Chapter 004
1278 Words
Chapter 004
Nate's POV
The aroma of cigar smoke and roses filled the air. Everyone was dressed in gold and black. The atmosphere provided the perfect distraction. I watched the girl in white while leaning against the auction room's far wall.
Millie.
No, Amy.
She avoided eye contact with me. didn't even sense my presence. She simply gave the elderly man who was shaking her hand a courteous smile. I ought to have detested that smile. However, it melted me just as it had back then.
"Do you want champagne, sir?"
The waiter's tray shook a little.
I dismissed him with a wave. Already, my throat was burning. It was anger, not thirst. from heartache. from the years I clawed my way back here while living in the dark.
Not to exact revenge. Not even for Luca.
For her.
"You really looked like that when you returned?"
A recognizable voice moved like a blade behind me.
I didn't look around. "You continue to wear the same cheap cologne."
"I see that your words are still biting."
He grinned as he passed. He fixed his gaze on the girl on the other side of the room. My girl.
"Nate, you're late."
"I'm on time."
He chuckled. It had a hollow sound. "So, what is the strategy? Steal her once more?
I tightened my jaw. "You could never keep her."
Before he could respond, I moved forward and stared at her. She was now conversing with an art critic. I couldn't stop smiling. stroking her necklace as though it had significance. I used to place a lot of importance on that necklace.
Amy, do you recall it?
Remember me?
My heart pounded more rapidly.
She c****d her head. The silver chain froze her fingers. Her smile broke for a moment. She looked around the crowd.
I stepped back into the darkness.
She's not sure. She hasn't decided yet. Yet something within her does.
The auction was launched.
Silently, I waited for her painting to appear. A bleeding wolf appeared under the full moon. The blows were severe. The blows resembled those of a wolf. similar to how hers was.
Millie Carter donated the anonymous painting, the auctioneer announced.
She opened her mouth in response. "I didn't—"
Someone next to her questioned, "What was that?"
She gave a headshake. "Nothing. I simply can't recall painting that.
However, I did remember.
My paddle went up.
Another person said, "Ten thousand."
"Twenty."
"25."
"Thirty."
"Fifty," I uttered, smoothly and loudly.
Shocks. A few chuckles escaped my lips. I didn't care, though.
Sold.
Her eyes first met mine as I took a step forward.
They got wider.
As if something had stung her, she blinked and quickly averted her gaze. Maybe it was someone else.
She took a drink, her hands shaking.
She didn't talk to me. didn't even approach. However, I was aware of her scent. I was aware of that shudder. She had a memory. She might not remember my name. This memory was not yet complete. However, the fire, the fear,
It remained within her.
Someone whispered next to me, "She's married."
I didn't respond.
The painting depicted a wolf that was bleeding from its side. I had been stabbed there centuries before. When she attempted to save me, her claws had pierced the same spot. when she turned by herself.
I told no one, "She doesn't paint wolves." "She is one."
I went outside. Light a cigarette. observed the moon's ascent.
There was a bloody smell in the air.
I heard footsteps behind me.
A voice said, "You're him, aren't you?" male. anxious. Most likely one of Luca's assistants. "You shouldn't be here."
I grinned.
"You're not either."
He didn't even yell; it dropped.
I walked past him and gazed up at the windows that were glowing.
Millie.
Do you now remember me?
Remember the fire? Remember the agreement we reached? Did we spill any blood?
The man next to her gently guided her through the crowd, caressing her lower back.
I almost smashed the cigarette I was holding.
mine. I had her.
I saw her chuckle. Too difficult. Too phony.
She recalls something.
Another waiter passed me by. "Sir, would you like a refill?"
I gave a headshake.
The waiter grinned and said, "Maybe you want to make a toast?"
I pivoted. Yes. To former lovers who forget too easily, I'll raise a glass.
With a clumsy laugh, he left.
As Luca spoke, the audience applauded. He spoke incoherently about legacy, family, and community. The words were sharp.
The entire time, he held her hand.
Then she gave me a direct look.
She looked directly at me, not indirectly.
at me.
She acted as if she understood.
Her lips quirked at the corners.
She spoke to Luca in a whisper. He grinned. Nodded. walked away.
She moved in my direction.
My chest became rigid.
The marble floor made a clicking sound as her heels touched it.
Each step was louder than the one before it.
Then she came to a halt just inches away.
"My painting was purchased by you..
"Remembered it?"
"No." She squinted. "However, I recall your voice."
I went cold.
She added, "And your smell." It's peculiar. like damp leaves and old smoke.
She put her hand on my lapel.
"And you gazed at me as if I were your own."
You do.
However, I didn't say that.
Rather—
"Do you think you do?"
She let her hand fall. She twitched her jaw.
"I'm not sure."
"You'll."
She took a step back.
Her breath caught. Only once.
She then turned and left, but her steps had become unsteady.
She recalls. She might not remember my name. She does, however, recall the suffering.
Someone handed the wrapped painting to me.
It was dripping.
Like new blood, the red paint poured down my hands.
The man who gave it to him blinked. "Earlier, it wasn't wet."
I simply grinned.
Something stirred inside me. Something ancient. Something angered me.
I left without turning around.
I discovered her outside the gallery later that evening. By themselves. She leaned against the stone wall, her lips parted and her eyes closed.
I moved in close.
She remained motionless.
She muttered, "You're following me."
"It's difficult not to follow you."
"Am I acquainted with you?"
"You did."
Slowly, she turned. Now our faces are just inches apart.
"Tell me."
I touched her jaw.
"You used to yell my name."
She didn't recoil.
She bent over.
"What's your name?"
"Want to keep in mind?" I inquired.
She hardly moved her lips. "Yes."
She put pressure on me. She gasped.
I shut the distance between us.
We kissed. Gentle. I was almost afraid.
She moved her hands up my chest.
Then she let out a gasp and withdrew.
"I'm married."
"To a man who has no idea who you are."
She looked at me as if I had given her a slap.
I remained motionless.
"I'm not sure what I am," she muttered.
I grinned. "But I do,"
Slowly, she retreated.
"Hold on," I said. "Allow me to demonstrate—"
"No." Her voice broke. "If I permit you to... I refuse to return.
"I never intended for you to return."
Running into the night, she turned.
My breath was short, and my heart was pounding as I stood there.
She recalled. Her body recalled.
Did our lips meet in a way that made her shudder?
It wasn't fear.
That was acknowledgment.
That was love.
Hunger was the cause.
She was also awakening.
However, once she fully recalls her identity...
Will she still desire me?
Or will she murder me once more?
- Writer
