Kristen Ashley - Knight

What on earth was he doing?

Again, light left on, he swung out and moved to my bedroom.

My body jolted and I called, “Um… Knight?” but he didn’t hesitate, the light went on and he disappeared behind the door.

Seriously, what on earth?

“Knight?” I called, taking two steps into my apartment but he reappeared and prowled with his long-legged strides to me, face still impassive but eyes on me.

He stopped in front of me and held my keys out to me.

“You’re good,” he declared as I took them. “Nice to meet you, Anya.”

Uh… what?

Then his eyes went to the door, they narrowed on it strangely like the sight of my door pissed him off in a not at all vague way, he looked back at me and his eyes unnarrowed but the pissed off look didn’t go away.

Then he muttered, “Jesus.”

I stared at him, confused. Or, I should say, profoundly confused.

Before I could ask, though I was uncertain I would, he went out the door, stopped in it, turned back, his eyes leveled on me and he commanded, “Lock this after me, babe. Pointless but it’s somethin’.”

Then he was gone.

I was sitting on the wraparound balcony. The cushions on the wrought iron furniture were comfy. The view of the Front Range was awesome. The sun was warm. I had a piece of toast in my hand and was about to take a bite when I stopped and twisted my neck to look over my shoulder.

Knight was walking to me, dark gray, drawstring pajama bottoms on, long-ish hair sexy messy from sleep, chest with its enticing array of dark hair bared, eyes on me.

I felt my lips curve.

“Hey,” I whispered.

He didn’t reply.

He walked to me, his hand gathering my hair then twisting it around, he tugged my head back. It wasn’t gentle, it was rough, a hint of pain spiking through my scalp and shooting pleasure straight between my legs. So much, I felt my lips part as I watched his strikingly handsome face coming toward me.

I closed my eyes slowly and waited impatiently for his lips to hit mine.

* * *

I opened my eyes and I was in Mrs. Herndon’s room. Second grade. I was sitting at my desk but I was an adult so the desk didn’t fit me. There was a knock at the door, all the kids’ eyes went to it and I felt my heart clutch, my stomach drop.

I remembered this. I’d never forget it. Not ever. Not ever.

Not ever.

Mrs. Herndon got up from her desk at the front of the room and walked to the door.

Don’t go there! Don’t open that door! My mind screamed but I sat at that desk that was too small for me and just watched, not able to move, not able to do anything, just sit there, powerless, about to be cast adrift, lost in a way that felt like forever.

She disappeared behind the door and I kept my eyes glued to it, waiting… waiting…

She came back in and her gaze came right to me. I remembered that too. I’d never forget. Not ever. Not ever.

Not ever.

Her face was gentle and kind, tender, embattled, pained.

No! No, no, no, no!

Then he walked through. Knight. His eyes on me too, his face blank, giving nothing away. But relief washed through me.

This wasn’t how it happened. This was different. Better. Out there in the world a child had no control over, everything was torn from me but I had him. I had him.

Knight was there. Tall, broad, strong, dangerous. I could lean on him. He’d be there for me.

And he was. Without hesitation he walked to my desk, bent and grabbed my hand. His fingers closing warm and firm around mine, he pulled me away from the desk.

Right. Good. This was good. I could face this. I could face the pain. The loss. I could face this with Knight at my side.

My fingers curled deeper into his and his hand gave me a squeeze as he walked me through the room, all my classmates’ eyes on me, Mrs. Herndon’s head tipped slightly to the side, her eyes bright, tears shimmering.

We moved to pass her and I whispered to Mrs. Herndon, “I have Knight. It’s all gonna be okay.”

Her head jerked slightly, her face became confused and her eyes lifted to Knight.

He walked me through the door, taking me toward unbearable pain.

Unbearable pain that this time I knew Knight would ease.

* * *

We walked out the door of my second grade classroom, Knight was gone and I was swept in a flood of water that flowed though the corridor. I tried to strike out toward a door knob, anything to grab on but I was moving uncontrollably toward the wall at the end of the corridor. Then the water and me broke through the wall, the bricks exploding and I was in a swelled, rushing river. Nature all around. Me careening down the river, powerless. Huge boulders rising from the water came at me but the current swept me to the side before I could crash into one and be broken to bits.

I fought, moved my arms, my legs, trying to direct myself to the shore but nothing I did changed the direction the flow was taking me.

I looked to the shore and saw Vivica running along it, her mouth open, her eyes terrified, shouting but no sound coming out. She tripped and fell to her hands and knees and disappeared.

Then there was Sandrine, running like Vivica, eyes on me, fear etched in her face. But suddenly Nick was there. She stopped, looked up at him, smiled and threw herself in his arms. His head bent, her hands went into his hair and they started kissing.

Figured.

Then, weirdly, since I hadn’t seen him in years, there was my high school boyfriend, Sean. He was running along the shore too, his arms moving in a breast stroke, calling out instructions, I knew, even though no sound came out. I did what he said but nothing helped, I kept whirling and gliding violently with the stream.

“Anya!” he shouted, his voice tortured then he ran into a tree and vanished.

And then there was my aunt. She didn’t move. Just stood on the shore, arms crossed on her chest, mouth smirking.

That figured too.

I lost sight of her and kept moving, fighting, exhausted, terrified out of my mind. I was going to smash into one of those boulders. I knew it. I knew.

No, no. Fear pulsed through me as I saw up ahead the river falling away to nothing.

And there I was, alone, lost in a current I couldn’t fight, careening headlong into nothing.

Then I felt him and my head jerked to the shore.

Knight.

He wasn’t running along the side. Without hesitation, he dove in, his long body slicing through the air and into the water then he was cutting through it, his powerful arms bringing him straight to me.

Thank God, Knight.

Thank God, I wasn’t going to face nothing alone.

I’d have Knight.

He made it to me, his arms wrapping around me, one hand sliding up my neck, into my wet hair, cupping the back of my head. My legs fought through the water to wrap around his hips as our bodies met, my arms wrapped tight around him and I held on.

“You’re here,” I whispered.

He didn’t respond. He just held my eyes and held on.

And we slid over the edge, together, holding tight, into nothing.

* * *

My eyes blinked open as my body jolted, still in freefall from my dream.

I was breathing slightly heavily, trying to shake away the dream.

I dreamed a lot. It started in second grade. I remembered them when I woke up. They were clear, vivid, powerful. It didn’t happen every night but it happened frequently. Sometimes they were good. Sometimes they were horrifying.

I steadied my breath and shook off my dream.

Then I got up to an elbow, lifting my other hand to pull my hair away from my face and looking to the window with my misty, pretty (but cheap) curtains over the slightly battered Venetian blinds that came with the apartment. I felt under me the abrasive, worn pills of the cheap sheets I’d had too long but I knew, after I bought my new cell phone, new, nicer sheets were on the schedule.

And I tried not to think about the fact that I could still feel Knight’s arms tight around me.

After I parked, I hurried to the trunk, opened it up, grabbed my canvas bags filled with groceries, swinging one over my shoulder with my purse and grabbing the other two. Then I put one to the cement of the parking lot, slammed the trunk, snatched it up and hurried.

It was the Wednesday after the Saturday night party at Knight-slash-Nick’s. Saturday night (or, really, Sunday morning), I’d dreamed of Knight. I’d also dreamed of him Monday night. And last night.

And I couldn’t get him out of my head.

I knew why and there were several reasons. One, he was hot. He might be scary but scary never eradicated hot. Or, at least, not his kind of hot. Two, he’d given me nothing. Well, he’d given me his anger, a hint he had a sense of humor and a tendency toward throwaway chivalrous gestures but other than that, nothing. He didn’t laugh, smile or talk very much. I knew he didn’t like Russians. I knew he didn’t like loud parties, people and mess in his apartment. I knew he had money and good taste or sense enough (and the finances) to hire someone who did. But other than that, I knew nothing. Not even his last name. And, not knowing much, I didn’t want him to but he intrigued me. Three, he’d picked me up and I’d felt his hard-muscled shoulders and the power of his body. It was affecting. I wasn’t heavy but I certainly wasn’t slight. This, too, intrigued me but in a very different way.