After World Chronicles: Angel Awakens

Crush

ANGEL

Our time spent training one on one in the wilds was helping my skills improve by leaps and bounds.

I think I was going through some sort of physical change also. My senses were sharpening and my talents were strengthening.

I was faster, stronger, more aware than ever... far more so than any human.

I was seeing things in sharper focus, in farther distances.

I could hear things far outside the range of mere human ability. I could actually hear Dante's heartbeat like a gentle rhythm in the background.

My sense of scent increased, and at first the onslaught of the wilds overwhelmed me, making me slightly nauseous, until I learned to compartmentalize all the smells I was suddenly aware of. Dante helped me learn how to focus one just one at a time, separating scents like threads.

Of course I discussed each new development with Dante. He was with me through it all, guiding me, reassuring me, directing me.

He explained that my celestial senses were awakening and this was enhancing my human abilities.

I gave him an odd look at his use of that particular word.

It reminded me too much of the enhanced soldiers who are tracking me.

If my newfound abilities were any indication of what they are capable of it's a miracle I escaped capture as long as I did. Lexi and I never stood a chance.

My speed and reflexes increased also.

The training exercises Dante tasked me with became increasingly more complex. I took on every challenge as if it were the greatest game - racing, whirling, diving, throwing knives or kicks and punches. I found myself less likely to bruise.

I could tell he was pleased at my progress, but at the same time there was an element of concern.

More and more frequently when we trained with our blades I was nicking him - drawing blood.

It wasn't done on purpose, but as my speed and reflexes improved I was getting past his defenses.

The first time it happened I felt horrible until I watched the wound heal over almost immediately, drawing the blood back inside him.

Then I was just fascinated.

I had to touch where the wound was and ask my mentor a barrage of questions about this amazing recovery, his healing abilities and how he'd shared the elixir of this miracle with me after the crash.

He was patient, amused even as I marveled over this magic. His ability to heal was far advanced from my own. He briefly stood still to allow me the opportunity to touch the skin where the edge of my dagger had bit into him. It was also the first time I saw a flash of his fangs. As soon as they appeared he moved away from me, breaking contact. The accusing look he speared in my direction left me feeling bereft.

As the weeks go by I've noticed the cuts take just a little longer to heal, and there is occasionally evidence of some bruising after a fierce battle. The bruises fade after a few minutes, leaving his skin unmarred. He says we will need to stop somewhere soon for supplies, but I think this is his subtle way of going where he can feed. I've offered him my blood, but he is so staunch in his refusal I can't help but feel a bit insulted.

We settle into a sort of arms length intimacy during our waking hours.

Night was something different.  In the small spaces of our sleep shelters, Dante often lies down beside me.  We fall asleep with small distance between us, but sometimes in the morning I wake up in his arms. In sleep we seem to curl into one another instinctively, but that is the extent of our illiberality.  Many mornings I waken alone, with Dante already up, hunting or cooking, but on those rare occasions when he is holding me I want to stay ensconced in his arms indefinitely.

Dante takes his role of protector seriously, and I feel part of the reason he does is because it creates a divide between us. It delineates an invisible line with me on one side - "princess",  and him on the other - "protector".  I still don't understand why he persists in calling me that.  I've decided its his way of teasing me, as I so obviously don't like it. 

I can't help but feel a little hurt that the feelings blooming in me weren't reciprocated. Maybe its normal to feel so intense toward someone who saved me and protects me. The fact that he's breathtakingly beautiful doesn't help my teenage hormones become calmer.

In the times when he was otherwise occupied, I found myself staring at him. Everything about him appealed to me, from the casual mess of his overgrown hair, to his impossibly thick, dark and long eyelashes. And the unique amber of his eyes! They were like priceless gemstones. His rugged features are almost too perfect in how they come together. He was a work of art walking. His muscles...the way his clothing hugs his body. As I said, everything about him captivated me.

It was easy to forget he was ageless, that he only appeared to be young - not much older than me, but in reality he was ancient, making my seventeen years the blink of an eye in comparison. We weren't equals. We could never be, not with his vast experience. When I watched him in action, training me.... When I thought back to his rescue of me in the broken city.... I could easily discern the battle hardened warrior.

Although I reminded myself of these realities, I can't stem the fervor of my crush, nor the longing for his affection. To break past his perpetual scowl I give my devotion to any task he assigns me. I'm determined to impress him with my skill and dedication. Nothing short of excellence could suffice as I strive to gain his approval, which when it does appear is minimally expressed, but genuine.

Whenever I could, I used humor to cajole smiles from him.  I catch him trying to hide these rare prizes from me. Something I say or do breaks through his defenses and he'll turn his head to the side to wipe the smile away before gracing me with frowns and gruffness.  Each time I catch him it only serves to make me more determined to draw out the lighter side of him.