music got soft and slow as Olive and her family found a table. Briton turned his gaze toward the girl’s new stepmother and noticed she was staring at him. She broke her gaze and went to the bar with the good doctor, leaving Olive all alone at the table. A young man smelling of testosterone jumped at his chance to be the first to ask her to dance.

  Her face glassed over as she greeted the boy with such warmth and kindness that even though she declined the dance, he sat down at her table and they proceeded to talk. Briton felt his breathing grow ragged and his instincts start to kick in. He felt a firm hand touch him on the shoulder as a voice softly whispered, “You’re looking like a hostile psycho killer. Mellow out for a second and listen to me.” He turned his head to Miles, who was looking at the front door. Miles tilted his head in that direction. “The party you were looking for has just entered the room, son. Perhaps you want to focus your energies there instead of the pretty young girl. She is far too young for you anyway.”

  Briton looked up to see the Michaels clan enter. The few he knew looked exactly the same as they always had.

  “Great.”

  Chapter Three

  Liv

  I couldn’t believe the guy sitting at the table yammering on. I tried to be nice when I told him no about the dance, but he took it as his chance to sit. Judith and my dad kept giving me funny smiles, like I was so lucky to have this idiot sitting there with me. I nodded my head and sipped the drink Dad had brought me, praying the guy would get the hint and leave.

  Apparently not.

  He did give me the opportunity to glance over at the killer hottie sitting in the corner who was staring at me like he wanted to take my dress off. I felt myself blushing in ways I was pretty sure I hadn’t ever blushed before. He was ‘Chuck’ gorgeous. The guy was actually perfect with his messy, dark-brown hair and dimples when he smiled. And damn, it would have been a sexy smile without the dimples.

  The minute the moron in front of me sat down, the smiling from the hottie had ended. I glanced over at the mouth breather next to me, praying for him to leave.

  Nope. Not a chance. Instead, he started telling me about the harvest or some crap.

  Hottie frowned harder and I slumped in my chair more.

  I knew the ball would suck. From the corner of my eye I watched the hottie. The curve of his lips made my fingers twitch, like I wanted to trace his mouth. His suit must have been custom made—it was flawless. No American company was making a suit like that. It had to be English or Italian. The dark-gray fabric looked like it might be Italian. His shoes were plum-colored crocodile leather, if I wasn’t mistaken.

  God, he was hot.

  How was he possible in this shit-hole town? Broad shoulders, beautiful face, stunning clothing choices, a chiseled jaw. I couldn’t see his eye color from the distance I was, but I could tell he had dark eyes and thick lashes. How I loved thick lashes.

  I wanted to bite him. It was the strangest urge I had ever had. I also wanted him to bite me back. He was maybe my age, seventeen, and sitting with his grandparents. His grandpa was getting mad at him about something while his grandma was chatting the lady next to her up. The grandpa looked at me once, and from then on hottie wouldn’t look at me anymore. Instead, he was focusing his eyes on the people coming in the front door.

  That bothered me. I wanted him to look at me again. I glanced around the room for anything I could do to just go and see him. He wasn’t near the bathroom or the bar. I gave up on a plan and decided to just do it. I looked at the guy beside me and spoke impatiently, “I’m really sorry, but I see a friend of mine.” I got up from the table and walked directly to the hottie’s table.

  His grandpa looked up at me and sighed. I couldn’t understand what the old guy had against me, but I walked up to them anyway and tapped the hottie on the shoulder. “Hi.” I didn’t know what it was, but there was a driving force, pushing me onward. I wanted to talk to him. I had never been forward about anything with a guy before. I liked being chased. I hadn’t actually ever asked anyone to dance.

  He turned and I got lost for a second. His eyes pulled me in, just as they had from across the room. But up close he was so much better looking and his dark eyes were actually blue, very dark blue. His lashes were so thick and black, I was envious of them.

  He smiled at me, but it wasn’t the smile he had given me before. It was a polite, friendly smile, not the ‘I want you for dinner’ smile he had been giving me from across the room. I started to sweat, I wasn’t even sure why. I nodded at the dance floor. “Do you want to dance?” I pleaded with God for a millisecond that he would say yes, but he didn’t.

  His eyes scanned my face for a moment before he spoke softly, “Dance? Oh, uhm. Normally, I would love to, but I cannot. I’m sorry, perhaps another time.”

  Something happened. A strange something. I blurted out a sentence as if I had ignored his turning me down. “My name is Liv Daniels. What’s yours?”

  He smiled wider, nearly sending my heart into overload. “Liv. That’s a nice name. Is it short for something?” He stood and I craned my neck. He was quite tall. His tailored suit had made him look far slighter than he was up close. He offered me a hand, again very politely. I looked at his hand for a moment, before taking it. It was huge, and for some reason, I had the strangest feeling like I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t touch his hand. I should back away and go back to the idiot at my table.

  Somehow his hand became a fork in a road, and I knew myself—I knew I would take the wrong road.

  “Olive, but I like Liv.” I reached forward and squeezed his hand, trying desperately not to let go. There was no spark or great event, like I had imagined there might be. It was a simple handshake but my heart was beating a mile a minute.

  I looked back up to him, overwhelmed by the height difference between us. Maybe he wasn’t my age. He was very tall and very broad. I had to be at least five foot six in my four-inch heels, but still I craned my neck to look up into his eyes. They were midnight-blue pools that I wanted to swim in.

  “I’m Briton, Briton Thorlackson.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Briton. I’m Liv Daniels.”

  He smiled, cocking his head to the side. “Yes, I believe we’ve covered that.”

  I laughed, but it was a strange laugh I didn’t recall ever laughing before. I nodded, feeling my face flush red. “Yes, I believe you’re correct.”

  I didn’t let go of his hand, but he didn’t let go of my hand either. He looked me directly in the eyes and spoke with regret in his voice, “It was very nice meeting you, Miss Daniels.”

  I bit my lip harder, trying desperately to hold it together and ignore the awkwardness of meeting him and the embarrassment I knew would take an hour to settle in and really make me hate myself.

  He dropped my hand, and I realized he was waiting for me to leave. I felt free suddenly, as his gaze went beyond me to the group of people who had come into the hall.

  I almost wanted to run and hide when I felt the spell of his stare break off. I didn’t know what had come
over me. I didn’t understand why I was being such a ho with him. He wasn’t the first hot guy in my life. Loads of guys were hot in Chicago, and I never offered them my first born like I had nearly done with him.

  I was losing my sanity in this small town.

  I decided to try to be more like my mom. I gave him a ballsy look and turned on my heel and walked away from him. I didn’t look back. My mom wouldn’t have. I walked back to my table and tried to fight off the feelings of let down, but I couldn’t. I also couldn’t describe the peculiarity of meeting him. It was intense and yet stupid. Who sees someone and instantly wants them?

  No one who is sane. I clearly wasn’t. The isolation of the dumpy little crap hole was getting to me. No Starbucks. No drive thru. No malls. No fashion whatsoever. And one hot guy who was actually kind of a dick.

  Frig.

  I tried to force myself to suck up my destroyed pride, but it felt like my windpipes were crushed. I sat back down with my dad and Judith and looked out at the dance floor. The only good thing that had come of humiliating myself was that at least the idiot had gotten the picture and left my table.