Page 8

Veronica

A t Pennywise Books, Everstead’s biggest bookstore, Raidon stands near a bookshelf; Everstead is only a couple of miles from Veronica’s hometown, Golden Creek.

He is looking over the back of a book— Raven and the Dawn of Blood— a pair of thin-framed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. His amber eyes blaze with fervent zeal. Anyone can tell the summary written at the back of the book is intriguing.

Three weeks ago, he was just the man Veronica met at Fitz’s Lit and Brew —she and Shiro’s favorite coffee shop.

Seated at the room’s back, he had stood out against the shop’s dark aesthetic. And there was something about his pale skin that made him look like moonlight frozen in time. She had never seen eyes as intensely brown as his—like melted amber caught in a dying flame. And that day, those eyes truly burned right through her skin.

No man she has ever seen compared to his beauty. Dressed head-to-toe in designer clothing, his exotic and graceful carriage had caused her heart to flutter. But the dark aura surrounding him also made her afraid. He commanded power even without saying too much.

A single word, “No,” from him that day, nearly brought her to the point of collapse, her knees weak.

Their differences were glaringly apparent and she doubted they would ever cross paths again. With the darkness exuding off him, the way his eyes seemed to hold death in its depth, she wasn’t even sure she could ever handle being in the same space with him again.

But last week, as if she unknowingly dared fate, she saw him again at The Lumina Dome , where she went for a book signing.

But he was different. Not because he was a 6’5 tall man with an imposing presence yet doubling over with a panic attack. No. That wasn’t it at all. It was because compared to their coffee shop meeting, he seemed milder, and his eyes were kinder that day.

It was as if he was a different person from the one at the coffee shop. Except that he was not. It was the same man. Maybe he was having a bad day then. Perhaps he disliked interacting with strangers, thus his initial reaction was coldness.

Maybe comfort around someone was the prerequisite for his kindness.

And when he walked to Veronica on the park bench when the event was over, she concluded that he needed to establish friendship or trust. And maybe he realized he could be kinder to her because she was there for him in what could be one of the most difficult moments of his life.

When they exchanged numbers, she really wasn’t bold enough to wait for his call. But even if she had failed to recognize it, it was right there, a flicker of hope. Maybe life was giving her another chance at love. What could she say? She was a desperately hopeless romantic. And she always sought love in the smile, laughter or eyes of every man she met…including Ian Petrakis, the man who she has formed a habit of checking her phone for, each day should he decide to call or text.

When she received a call from an unknown number earlier this morning while at school, her fingers had trembled because it was a strange country code that flashed across the screen of her phone.

It was him.

He said he was in town. She asked if he was having a panic attack. And she had chuckled, even though he didn’t find it funny. He didn’t laugh.

He said he wanted to get some books. So he was hoping she could assist him with that. Then she offered to take him to a bookstore that literally had almost every fantasy book he could ever need on his shelf.

Five hours after the call, and here they are. She is still in her uniform because he had picked her up right from the front of the school.

“You’re staring.” His voice remains rich, deep and husky. “Is there a problem?”

His golden brown eyes have lifted from the book, locking on hers that has indeed been shamelessly ogling at him.

Heat crawls up her cheeks. “Yes.” Her voice is soft, timid, but she doesn’t care to hide her flushed cheeks behind the curtain of her wavy red hair. She doesn’t have them in braids today, not a messy ponytail, either. Today, she let them fall in their own, naturally wavy curls, resting on her shoulder, framing her oval face.

“Really?” He folds his arms across his chest, his brow lifted.

He is right. Everything isn’t okay.

She is standing in the same room with a man whose beauty rivals the gods, elegance that only could have been believable if it’s between the pages of a book.

Veronica isn’t the kind of girl who meets men like him. Men who command a room without even speaking a word. Men who carry power like a second skin.

Men like him shouldn’t be found around girls like her. The cursed girls. The ones fate and time have forgotten. The ones left to suffer for the sins of their fathers.

Raidon Volkov is a dream, though the one at the coffee shop had looked like a nightmare. But here she is, nonetheless, standing in front of him.

“I highly doubt it because it’s kind of a romantic-fantasy and you’ve made it so obvious with the books you’ve picked so far that you’re anti-romantic,” she says. “But by any chance, have you read Runes and Starlight ?”

He shakes his head, the dim bookstore light reflecting off his silver-white hair, which is neatly pushed back into a half-bun, a few loose strands brushing over his perfectly sculpted face.

“You kinda remind me of Draven Forrest.” A shy smile is drawn across her lips. “I mean, he was the bad guy, but he was so cool and unhinged and the way the author described his look made him have more fangirls than the so-called, slimy, pretentious, self-righteous Jude Archangel.” She makes a disgruntled face, then her gaze flickers back to him.

He is watching her. Those fiery eyes boring into her soul, burning right through the fabric of her defense, stilling her breath as her heartbeat staggers.

She forces herself to break away from the curse of his stare, then clears her throat. Her fingers tremble as they glide through the shelf she is standing next to. She can still feel his eyes on her, unwavering, unrelenting. They make her nervous. They make her feel like with time, she will melt in front of him.

She pulls out a book from the shelf. By the skull and roses on the cover, it is without doubt, a dark romance novel.

“Don’t you wanna try something outside your usual genre?” She holds the front of the book to him, a cheeky grin on her lips.

Raidon glances at the book and his lips press into a firm line.

“No.”

“Oh, come on.” She persists, ignoring the faint tick of his jaw. “It’s good to try something new, you know.”

Without a word, he covers the short distance between them, plucks the book from her hands and tucks it back into the shelf she pulled it out of.

“No,” he says again, this time, more firmly.

Veronica blinks, dumbfounded by his action. She has never seen someone show so much resistance to change.

“Hmm, are you neophobic, Commander?” she asks casually, her step falling faintly behind his heavy and calculated ones as he heads away from the shelf toward another one.

He pauses mid journey without warning, and Veronica bumps right into his muscular back.

She knows his pale appearance rather speaks of elegance and immortality, and not of the fragility of a China doll, but she wasn’t expecting him to be this strong. The force of the impact is almost enough to send her barreling backward and landing on her ass.

“Are you okay?” He flips around with a swift motion, his hand gently grabbing her shoulder.

Her breath catches as the heat of his touch sears her skin. He is close to her. Too, too close. And his intoxicating scent—sandalwood and rose with a hint of earth—invades her nostrils, clings to her skin, making her feel dizzy.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper.

Her heart is still racing. And when she looks up at him, he is staring at her, as if not convinced enough, as if searching for any sign of danger. His movement to hold her must have forced a curl loose from the bun as a silvery white strand rests over his left eye.

Veronica can’t breathe. The image—white hair clashing with amber eyes—burns right into her vision like fire meeting eyes, a collision of opposites, as if the moon were moments from eclipsing the sun.

There is no way she is not recreating this unforgettable image in her tablet tonight.

The realization that he is still holding her shoulders flickers in his eyes. And with a soft clearing of his throat, he lifts off his hands, taking a step away from her.

He leans against the shelf they are standing by, like a man completely at ease, his hands thrusting inside the pocket of his designer pants.

“I don’t have a fear of trying new things.” He cranes his neck slightly, voice quiet yet still heavy.

She beams, nodding. “Every man must have a fear no matter how indomitable he thinks he is.”

She turns and pulls a book from the shelf. “I’m guessing yours is reading romance books.”

She knows one of his fears. And it is crowded places. It will be too ignorant of her not to notice it. However, it will be too heartless of her to mention it, too. He is a soldier. They aren’t meant to show weakness in public. And that day at the event, he must have been so embarrassed. He was falling apart under the gaze of strangers. That must have been traumatizing. He must have buried the memory. Bringing it up wouldn’t be nice.

“But, darling,” he murmurs, and as if a book suddenly catches his eyes on the opposite shelf, he lifts his body off the shelf he is leaning against, then crosses over, pulling out the book. “I am not every man.”

Darling.

He called her darling.

Veronica’s stomach flips, the familiar, yet rich word echoing in her mind. This isn’t fair. He is treading on dangerous territory with the sweetly reckless way he has thrown the word at her—oblivious to the fact that she is a stupid, hopeless romantic who is capable of falling in love with a man who offers her nothing but a smile, let alone calling her something so personal and passionate.

She grips the book in her hand tighter, desperate to feel something solid before she will collapse.

“What about death?” she asks, searching for something that might crack his composure. “Most are afraid of death.”

Raidon’s lips curl slightly. It isn’t a smile. Not quite. But it makes her spine go rigid.

“Veronica,” he drawls lazily and her lips part. This is the first time he is calling her by her name. And it sounds so foreign and exquisite.

“Death and I have come a long way, you know,” he continues, flipping through the pages of the book he picked up earlier. It’s House of Death and Ash.

His golden eyes flicker to hers. “I have no reason to be afraid of my oldest friend.”

Veronica barely processes his words. She is still stuck in the way her name sounded on his tongue.

The rustle of papers and the sound of his footsteps heading away, though, snaps her back to reality. He is by the next shelf, another title in his hand.

“Let’s take that,” she says, picking another copy of the book, making sure it’s the right one. “I haven’t read it. But the buzz has been all over all the book blogs I follow. People say it’s great.”

Her heart still pounds, and his scent is still all over her. But she tries her very best to ignore him. She is quickly developing a massive crush on him, and she can no longer pretend she hasn’t thought about what it will feel like to kiss those full lips of his.

And those thoughts make her feel a tiny level of guilt in her heart. Every time her heart skips a beat, she will think about Ian, and feel like a horrible person that she is. Somehow, thinking of moving on from a man who has clearly made it obvious that it’s over between them, feels like she is doing something really terrible.

But she is a girl obsessed with the idea of being held with a gentle hand, sweet forehead kisses, and a wild sex filled with passion and unspoken words of affection. She is a girl constantly desperate for the attention and devotion of a man. She is insatiable, always hungry for that love and care. And staying nearly a month without it makes her body feel wrong. She wants to move on. But the guilt of ruining Ian Petrakis’s life is holding her back.

She feels like she doesn’t deserve to move on to another man. Not until she has found a way to put Ian’s life back in order.

But she isn’t sure how long she can resist this man before her. Because if he as much as makes it obvious that he is into her today, Ian Petrakis will surely become a nearly forgotten memory.

The soft snap of a book being shut jolts her out of her thoughts again. Her brows furrow. He is returning the book back to the shelf.

“Why?” she asks.

“Reviews are subjective.” He walks to the next side of the shelf, scanning it.

“Um, okay?” She reaches over and plucks out the book he returned.

“The reviewers aren’t you.”

Veronica blinks, still confused. “And?”

“I came here so I could get books based on your recommendation, not some reviewers in your favorite blogs.” His fingers graze over the spine of other titles on the shelf, then his gaze falls on her again. “So I can’t read it until you confirm it’s worth my time.”

Her heart skips again, her cheeks flushed red. Is he flirting with her or something? Does he have an idea that this is him flirting?

“Okay, how about we both grab a copy each and buddy-read?” she suggests, thrusting a copy into his hand. “We start on the same day, same time and race to the finishing line.”

Raidon exhales through his nose, a thoughtful look crossing his expression as he turns the book over and over in his hands.

“I have never done that before.”

“Me neither,” she beams. “If we like it, we can do it again. Might even become our thing.” She pauses to gauge his expression. “How about that, Snow white?”

The nickname makes something warm settle in his gaze. When she called him that at the bookfair, she didn’t think she was going to stick to it. She didn’t really think they would meet again, to be honest. It was the first thing that came to her mind the moment her eyes fell on him. Icy hair, icy eyebrows, icy lashes, and pale skin.

“Okay,” he murmurs, his hand clenching around the book. “We can do that.”

They continue to surf shelves. And an hour later, their cart is filled with over fifty books, most which Veronica already read and loved. And she can’t wait for him to experience that thrill she felt when she read them for the first time.

They are outside now. He came with two soldiers. One handling the wheel, while one acts as the assigned guard. The one behind the wheel is still there, waiting for the command to hit the road running, while the bodyguard is by the trunk, putting the books away.

The sun is waning now, casting a long shadow across the parking lot. The wind brings along the buttery scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery.

Raidon turns to her as they stand by the opened door of the backseat. Something warm flickers in his eyes, a barely-there softness that makes her stomach twist.

Then he murmurs, low and quiet, “Thank you.”

“For what?” she asks, tucking her phone into her jeans pocket, ignoring Shiro’s text to not forget they have a movie date by 6pm.

“For helping me get some books.” There is no smile, no visible shift in his stoic expression. But there is a genuine sincerity in his voice.

Her fingers itch to lift and brush away the strands of hair the wind has combed against his face.

“Anything for a friend.”

The word friend suddenly feels like needles pressing into her tongue. You don’t think about kissing your friend. You don’t burn for their touch. And your heart must definitely not race at the thought of having a relationship with them.

This has to be the fastest way she has ever developed a crush on any man. Calling him a friend feels…painful, wrong.

“Should um…” she murmurs hesitantly, shyly tucking a loose strand behind her ear. “Should we grab coffee over there?”

Raidon glances at the café across the street, his expression unreadable, as if weighing something heavier than just a coffee date.

Lifting his hand, though, he turns his wrist to glance at his wristwatch, then his gaze flickers back to her.

“Of course—” He is saying until a low guttural sound rips from his lips—part growl, part agonizing howl. His hands fly to cradle his head as if something inside there is tearing him apart. He staggers, his body buckling.

Veronica’s pulse spikes, everything happening in a blur of motion; the soldier by the trunk pushing past her to steady him, the one by the wheel leaping out to hold him.

In his soldiers steady arms, Raidon groans, veins straining against his neck and temple. And his breaths are sharp and ragged.

Veronica’s heart pounds, her legs shaking.

What is happening?

“No, no, no,” he whispers, barely audible, his voice thick with pain. “No, not now, not now.” He sounds broken, desperate.

The soldiers begin to usher him to the car, one of them bumping into Veronica, who has barely lifted a foot, causing her to nearly lose her footing.

“Stop!” Raidon yells, his voice trembling as he braces his hands against the door like a wild animal resiting a cage.

“Leave me here,” he says, his body trembling. “Take her home.”

“But boss—”

“—Get inside the car, Veronica!”

Veronica freezes, the order striking harder than it should have. And his eyes. God, his eyes. The warmth in those golden eyes from earlier have nearly vanished, almost replaced by something else entirely. A distant storm churns in them, unruly, like a tempest on the verge of breaking loose.

“Get inside the car.”

Before she can move, he breaks past his soldiers and reaches for her. His fingers curl around her shoulders—not the gentle touch from earlier at the bookstore, but firm and desperate, his talons digging into her skin.

“Please, d-don’t call me, okay?” His voice cracks, fear woven into every word. “Don’t call at all. I’ll—I’ll call you, alright?”

Fear slides down her spine, ice-cold and unrelenting. She doesn’t understand what is happening, and the sheer panic in his voice terrifies her. Raidon is afraid, not for himself, but for her.

Why? What is he afraid of? What or who is going to hurt her?

To his plea, she nods anyway, and one of the soldiers, the one behind the wheel, comes forward and pulls her into the car. The door slams shut, locking her in.

The engine comes to life immediately, tires screeching as they pull out of the parking lot.

Through the tinted window, Veronica watches. Raidon is on his knees now, the soldier gripping him tightly. His mouth moves, but his words are muted due to the distance between them. And he looks like a man being torn apart from the inside.

Veronica’s heart keeps pounding. Not for once did her gaze break away from them. She watches until the images blur. And even long after he is out of her sight, his sound of agony still echoes in her ears.

What exactly is happening?

And why is he so afraid, desperate to get her out of sight as if danger is coming, as if the danger will aim for her and her alone?