The Edge of the World

Chapter Sixteen

 He should fear her. A normal person would. She looked like Tatum but acted like some Victorian governess time-traveled from a decade far before this one. He kept his lips pressed together as he stared at her face, wondering when the punchline was coming. Or perhaps her past traumas kept her mind broken, causing her to have some psychosis she failed to mention. But no amount of brainstorming scientific theories altered the fact he knew this aspect of her.

                And God, it was good to see her again.

 Her keen gaze searched his face, seeking a sign of something, and she leaned closer until the growing pupils of her eyes were all he could see. He was certain that he heard her rhythmic heartbeat, and the cadence matched his. Her lips parted, and she spoke, her soft, husky voice sending vibrations throughout his body, the effect blanketing him in a warm and frigid embrace.

"Haru. I know you're in there. Wake up, my love, and show him."

Chills snaked over his body and a buzzing sound started from somewhere in the deepest canals of his ears, growing in pitch as the seconds ticked by until that was all he perceived. Her gaze was unyielding, and even if he wanted to look away, he couldn't, for he was her slave, too weak to do anything beyond her bidding. Her hands framed his face, smoothing down to trail her fingertips along his jawline, murmuring words he couldn't grasp. Then his vision tunneled, as he was sucked into a vortex of darkness... toppling forward into time.

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Illumination similar to silvery moonlight shuddered his vision, and soon it cleared, leaving his eyes wide open to this new world surrounding him. He found himself standing in a crowded museum, waves of men and women spilling past him. He'd gone to enjoy the art as he sought more knowledge about the westerners whose countries were giant compared to his small, but comfortable Japan.

Western people treated him oddly, finding his features so different from their own. Whether a person thought him enthralling or appalling, it didn't matter for either way, he garnered attention wherever he went. But Haru didn't waste time considering the reactions of others for he was a scholar, not a diplomat.

The sensation of being watched pricked at the back of his neck, and he searched through the faces politely ignoring him as they passed. Turning a full three-hundred and sixty degrees, he sifted through the crowd, probing for the watcher, a mysterious need to find what he sought gnawing at his senses. Then he spied her, standing across the aisle, the illustrious Mona Lisa being her backdrop, and her glacier blue eyes staring at him, refusing to glance away despite propriety. Seeing her had the power of a sucker punch to the gut, and he felt beads of sweat trickle down his spine beneath the heavy coat he wore. Dark curls framed her oval-shaped face, her full lips parting as if she found breathing difficult.

He couldn't help but allow his eyes to drop boldly to her breast, the fleshy round orbs threatening to spill from the low bodice of the dress she wore, a style deemed scandalous in his country. The woman acted as if she was frightened of him.

Or desired him.

He couldn't be sure which it was, but he took notice of his own body, tightening for her. An ancient understanding seeped into his veins, and his sex seemed to know what his mind had difficulty fathoming.

That white western woman was his. His, and always had been... always would be. Another young woman appeared at her side, gripping her slender arm, and scolding her softly all the while, eyeing him with unabashed distrust. The woman came to save her, he realized with resentment. She tugged his woman from her place, drawing her into the safety of the crowd, far from him until she finally vanished, gone, as if she'd never been there at all, and it had been just a dream.