The Wishing Hour

Wishing -

Two

Minutes later, we stop beside a secluded little stream. Completely stiff as he puts me down, I take a moment to stretch and allow my stomach to catch up to the rest of my body. My hair is wind-blown, my lips slightly chapped, and I feel like my head has been stuck outside the window of a speeding car. Moistening my lips, I run my fingers back through my hair, knowing I must look a sight.

He smiles and deep dimples appear, making him even more handsome. “I will be right back.”

“Wait. Where are you going?” The sky is beginning to darken and I am frightened of being left in the woods alone, especially since I have no idea where we are or if we are even in Colorado anymore.

He squeezes my hand. “I am not going far. I promise.”

“Okay.” Releasing his hand, I draw some courage to the surface and sit on a large boulder, watching him disappear through the trees. My eyes scan the darkening forest for wildlife and I nervously listen for the pitter-patter of forest creatures, praying I won't be eaten by a mountain lion. The temperature has dropped a few degrees and fall is heavy in the air. Shivering a little, I rub the goose bumps on my arms.

Shaking my head, I wonder how I allowed myself to be lured away from my home and my life. I have no idea where we are going or what we are even doing. My life up to this point has been pretty boring, but the decisions I've made today have been crazy–no, they've been beyond crazy. And I never do crazy! I've never been one to take chances or act spontaneously, and I've never ventured out of my comfort zone, or any zone. But there is a first time for everything.

I have only been lost in analytical thought for less than a minute when he appears, holding two overnight travel bags wrapped in clear plastic. One is red, the other, navy blue. He hands me the red one.

“We must change and be on our way. There is a private plane waiting for us.”

“What? What do you mean? Where are we–”

“I will answer your questions once we are on the plane and safely on our way.”

My mind is a whirlwind of questions, but for the moment, I mentally push them back and open the case, finding a couple of neatly-folded outfits. Pulling out a pair of black slacks, a peach shell and cardigan, and a black leather blazer, I wonder how he knew my size, and then I remind myself that he knows me. And as strange as this fact is, I know him.

Draping the clothes over my arm, I turn, freezing at the sight of him pulling off his white shirt, taking another from the bag. My mouth falling open slightly, I take in his smooth, chiseled physique. He has the body of a giant Greek statue, every sinewy muscle carved to perfection. When he catches me staring and smiles, I clear my throat and turn away. Modesty makes me want to go into the trees to change, but I am afraid of losing sight of him.

Seeming to read my thoughts, he turns his back to me saying, “I promise not to look. Your privacy is your own.”

Trusting his word completely, I quickly strip and change, tucking my dirty clothes into the bag.

“Thank you,” I say and he turns back to me, smiling as his eyes travel over me. Again, my cheeks warm.

“You are very welcome.”

Using the brush and mirror in the bag, I make my hair a little more presentable. There is a black hair scrunchie in the bag as well and I use it to pull my hair back in a ponytail, but as usual, a few tendrils escape and fall against my face no matter how hard I try to keep them in place.

Zipping the bag, I ask, “How are we getting to the airport? We can't keep traveling like this or I'll need to change again.”

“We are not going to the airport. A friends owns a plane and has an airstrip on his property. As for getting there . . .” Leaving his answer unfinished, he dashes through the trees, returning seconds later pushing a large motorcycle. “The main road is only a few minutes away.” He straps the two bags on the back.

I take a deep breath. “You've thought of everything.”

“It was important that I did.” His deep voice is fervent.

“Why?” The questions have moved to the forefront of my mind again. “Why am I here with you? Why did you come to me? And who are you?”

“I am here to protect you. For now, I can tell you no more than that.” Taking my hand, he presses his large palm against mine and it produces a tingling sensation. When I start to pull my hand away, he tightens his grip gently, looking at me intently. “Your life has a greater purpose than you know. I am here to help you fulfill that purpose and protect you from those who would see you fail.” Just as my mind begins its tumble into a mass of confusion, he moves closer, pressing his lips against my ear and softly says, “I am here for you, Celine. You are the very reason I exist.”

I don't realize I've stopped breathing until my head is resting against his chest. I release a shaky breath.

Plain old boring me? Me, Celine Anderson, here for a special purpose? Well then, that changes things.

I have no idea what lies before me, but every dull day I have lived so far is worth this one shared day with him. There has never been anyone special in my life and I have never been in anything remotely resembling a relationship. Now I understand why. And though I still have questions, for now, I let them wait.

When he finally releases my hand, I turn it over and suck in a breath. In the middle of my palm there is a mark shaped like two rings connected together. It almost looks like a light brand. I hold my hand up for him to see.

“What is this?”

He hesitates a moment before answering. “It is a Ki Talimai, the mark of the soul's bond.”

“Soul's bond?” Of course, I am even more confused. “What is a soul's bond? And how did I get it?”

“In my world the soul's bond is the strongest and most powerful of bonds.”

“Your world? What do you mean? Where did you come from?”

“I wish I could tell you right now, but I can't. Please believe me. It is in your best interest, as well as others, that I keep that information to myself.”

He is again hesitant, awaiting my response. I know he truly does want to tell me, and he desperately needs me to believe what he is telling me now. I can feel it without him saying the words.

“Can you tell me anything at all?” I ask, holding the branded hand out to him.

He smiles warmly, taking it in his. “Once we are on the plane I will share what I can.” He squeezes my hand. “We must go.”

“All right.” I ask nothing more, trusting he will keep his word.

He puts on a leather jacket and we walk the motorcycle up to the main road. When we reach it, he hands me a helmet.

“I have never been on a motorcycle before,” I tell him as I put the helmet on and fasten the strap. Filled with nervous excitement, I wonder how I can be this nervous about riding a motorcycle when we traveled even faster as he carried me across the miles on foot. I chalk my erratic thinking up to this new experience of trusting someone with my life so completely.

Putting his own helmet on (most likely for my benefit) and hopping on in front of me, he turns slightly. “Do not be nervous. I will keep you safe.”

“I know,” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist as he starts the ignition. I chuckle inwardly, musing that I feel a little like a daring teenager running off with a handsome bad boy. A very handsome bad boy.

Sighing, I press myself against his warm back as we head down the lone stretch of road through the darkness.