Amanda Bonilla: Blood Before Sunrise

Delilah laughed, a smirk pulling at her thin, dry lips. “Brakae.”

“Beware the Man from The Ring.”

Her lyrical voice echoed in my ears, so sure for a child so small. She couldn’t have been more than four or five.

“Who is he?” I asked.

The little girl skipped around me in a circle, arms outstretched as if she played a game of ring-around-the-rosy with invisible playmates. “He is the wolf of the battlefield. Once the right hand of the goddess Badb, and the first true protector. Wronged, betrayed, exiled, by those whom he trusted most. He will hunt you down and use you for his own devices.”

I just couldn’t understand what it was about the supernatural lexicon that required everything to be spoken in rhyme or riddle. Besides being annoying, it flat-out pissed me off.

“Honey, how about giving me a straight answer?” I said, spinning around, trailing her movement. As she skipped, her waist-length curly black hair bounced like hundreds of springs, framing her lovely pale face and sapphire blue eyes. A bright but serious smile curved her lips.

“He is coming,” she said, circling me one last time before running off toward a distant knoll where the swaying grass swallowed her up. “Beware.”

I sat straight up in bed and gripped my head between my hands to stop the room from spinning. I still felt dizzy from turning in circles, and dreams weren’t supposed to carry over into wakefulness. Wonderful.

The sun sat at the cusp of the horizon. I sensed its rising as a tingling of my skin, and its scent came to me as warm and smelling of earth after a long rain. As I lay in bed, the gray hour of dawn faded into bright morning, and no matter how I tried, I couldn’t banish the disturbing dream from my mind. Her energy had felt so real, rippling across my skin like satiny shadows, and the faint luminescence of her eyes confirmed that she was a Shaede. I’d never seen a Shaede child, let alone dreamt of one for that matter. But a Shaede she was, and her warning stirred a moment of disquiet in me I’d been trying very hard to ignore. It seemed I just couldn’t leave danger in my wake.

Slipping out from between the sheets, I padded toward the kitchen. I looked around the small space, took in the clean, polished concrete countertops, the soft white leather of the sofa. I breathed in the aroma of hardwood and carpeting. Cold air seemed to circulate through my studio apartment, twining around my ankles upward-or, at least, I thought it felt that way. Since my transformation, I had to recognize my senses in an entirely different way. And every day since then, I’d been relearning how to feel comfortable in my own skin-not an easy task.

Time ticked away inside my chest like a separate heartbeat; another souvenir I’d taken away from my Enphigmalé Island excursion. I’d changed during my time there, an evolution of my being that had come to completion under the black skies of a solar eclipse-a single moment in time when night became day and day became night. I tried for a moment to expel the sensation of time slipping through my body as I focused on the remembrance of quiet. How I longed for silence. But, like a cruel joke, the sound of seconds passing echoed in my soul, reminding me that I’d never have that kind of peace again. Yep, I was a lucky girl.

My phone rang, a pleasant distraction from time’s steady cadence. I checked the caller ID. Unknown . I lifted the receiver. “Who is this?” I answered in a cordial-for-me voice.

“Xander wants to see you,” a bitchy female voice on the other end said. “Now.”

I didn’t need to check the phone to know she’d already disconnected the call. Anya liked me about as much as oil liked water. I didn’t exactly harbor any warm fuzzies for her either. It could have been natural female adversity that pitted us against each other, but I suspected that deep down, Anya hated me because I didn’t regard her with the same level of fear and respect the rest of Xander’s subjects exhibited. Or maybe she just didn’t like my taste in clothes. I certainly didn’t care for hers.

The early-morning sun peeked out from the remnants of last night’s storm clouds and glittered through the skylights above me. I ran my hand through the yellow rays, my skin quivering like a mirage against desert sand. I watched in wonder as my arm began to fade into the light; then I sharply pulled away, rubbing my skin as if I’d been burned. It didn’t hurt, not really. I just wasn’t used to the sensation yet. My shoulders slumped, and with a sigh, I faded, becoming nothing more than a whisper on the air.

I traveled like a breath of wind through Xander’s too-large mansion and found the High King seated at a table in the solarium, watching the eastern horizon and sipping from a porcelain cup.

As I stepped from nothingness into my solid form beside the chair, Xander’s eyes drifted shut and the corners of his mouth lifted, hinting at a smile.

“Good morning,” he said.

“You wanted to see me?” I allowed the aggravation to seep through my voice.

“Mmm,” he answered with a sigh. “Yes, I did.”

His voice reached out to touch me in a velvet caress. Xander had the most alluring voice I’d ever heard, smooth and seductive, and he tried to use it to his advantage.

“Well,” I said, tapping my foot, “what the hell do you want?”

“Sit.”

“Excuse me? Last time I checked, I wasn’t yours to command.”

“Sit.”

He motioned to the chair opposite him just before a Shaede with bright platinum hair walked in, carrying a tray laden with a breakfast spread that would have put any of Seattle’s best eateries to shame. Fruit, fresh-baked croissants, eggs Benedict, and a couple of other baked goods that looked like fancy breakfast Hot Pockets. She plunked down two plates, and I stifled a groan. The High King must have been pretty confident that I’d show up at just the right time. Xander was such a count-his-chickens sort of guy.

“I like your outfit, by the way,” he said as he watched the platinum-haired Shaede leave. “I don’t often see you in white.”

I shrugged as I lowered myself into the chair, conveying my displeasure through the slits of my eyes. I hated his small talk. He didn’t give two shits what color I wore. In fact, I was willing to bet he’d prefer to see me wear nothing at all. I didn’t wear white-much-but since my transformation, I’d been wearing the color more often. He’d known I’d come straight over after Anya’s call. And the fact that he’d maneuvered me with aplomb raised my hackles.

I ignored his smile and sparkling gaze and poured myself a cup of ultradark coffee. I added a splash of cream, paying more attention to my actions than they warranted. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Xander sitting very still, disregarding his meal the way I disregarded him. He watched me with hungry eyes.

“What does it feel like?” he almost whispered.

“What does what feel like?” I asked, stabbing at my food.

“The light.”

I shrugged and popped a melon ball in my mouth. His curiosity about my enhanced state didn’t surprise me. And he wasn’t alone in his interest. I’d become a one-woman freak show-a new and unique creature, truly the only one of my kind.

“Neither Shaede nor Lyhtan be…” The words chanted by the suicidal teens who’d held me prisoner for the Enphigmalé echoed in my mind. “I don’t know,” I said, forcing the unpleasant memories away. “I guess it sort of…tingles.”

Xander looked to his plate as if embarrassed by his question. I’d never known him to be anything but unapologetic, though, and I reveled in his awkward moment before changing the subject. “Are you going to tell me why I’m here?”