The Pella Series - Chapter III - Daybreak

CHAPTER III

DAYBREAK

Elissa Cassandra Duncan

I’m confounded, thunderstruck! I could swear I saw someone out of my dreams.  But he just turned out to be someone Alex... Mr. Pella, the painfully attractive, my possibly future boss needed in Arizona tomorrow. How long have I been in his office? It felt like years, and then no time at all. How could that be possible? I feel like I’m under some sort of spell, a spell I don’t want to wake up from for a change. My heart never stopped beating at top speed. I’m exhausted just with being in Alex’s... Mr. Pella’s presence. I better get used to calling him Mr. Pella if I’m going to work for him. I’m quite sure that all women who are in his acquaintance and men who are not straight as an arrow are just drooling over him.

“Mr. Pella, Mr. Pella, Mr. Pella, Mr. Pella... Alex,” I murmur unable to help. Then my subconscious chides me, “He’s going to be your boss. Better get used to calling him ‘Mr. Pella’!” I sag against the elevator wall. I need the job. It's everything I would want from a career. Something different everyday, different places to go to, different cultures to learn. I am still freaked out about having to liaise between an intense, in control and utterly gorgeous man and the top businessmen of the world idea. But I have to get out of Sarah’s vicinity and her odious shrink.  

Can I really work for the most intense man I have ever met in my life, a man I feel a profound attraction from the second I met him? But then this experience might give me something to break away from my dreams. God knows I’ve been trying something, anything and everything intense short of dying just to be able to feel, not to be so numb to my existence here and now, and not live in some dreamland.  Maybe this intensity is exactly what I need. Something to jolt me into joining the living in the daylight hours... I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding. He’s so incredibly good looking and one frigging ultimate manly package and ridiculously rich. Oh shit! We’re in totally different leagues. He’s probably got women lined up all the way into the corners of the earth considering all the places he’s been, just to get a glimpse of him or thirty seconds of his precious time. Women who are beautiful, smart, equally wealthy, confident, and with sexual prowess... My heart sinks. Qualities I don’t possess...

“So unlike you...” my subconscious reminds me as if I need reminding. I’ve got nothing in my name, what I should get will be taken away, otherwise will get me locked away; Sarah made that much clear to me. My checking account boasts a whopping $63.27; my own nanny gave me the money for gas to get here. I’m a new college graduate, and the only reason I don’t have student loans is because my uncle insisted to pay for my college education. He and Stella purchased my first brand new car as a graduation present, a silver Mustang. I have two best friends Melie and Rose, and I haven’t had a boyfriend to speak of. Most guys, especially the last one had dated had the sole purpose of getting me to fourth base without going through first, second or even the third which is why I broke up with him last year. When it comes to sex, the neighbor’s two year old puppy probably has better sexual prowess than I do... my subconscious shakes her head at me sadly. The only sex I had was in my dreams with a man who doesn’t exist. Suffice to say that the extent of my experience is pitiful at best. That about sums up the poor inventory of my life. ‘Just worry about retaining the job!’ I remind myself. He can probably hire the best employee he wants; why would he want someone who doesn’t have any job experience? I have to work my ass off this week to prove myself.

Elevator door dings open, and I straighten my back and as I walk out and come face to face two leggy women; a blonde and a brunette. The blonde woman looks elegant, sophisticated and so sure of herself.  I can’t help but notice that she’s wearing in a pair of Manolo Blahnik alligator boots. I know them to be $14,000 because Sarah owns a pair, and her dress is just fresh off the runway from Paris, or London or Milan or some fashion capital like that. The other woman is a brunette with shiny, straight long hair down to her mid back wearing a pencil skirt which is hugging her curves in all in the right places, and her double Ds are accentuated with a curve hugging sleeveless blouse and her feet are donned in Ferragamo pumps. She not only smells money, but also class. Both women are holding über expensive Gucci purses elegantly on their arms. By the looks of all four of the suited security guys gawking at them openly, I can tell that these women are used to getting this reaction, and I’m sure they expect to the get the same response upstairs.

All of a sudden, I feel so out of place. Compared to these two, I look like a teenager who raided her mother’s closet and playing dress up with her clothes. The two women stop talking when they see me exit the elevator right in front of them and give me an appraising look from head to toe as they’re effectively blocking my way. The glossy ‘Visitor – 35^th Floor’ ID I have tagged on my chest captures their notice. What? Is it a privilege to get to the 35^th floor? Deciding that I’m no match to them in any shape or form, they smile at each other conspiratorially. They seem very secure in the knowledge that they look like a million bucks and I look like a cowgirl who is awkward in a dress and whatever job they’re going to perform upstairs, it’s all over their face that I won’t qualify for it. They both sport the same ‘Visitor-35^th Floor’ IDs clipped on their very large accentuated bosoms. My heart gets constricted, my face flushes, and I feel an odd burning sensation over my arms. All of a sudden I feel dizzy. Are they interviewing for the same job? Will they get a week-long trial right after I do? Why should I care who Alex... I mean Mr. Pella should hire? It’s his company, his personal assistant position. I can find another job. My subconscious reminds me in a small voice that this is the job I want and maybe I do feel a tad bit jealous. I shut her up immediately.

Both the women stand before me intentionally blocking my way. Why would they try to intimidate a stranger who only visited a floor they’re going up to? It doesn’t make sense. “Mr. Pella and I’ve had an encounter, and when he left after more than twenty four hours of very intense fucking session, he had the most satisfied look on his face,” says the blond in a lascivious tone to the brunette but her gaze is locked on my face as she is chewing her artificially enhanced lower lip.

“That’s nothing,” says the brunette completely confident. “He must have gone easy on you. He has fuck pads and fuck buddies all over the world. When he tied me up and fucked me senseless I was completely exhausted in a matter of three hours, and I can handle multiple guys at the same time. But in the end,” she says sighing, “we were both very satisfied in multiple ways,” she ends her sentence with a sideways glance to me as her tongue caressed her upper lip as if she just confessed of her biggest ability.

“Excuse me,” I say as I push aside the two women out of my way and they part like the Red Sea without hiding their undisguised contempt. Why would they taunt someone they just crossed paths with? Is it to scare the competition off for a rare position? Is being his assistant a rare position? Tears sting behind my eyes but I hold my back straight and keep my tears dammed in. Why the hell would I feel this way? Why should the looks I get from two bimbos bother me this much? Nothing anyone ever said or did bother me before.  But it’s not the looks... It’s the topic... They started talking about him right when I came out when they noticed that I came down from his office. The pang of jealousy I feel is insanely ridiculous. I’ve met the guy just this morning! So what if he saved me from falling off the rock and getting a concussion or worse, dying? What if he was irrationally attractive and paid me a little bit of attention. He’s probably going to pay more attention to these two bimbos.  I’m sure they would be more pleasing to the eye for Mr. Pella’s clients. My heart constricts, and aches in stabs. ‘Think happy thoughts... happy thoughts... happy thoughts...’ I remind myself. Shit! I’ve got nothing.

“Fine! Think of something else!” reminds me my subconscious, exasperated. Something else, something else, something else... Oh, the cowboy! I remember as I walk up to the Security desk.

“I’m returning the identification,” I say in a soft voice to the suited security manning the desk with several monitors before him. Then I notice the engraved cursive P on my Visitor ID. He nods and silently takes it from me still eyeing the two rich bimbos who just walked into the elevator.

“Uhm... Excuse me,” I get his attention.

“What is that P stands for on my visitor ID?” He looks down at the ID, and then when he looks back up at me, he has a reverential look on his face. Why is he looking at me oddly, obeisant? I almost wish him to look at me indifferently.

“It alerts assistants upstairs that a special guest for Mr. Pella has arrived.” Special guest? I’m here for an interview.

“What about the regular 35^th Floor Visitor ID? Aren’t they special?”

“Not everyone is allowed on the 35^th floor ma’am. Only those who have business can go up. And the P is only issued to rare guests,” he says, and mutters under his breath, “rare as a live unicorn.” The other three security guards who were equally preoccupied with the women who are on their way to upstairs are now staring at me with the same awed look this one is giving me. I shake my head and walk towards the underground garage trying to erase what I heard from the two women from my mind. But the bimbos still have business upstairs, I think to myself. My face falls again. I have to think of something else.

“Hellooo? The cowboy?” my subconscious reminds me.

Who was that man? Shall I go back up and demand to see the him? That would be a no go, not unless I want to get kicked out or look like a demented idiot before the classy bimbos. Or pretend I need to use the restroom... but they must have a restroom downstairs here. Besides, I turned in my special visitor tag. I’m left completely and utterly curious. I feel like I just had a de ja vue! A cowboy... Well, not a cowboy exactly but a gentleman. Finding such a man who belongs to wild west in its heyday here, in the most modern architectural wonder, a building more fortified than Fort Knox in the city of Los Angeles is the most curious sight; unless of course my enigmatic, buckle my knees the moment you see him kind of new boss has some show going on for his clients and this cowboy is a part of it. But then he looked and acted very well educated, a class on his own; a gentleman. I’ve never met a cowboy in my life, yet I felt as if I’ve known this man a lifetime and just his momentary glance and greeting gave me an avuncular feeling about him. Odd, because I just have one uncle and this stranger isn’t it.

I walk into the underground floor, preoccupied and start fumbling in my clutch to find my car keys standing in the middle of the parking lot. I drop my clutch and lean down to pick it up in those high heels I’m not so used to wearing. This isn’t my day. The security vehicle patrolling the parking structure nearly hits me as I lean down to pick my clutch up. I hear the car screeching and coming to a halt only mere inches from me. I stand up straight immediately with a rush of adrenaline and come face to face with the car reserved for the security and utterly frozen in my place. My blood is coursing hot, my heart is beating hundred miles an hour, I’m shaking violently yet I’m unable to move. The security vehicle’s door swing open and a young, well groomed, impeccably dressed security officer rushes to my side.

“Miss!! Miss, are you alright?” he asks and I vaguely notice that he left the car door wide open. A shudder goes through my body and my hand shakes as I finally pick my car keys from the clutch, and transfer it into my left hand still shaking. My body is burning hot from what must be the most intense encounter I’ve had with Alex coupled with meeting the bimbos outside the elevator and the near accident just now.

The young security officer is standing only two feet away from me and holds my arm right above my elbow.

“Miss, are you alright? Are you hurt?” he asks. I shake my head wordlessly.

“Is this your silver Mustang?” he asks pointing at my car. I nod. 

“Do you need help getting in?” he asks helpfully. I shake my head. My body is burning. Is it the anxiety? Adrenaline? Fear?

“I’ll help you anyway,” he says concern lacing his voice. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I really didn’t see you. It was the red purse that just got my attention when you... stood up,” he says shaking his head. He presses the remote without taking my keys from my hand and unlocks my car. Opening the door for me, he ushers me in.

“Can you manage from here on end? Or do you need to rest a little?” he asks concerned.

“I’m okay, thanks,” I manage to whisper a reply, and I think he gives a sigh of relief. I move in the seat of my car, and dropping my clutch onto the passenger seat, I attempt to insert the key into the ignition still shaking. I hold one hand on the steering wheel to steady myself, feel the intense burn on my arms and wrists and drop the keys to the floor of my car. I lean in sideway awkwardly and pick the keys up, and this time still shakily I manage to insert the key into the ignition and start my car. Music from my docked iPod automatically comes on as the security guard closes my door still with worry in his face.  Where did this song come from? It’s not one I’ve loaded. Did one of my friends load it for me? I have heard the song before. It’s Daughtry singing “Break the Spell.” It’s a mesmerizing song. As I listened to it, I feel it calming me, taking me to a different place. I realize that it defines the foreign feeling I have been feeling all day for Alex, at least partly...

“Like a moth into a flame, I'm hypnotized and like a stone I'm paralyzed
Cause I can't look away. You find your way under my skin, in trying not to
Love you but I hate the way that I keep giving in to you like I always do no
Matter how I try, maybe could it be that you’re the part of me that's keeping
Me alive.”  

Daughtry – Break the Spell

He croons, and my head is dizzy, my eyelids are heavy, my breathing is shallow. The last thing I hear as my head falls onto my steering wheel is, “How am I supposed to break this spell you've got me under I'm so addicted to the pain.” Not again, not in broad daylight! And I pass out unable to have control over my body and sleep claims me plunging me into my recurring nightmare. The nightmare that leaves me lifeless in such a way that I try almost anything to feel alive here and now. I force my eyes to remain open to no avail, and I plunge into the darkness in daylight hours for a second time.

I peek outside the window waiting for my husband to return in the drawing room. It’s a dark starless night, but I can still make out the stone walkway winding down to the stables a couple of miles down the road. Our two year old twins, Agnes and Jill are sleeping upstairs. I walk to my bookshelf and pick up a book to read while I wait for Alexander to return from the stables. I have an uneasy feeling inside constricting me and I can’t get over it. All the help, including the nanny are away tonight. But I only care about Alexander’s absence.  The foreman woke us up in the middle of the night and they took off to the stables because both Boreas and her nearly two year old colt Zephyr were restless and kicking and jumping and whinnying relentlessly for hours. Alexander took off with Buck Whitman to go see what was bothering my most prized possession of horses. Everything I finally notice, including the house is eerily silent, like death is descending over it. A shiver runs through my body as if someone just stepped over my grave and I force myself to sit down on the chaise lounge and read the book in my hand without even looking at the title.   

“Move Elissa!” I hear a distant voice. Odd... I look up. Though the tone of the voice suggests that he’s shouting, it still sounded like a whisper to my ears. I look up, and see no one. Just the dim light on top of the small tea table I have by my chaise. No sounds other than my increased heart beats and the chiming of the grand clock we bought in an auction in Paris last year. Surely, I must have imagined it. I shake my head as if to shake the nervousness away, and lower my gaze back to Socrates’ words in the book I’m holding.

“Hurry up and mooove!” says the same voice in a louder and a more forceful, determined tone. “What are you waiting for? Mooove! Go!” I heard it loud and clear this time in its intended intensity and pitch. Why am I moving? Where am I moving? I look around and see no one.

It’s then the acrid smell of fire reaches my nostrils with a sudden, suffocating intensity makes me realize why I have to get moving. I drop the book onto the floor, and jump to my feet full speed running, making my way to the huge winding staircase climbing them three at a time while screaming, “Agnes! Jill!” and I trip on my long nightgown. The smoke is reaching my nostrils forcefully now, filling my lungs and burning my eyes. I pull myself to a crawling positing and climb up while holding onto the wrought iron banisters. I peek a glance around to see the fire. Perhaps get an idea what might have caused it. What I see utterly shocks me; the fire looks like plasma as if it has a body, surrounding, imploding, and suffocating. It encroaches with an all-consuming hell into the corners of the Four Winds, our house, with intent to extinguish all life within.

“Alexander! Help!” I find myself crying out between coughs. Agony is growing in me as I hear my twins’ fearful cries. All I can think is to save my babies. They have to live! I’ll gladly burn alive as long as they survive. “Please God! Help me to get them out! Please!” I beg as I inch my way up the stairs. I manage to take my robe off and wrap it around my head to ease my breathing. All I can think is to get to the nursery, and it feels miles away. The house is built of stone mostly. It should hold and slow the fire, but this is little consolation, because it seems to be consuming, spreading like the five rivers of Hades!

I can’t move further in the hallway. I’m blocked.

“Elissa!” I hear Alexander’s agonized voice calling my name, giving me relief. The only voice I’ve longed to hear all evening. My love is here!

“Alexander! I’m here!”

Agnes and Jill’s cries are now louder, fearful, and choked in fact. “Mommy’s coming!” I shout determined, but I’m unable to inch forward, blocked by something I can’t see.

“Alexander! I can’t move! Get the girls! Please!” I beg in a shaky voice, fear gripping me. I should feel hot in this heat, but I feel chill rising from my fingertips, spreading through my body. I have to rub my hands to warm them up; my breath comes out foggy like a snowy winter day. My body is shaking and shivering; I barely notice the faint blue aura that is surrounding my body, making me think of the blue of the near dawn sky. I have an ominous feeling that I will never see that color, or any other color of sky again. Something is ending tonight and I feel terribly cold.

“Get moving Elissa! I’m coming to get you!” I hear his commanding voice like a lifeline preserving me, giving me a boost of adrenaline, a will to hold onto life. I feel focused immediately.

“Alexander! I can’t make it. I’m blocked out!” I cry. I have no idea what’s blocking my way. It’s invisible!

“You have to! Run, Elissa! Run! Listen to my voice, angel!” he orders determined sounding much closer to me. Then I see him. My eyes search for the twins. He reaches down and grabs my hand, pulling me up firmly commanding me, “let’s go!” My body rises up on my feet with his strength and as I lurch forward with his pull, I slam into that ethereal wall, and fall backwards feeling worse than being punched by his full strength. We look at each other in horror. But Alexander collects himself, and looks for a solution. I hear bells tolling faintly in the distance, calling for all help which I know will be little use. No one can get into the Four Winds. Not unless they work on the ranch. I have to make Alexander take the girls out, and save my family. I have to force him. He won’t leave if I don’t and I’ll lose everyone I love. I will have to break the heart of the only man I ever loved tonight.

“You’ve got to get the kids out! I have to…find another way” I manage to say but a booming voice reverberates, interrupting me:

“Nephilim!”

What? My face falls, and my cold fingers reach up to my hair in despair, knotting. I let out a shaky breath before I face my husband again. I have to be strong, for him, for us. But, I know in my heart that this is the end for me. I close my eyes with the acceptance of the inevitability of what’s to come. I turn around to look at the face of of my husband, my only love, unable to speak.

“For the love of everything holy, what is it Elissa?” he begs after seeing my face, fear gripping his tone.

“I don’t know. Something is coming. For me... For us! Alexander, call out to Zephyr! He’ll take all of you out,” I say with a clear certainty.

“What? No!! Not without you!” He reaches in finally able to touch my hand, and tugs at my arm resolutely but we are slowly being pulled apart by the gradually thickening ethereal wall. It separates our hands with ease as if pulling a knife out of butter. Horror is written all over Alexander’s face. He kicks the invisible wall but nothing budges. He looks for a place to grasp, something to get him through to reach me, his eyes scanning rapidly for a way to get him to my side of the wall. There is nothing! Frustration, anger coupled with the cries from our twins bundled on the floor asking for mommy rips into my soul, and finally breaks my control driven husband.

Alexander fists his hand and he punches and punches and punches at the invisible wall, his eyes wild like a mad man, lost in anger, desperation, until blood starts oozing from his split knuckles marking the invisible wall with his seeping and splattered blood where his fists had landed as if staining a see through glass window. I scream and put my hands on the wall, trying to stop my husband from hurting himself beyond repair, trying to stop his seeping blood but I am neither able to touch nor capture the blood or his hands to heal him, and my desperate efforts to stop him are completely fruitless.

“No Alexander! No! Please!” I beg falling onto my knees, my hands splayed on the barrier, my gaze hopeless. “I’ll have to find another way. Girls need you. I need you! Please!” Large string of tears rushes down in a flood on my cheeks; tears I could no longer keep prisoned.

That deep voice is getting closer, though it sounds as if it is behind a waterfall. And Alexander won’t stop punching relentlessly in a vain effort to get to me. He has to stop! He has to go, go before they get here! I know something, someone is looking for me! The knowledge of it is engrained in me. I just don’t know what is after me. I have to calm myself, make him go. If I break down, so will he! But he won’t stop punching, and as I shake like a leaf on the other side of the thickening wall, I hear his knuckles crack, finally breaking, and his anger slowly giving way to a soul ripping agony which kills me inside for what I have to do to him... to us!

“Seek the Nephilims!” the voice booms again. It’s my cue to get him going. My eyes are cloudy with the flood of tears, my long dark hair disheveled; my sapphire eyes match the horror in his blue eyes.

“It has to be this way love…” I say choking back the words. “Find me in another time, in another place. Nieto would know what to do. This is not a barrier; it’s a…” I try to steady my shaking voice, “it’s a wall of protection. The fire is seeking me out. For now. If this wall comes down, we all die.”

“How do you know? How can you be sure? There has to be a way! Please! Let’s find it, or let’s die together!” he begs me with darkening eyes. No! He can’t die! My eyes get wide in protest and I shake my head violently.

“No! I can’t let you die! Listen to me baby! I don’t know how I know this, but I’m quite sure. This wall can only hold until I’m gone. I can’t go until you go... I’m begging you Alexander! Do it for the girls... Do it for me... I love you! I’ll always love you. Always! Now please, go! You will find me another time... in another place.” The voice gets a lot closer.

“The adult Nephilim’s blood to be kept alive until sacrifice. Find her!”

I look behind me with fear, and then turn to him. He is seeking me out!

“I’m begging you Alex, please! Go! Don’t let me watch your death and the death of my children! Because I will have to volunteer to be sacrificed! Please!” I beg shuddering like a leaf caught in the freezing weather, and his heart is unable to endure any of my laments, tears pooling in his eyes. Alexander’s entire body is shaking; he puts his battered hands over the barrier leaving bloody handprints, and shouts at me angrily, “I can’t go! I can’t leave you for someone else to take and harm you! No! It’s better that we all die together. Because if you...” his chin quivers on his last word, “if you die,” he says through gritted teeth, his words choking him like poison, “what do I live for?”

“There are worse things than death, love,” I try to convince him, “and this would definitely be one of them. I’m sorry that responsibility of our girls’ falls on you,” I say taking a breath and add quickly “for now, only...” and look into his eyes with unspoken words of my indelible love for him. I finally whisper fervently as if someone else could hear our secret, “but you’re the one who must preserve our family intact!” I look at him with a pleading urgency. “If you all die, I have nothing to live and fight for. You will find me at another time. Nieto is your key. Remember the silly poem my father taught me and required me that I to recite it every morning when I woke up and every night before I went to sleep which drove you crazy?” I look at him expectantly. “It wasn’t just any old poem Alexander! It had a purpose. My father knew this day was coming.”

He shakes his head, and giving me a smile which doesn’t reach his eyes, and repeats the poem with me: 

“When the sun rises on the rings of fire,

Eagles’ wings will set afire,

That’s the time to abandon the nest,

Fly on the winds of west.”

“The rings of fire are surrounding us, seeking us out. The time is now!” I show him my birth marks on both my arms which were oddly shaped before, but the mark on my right wrist looks like an eagle taking flight with two stars under its wings and my left wrist has an eagle diving head down before a burning sunset. “It’s time to leave the nest, my love!” I say, and whisper painfully, “in different directions. You know Zephyr is named after the western winds. He is the one to carry you away! Please, could you go now?”

He looks at me as if he met me for the first time. The invisible barrier is thickening as the impending danger is getting closer. Hurt, anger, pain, and anguish wrenches his face as if someone just ripped his heart out, and stuck it into Lake of Fire in Hades. I’m hurting him, and it’s killing me inside!

I look at him with a pleading desperation and mouth the words, “Please, go! Save our family!”

“I love you! I am yours heart, body and soul! How could I leave you?” he whispers like the broken man he became. I broke him apart! Unspoken words pass between us as we both finally understand that love means to make the impossible choices sometimes. He finally holds his head up, takes a breath, and that relentless, steel determination locks in his eyes, “you better not give up on us! Promise me that you’ll seek us out!” his asks his voice hoarse with anguish.

I look at him. How can I make such a promise when death is at my doorsteps?

“I won’t leave if you don’t make that promise Elissa! Promise me, please!” he pleads with me, his eyes unblinking, reddened with tears, and wide.

A determination courses over my entire demeanor, and I swallow between my sobs unable to watch his agony.

“I promise. I will seek you out no matter where or when! Please go now! Tell Agnes and Jill that mommy loves them…” I say choking on my words, “very, very much. More than life itself! Death cannot conquer my love for you! I will love you beyond life, beyond death... My heart, my body, my soul loves you Alexander!” Alexander wipes his tears with the back of his smoky sleeve forcefully, and shouts without looking backwards, “Zephyr!” then he leans down to pick up our crying daughters off the floor.

                Zephyr’s shade appears in the haze, trotting towards them and Alexander grabs onto his mane, as his dark blonde curls are moving as if a spring breeze is playing with them. Zephyr walks in as if he in on the pasture taking a leisurely walk, completely at ease in fire and smoke. His mother was bred in this fire. This is nothing for him. As Zephyr speeds through the barriers with his precious cargo, my heart and soul breaks apart. I hear a sizzling sound like the spilled water on camp fire saying “she’s here master!”

The booming voice responds and sounds a lot closer “do not harm her. Yet” says the voice amused. “Not until I get what I need from her.”

                Death is now welcome since all I ever loved is gone and safe. Fire sizzles around me inching its way and yet unable to reach me. Lava meeting the ocean, its fire put out.

                “The half-breed is here master! She’s protected!” sizzles the fiery voice.

                “My key to heaven...” says a positively gloating thunderous voice. “Her father’s and husband’s Achilles heel... Elissa Cassandra. I am so pleased to meet you at last. Unfortunately it will not be a happy circumstance for you,” he says taunting me. I can’t see his face. The aura surrounding me is getting to be a duller shade of light blue, thickening.

                He opens up his wings and the gust of wind coming from his wings tries to push the smoke into the aura, my fragile protection. “We can’t get to her master. Either a sinless hand must capture her, or she must willingly surrender herself to us...” sizzles the voice.

                “Where is her Achilles heel?” booms the voice, his wrath evident.

                “Gone, master...” sizzles the fiery voice meekly.

                “Aaaaargh!” booms the dark winged angel, and slams his fist on to my aura as if to break my shell; vibrations his punch created runs in large waves around me. The end is near. I close my eyes, trying to find my happy place. “This is for my love...” I whisper, and dark wings furls around and turn back at me, “Love, is an overestimated emotion! You are fated to suffer the anguish of love, and your ultimate fate, death by sacrifice to open the doors for your betters! You will not achieve immortality! I will no longer be Fallen once your blood is spilled or smeared!” he bellows ferociously as his size grows five times bigger and his foot is on its way to crush me under its enormous size, his intent clear.

                I close my mind to everything, unable to move, lying on the floor, resisting, but my heart is finally serene knowing that all the people I love are safe and away; they won’t see me in the moment of my death. My eyes closed I whisper, “I love you Alexander! I love you Agnes and Jill! I’ll always love you...” I whisper.

Then it happens: wind ruffles my hair unexpectedly, and I feel as if someone is yanking my body out of hell by an invisible hand, hands maybe. I scream. I hear nothing at first, not a single noise, not a word, just darkness, the feeling of falling through the empty space, and the wind, just the wind. I’m cut from all my senses. Is this death? Then my senses come back to life in a rush, I hear more screams. No physical pain, but sharp aching of my soul and utter, excruciating sorrow piercing through my heart. This is worse than death, worse than nothingness. Then I feel being pulled in a wind tunnel. Wind all around, whipping, rustling, gentle, lulling. The pain of loss is dulling, but ache is still piercing, emanating like electric shock, and ripping my soul into small shreds. The face of an old Pueblo man emerges with bottomless eyes, and deep wrinkles. Do I know him? I think I know him. One feather hung from the left braid of his hair. The eyes which have seen too many years are marked with deep lines. And from his ears dangle what looks like two earrings too heavy for his ears to carry. I can see it all in this windy haze. His too thin lips are tightly closed. His slanted nose must have been broken a long time ago, and didn’t heal correctly. His Pueblo headband wrapped around the crown of his head twice tied in a tight knot on the left side of his head. A faded poncho is covering his torso and whipping quickly in the wind. Then he opens his thin lips and speaks to me in a sad melodic voice.

“This is the best I can manage to do Elissa, daughter of Marcus. May the seeds of your memory blossom at the right time...” he says in that lilting voice, and presses something into my skin under my arm at the base of my right breast as he floats me further in the tunnel made of wind.

“This is as close to your heart and soul I can get without damaging your past... May you find your way home child of Marcus, wife of Alexander Aurelius, mother of Agnes and Jill. Hear my last words, and wake up to a new beginning... Hear my last words and forget the past and remain shadowed away from the Fallen Angels... Hear my last words and don’t...give...up...on...love...” he says in an old language, and pushes me forward with such a force that I’m sucked into a cyclone like energy, and finally nothingness...

“Ellie!!! Ellie! Wake up!” Someone shakes me with concern.

                “Should we call a doctor sir?” asks the concerned male voice.

                “The doctor is already here!” snaps a dominant male voice sternly.

                “My apologies, sir,” replies the meek one.

                “Is the security waiting outside?” asks the commanding voice.

                “Yes, he is, sir,” replies the first voice in a soft tone as if to not to wake me.

                “He can’t leave until he gives me a full report of what happened!” orders the dominant voice. “Make sure he remains!” he commands with an unmistakable scorn.

“Yes, sir,” replies the soft voice then I hear scuttling footsteps distancing towards the door. When the footsteps cease, I don’t hear a door open and close. The dominant male voice gentles, and speaks to me softly; his words caressing my name, as strong arms are gently rock me in an assuaging rhythm.

“Miss Duncan? Ellie? Wake up... You’re alright. You just passed out in your car. Wake up.” A hand is slowly, soothingly rubbing my hair. I feel everything, and I hear him, but why can’t I open my eyes?

                “Doc?” his voice asks concerned.

                “She’ll come to herself in a few minutes. She must have had a shock. The security said she had a near accident. He was merely inches away from hitting her. He claims that he didn’t see her, and he said she was pretty shaken when he managed to stop his car...” says a gentle but authoritative voice.

“Fuck! How could he not see a woman walking in a huge parking lot? What was he looking at?” 

“He claims that she bent down to pick her purse up which was why he didn’t see her as he was going up on a slope. But he stated that soon after he helped the young lady into her car, she passed out. He said he tried to wake her up seeing her fainted, but she wouldn’t wake up which is very common with shock. That’s when he radioed for help. She must have had a hard week, and possibly the near miss was the last drop overflowing her cup.”

I feel a shudder go through her body, shivering me. “Will she be alright?” he asks concerned.

“Of course. It’s just the way the body copes with shock, Alex. It’s a physiological response. Our bodies are used to dealing with events at a slower rate where it can control the response. When something traumatic happens, the brain cannot comprehend what’s happening because it happens so rapidly, and being nearly hit by a car will do that to you. Her body simple pulled all the blood into her center as a protective and defensive measure away from the extremities. Her brain temporarily shut down.”

“But she hot and cold at the same time,” says the concerned voice.

“The hypothalamus gland regulates the body temperature. When the brain shuts down, so does the gland. Nothing to worry about...” he says, but I hear the worry in the doctor’s voice. I try to move my fingers. Tips of my fingers manage to move.

“You should better lay her down. I think she’s coming to her senses now, and my work here is done,” says the Doctor’s voice.

“Are you sure Hen...” the dominant voice falters as he’s interrupted.

“Absolutely sure. I examined her,” replies the doctor, sternly. I feel being laid on a leather surface. A soft moan escapes my lips.

“Ellie, are you hurt?” asks his concern laden voice.

“Ow!” I manage to groan in a gruff voice, barely able to crack my eyes open, feeling like I had the biggest hangover ever. I know that, because my two best friends took me to Tijuana for my 18^th birthday and the drinking binge we had together gave me the same pounding headache, sick feeling, making me dizzy and light headed, with a dry, parched throat. I try to swing my leg down to sit up, but I immediately feel out of balance, my stomach ache, my heart races and my eyes burn, and give me a headache when I try to open them; I instantly close them. Voices are amplified in my head. I feel feverish; especially my arms feel on fire.

“You shouldn’t try to sit up Miss Duncan!”  A voice orders, and I recognize it to be Alex’s... Mr. Pella’s voice.  

“Sorry.... I don’t know what came over me,” I murmur.

“Rest assured, I will deal with the security for nearly hitting you and putting you in shock,” his voice murmurs in a low but clearly audible tone.

“I’m equally guilty; I should have paid attention,” I reply. “I feel okay now, I should get going,” I add.

“I don’t think you’re up to driving two hours Miss Duncan. I will have someone drive you to your home.”

“Nooo!” I protest, but then my head betrays me as my own voice pounds my head like a club and I end up holding my head between my hands.

“Just as I thought! I don’t want to be the cause of my new assistant’s injury before she starts working for me,” he counters in a caressing, sensual tone having recovered his equilibrium.

“The assistant on trial...” I correct him with a low murmur, my eyes closed. Somehow I feel him smirk at me.

“Anthony will drive you home, and he will also pick you up.”

“But...” I protest, but he cuts me.

“I told you earlier Miss Duncan. If I intend to keep a good employee for a long time, then I do whatever is in my power to secure that employee’s well-being for his or her maximum productivity,” he says in his self-assured tone.

“It’s kind of you,” I reply in an acerbic tone, my hand still holding my pounding head, my eyes closed. I think he’s smiling at me response, but I can’t see him. Even my eyes closed I can feel his magnetism. His pull. He must have moved closer to me because I feel his breath near my ear.

“Do you wish to stay? The Doctor said that you need some rest. I can...” his voice trails off, “I can take you to my apartment in town, and make sure you get some care,” he says as each word is gentle, and soft.  I turn my head in his direction slowly. He’s sitting near me, but not crowding me. His gaze is laced with concern; he looks anxious. His hands are on his lap, splayed open.

“It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to stay with my prospective new boss,” I reply in a soft voice, though internally I kick myself. How can I desire a man I’ve just met so desperately, so voraciously?

“I have a house... I can go there while you’re in my apartment. That way, you won’t feel crowded with my presence and I can have someone to provide care for you for the duration of the night. Please... You’ve just passed out in my building right after one of my security guards nearly hit you with my company car.”

“Don’t worry Mr. Pella... I’m not planning to sue. Like I said, I’m equally guilty,” I reply turning my head back to look at my lap.

“You’re wounding me, Miss Duncan. I didn’t mean to extend my courtesy because I thought you would sue me. Although it would be within your rights to do so. I am however, genuinely concerned of your well-being. You can call your family and let them know where you are if that’s going to make you feel secure.”

“No, it’s not that... I don’t want to put you out of your home, inconveniencing you,” I stutter my answer looking up at him again.

“Well,” he says smiling as he showcases his gorgeous teeth marking his kissable mouth and slightly leaning in but never touching, “I have a couple of spare guestrooms in my apartment. You are more than welcome use one of them... tonight. Do you wish me to stay in my apartment, Ellie?” he asks in the most seductive tone. My heart is pounding in my ears. Is it his proximity or my earlier experience? I swallow. My lips part and I slowly exhale. My body gets hotter, and I press my knees together to suppress a foreign urge I never had before. Other than the small glint in his eyes, he doesn’t give me any other indication of his thoughts.

“It’s your apartment. I couldn’t put you out... Do you make a habit of letting your employees stay with you?”

“No, never,” he replies decidedly and firmly looking at me with his piercing eyes. “However, my close security detail as well as my personal assistant must know both my apartment and my home in and out as you may be required to work around the clock sometimes. Part of the job...” he says shrugging as if he has this discussion every day. “But, tonight, you would just. Be. A. Guest...” he adds softly.

“Oh,” I reply disappointed. Of course... Part of the job... I wonder if the Busty One and Two had spent the night as guests in his apartment. From the bits and pieces of their conversation I’ve heard, they probably spent the night as super-duper special guests, and mostly making love through the night. Oddly, jealousy burns me inside, and I close my eyes tightly, my face has a pained expression.

“Ellie, are you hurting?” he says in a low voice his hands immediately holding my shoulders trying to decipher my facial expression. The connection jolts me, making me shudder, puts me in full awareness of his presence. When I turn my head, I’m face to face with him, and all I can focus on is his chiseled mouth. I force myself to look up to his eyes, and they are concern laced, and somehow so familiar. His dark blue gaze is focused on my face, on my reaction. His hair is dark and wavy and cut short. I almost wish that his hair was longer. Long enough for me to run my fingers through. I feel a blush creep up on my face with my wayward thought and I close my eyes.

“Ellie? What’s wrong?” he asks as one of his hands gently runs on my cheek. This soft, sensual touch awakens feelings in me I didn’t know existed, clenching muscles inside me I have never utilized, and I find myself leaning into his soft caresses. The feeling is so new, so enticing, so captivating, yet oddly and distantly familiar. Can I work for this man when I feel this intense attraction for him? Every time he has female company I’m going to feel jealous and I have no right to! What if he has a girlfriend or preapproved female companions? Considering even the employees he chooses to work for him has to be screened before they even get an interview, who is to say he doesn’t have an entire department dedicated approving their body proportions and sexual skills before they can occupy his bed. Oh, shit! I groan in pain. Immediately both his hands are gently on my face pushing my hair back, examining me. When I open my eyes, we’re only inches apart. I swallow hard. His gaze is intense, probing; some hidden pain is barely evident in that burning gaze of his.

“Ellie? Please, talk to me,” his voice is urgent. 

“Yes,” I croak. His relief is evident with that single word. Corner of his kissable mouth twitches into a half smile.

“Are you alright? How do you feel?” he asks without blinking, or taking away his intense gaze from my face. I nod my head.

“I... should go. I have to pack. If I stay, I won’t have anything to take with me, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want a less than presentable personal assistant.”

“But you’re not well. I can’t take a chance of my new assistant having an accident on the way home because I let you go. Clothing articles can be purchased here...” he says. But I know the grand total in my bank account; I can’t even afford a pair of boots. And his heady, intoxicating proximity is not letting me make a coherent decision. I lower my eyes. I don’t want him to see the depths of my desire for him.  

“I’m alright, really... Since I’m going to be moving to LA, I shouldn’t add extra expenses when I already have those items. I have to be careful with my finances Mr. Pella. After all, you’re only giving me a week’s trial, and you could easily say no at the end of the week...” and he opens his mouth to say something, but I interrupt.

“Before you say, you pay for your close security’s and assistants’ required clothing, I’d like to express that I don’t want to be beholden to my new boss...” I say, then amending, I add, “new boss pending the trial week, I mean.” A ghost of a smile creeps up his lips. His hands slowly fall onto his own laps making me feel bereft and longing, and his right index finger and thumb go up to his face, absently caress his bottom lip as if he’s contemplating. What if he’s thinking I’m too much trouble to hire? This unfamiliar desire in me for him is almost unbearable, excessive, urgent, overwhelming and even turbulent. Is this healthy, or even normal? But I never wanted anything normal, or ordinary. I love the intensity of life. In one hand I don’t want to be in the same house with a biological mother who dislikes me, a mother who is overwhelmingly selfish to the point of wanting to get me locked up to manage my upcoming inheritance leaving me wanting to be far, far away from her. In the other hand the I am looking at this insanely, angelically beautiful specimen, a man whose one sideway glance, a single touch, even single step he takes towards me screams sexual intensity, sensuality, and rapacious craving. Can I even live with it if I see him sparing the touch, the glance, the step for someone else? This is not good at all. I’ve met him less than twenty-four hours ago. I’ll be mess at the end of the week. But then, I think I will learn to not to be so numb to life. I decide that I want the intensity, even if he has girlfriends in every town.

“Miss Duncan, you would not be beholden to me in any shape or form. I’m the one who is asking you to stay. It is but a small price to pay for the peace of mind and assure your safety.”

“Thank you but, I can’t accept it...” I respond in a small voice. But he’s not giving up.

“How about a compromise then... Anthony drives you to Montecito, you pack, say goodbye to your family for the week and he drives you back to LA today.”

“Huh?” I ask. Clearly this is less than articulate for a woman who speaks four languages fluently. But I don’t understand what sort of compromise this is. I don’t know if he heard me; if he did, he manages ignores my remark without any acknowledgement and continues.

“That way, you’re not beholden to me, and you can start acquainting yourself with my apartment or home since you will have to if you are working for me. As part of your job, you are required to be at hand at a moment’s notice in either location as well as here, or any other place I may require you to. You start your trial today. That’s the compromise I’m offering you,” he explains his gaze unwavering and penetrating through me but with utmost professionalism, with ease in his demands, and a slight tinge of arrogance of a man who is used to getting his way at all times.

“Okay, Mr. Pella.”

“Okay, you’re staying, or okay you start working today?” he asks in a tightly reined control, but some hidden worry causes a slight slip on his carefully donned mask showing me what a troubled soul he is. The gaze he gives me has immense power with a voracious hunger, a relentless demand to get his way and an absolute control of his orderly world. Any fool can see that he’s a dangerous man; but oddly, every nerve on my body screams that the danger is not to me, that he will keep me safe.

“I start working today,” I reply simply to this man I feel I can’t or I don’t wish to say no. He takes his smart phone out of his pocket, and speed dials someone. Without breaking his gaze from me, he speaks into the speaker.

“Anthony, you are driving Ms. Duncan to Montecito, and driving her back with her packed luggage,” he says, and listens a response.

“Within the next 10 minutes,” he replies, and he hangs up.

“Mr. Pella, since I’m going to be working for your, at least all next week, is there anyone I need to acquaint myself with? Your other staff, family members, wife, girlfriend?” I ask nonchalantly, or at least I hope it’s nonchalant. My question is unexpected and a bright glint comes to his eyes as his breath hitches. My question takes him by surprise. 

“You will meet my immediate staff and security detail soon. Tomorrow perhaps... My family members,” he says and there’s a tinge of pain in his carefully uttered words, “are either dead, or we’ve lost touch. There are no women I care enough to acquaint you with.”

What do I say to this answer? His family members are either dead or he lost touch with them. That’s really sad. I’ve no one to call family except my uncle and my nanny. Sarah doesn’t count. Would this be a bad time to mention the Busty One, and Busty Two I met downstairs?

“Well, uhm... I’ve met two ladies downstairs after my interview with you, and I couldn’t help but hear their rather brazen conversation. They were indicating to each other that both of them were well acquainted with you in more ways than one. I thought maybe one of them might be your girlfriend,” I say shrugging. He cocks his head to one side, lowers himself to connect with my gaze. His stare has fire in them, hot, demanding, and inquisitive.

“You will find many other women talking about me. Just part of the façade. I haven’t had anyone worthy of introduction in a very... very...very long time,” he says enunciating.

What does that mean? He just fucks them and leaves them? Do I want to find out? Who was the last woman he cared about very very very long time ago?

There’s a knock on his door, and without an answer, a tall, muscular man with a military precision enters into the office.

“Mr. Pella. I’m ready to drive Miss Duncan to Montecito. In her vehicle or one of ours sir?” he asks, and nods in my direction in greeting.

“One of ours,” he replies. It’d be easier to carry her luggage.

“Whenever you’re ready Miss Duncan, I shall drive you,” he says turning to me, and I get up.

“I’m ready.”

“I’ll see you this evening Miss Duncan,” says Alex with a threat, or promise in his voice. My breath hitches, my gaze is on him unable to look away. Why can’t I control my reaction in his sensual and electrifying proximity? I take his extended hand and shake it, and let the jolt go through my body, a welcome reaction now. When I pull my hand away, Antony is holding the door open for me. Alex follows us out; a silent conversation goes through between the two.

And the feeling of de ja vue sweeps me up again.

“Until tonight...” his words hang in the air, a promise and a threat.

“Alex,” I nod and Anthony and I enter into the elevator car, leaving Alex intensely gazing at the closing doors.