Forsaken (21 page)

Akiva stared at Hannah's luminous eyes, full of hope and possibilities, and traced the contours of her upturned face—beautiful, innocent, and trusting—following the delicate moonlight as it illuminated her tender skin. For so long he'd dreamt of this moment, to be close to her again, to hold her, to touch her. His hand shook with emotion and the willpower to control himself.
Not now. Not yet.

He would not take her without her consent.

But she would be willing.

He would make sure of that.

Love
, so said Emily Dickinson,
is anterior to life
. Akiva had loved Hannah for so long he couldn't remember when he had not felt his heart kick up a notch at her presence, had not searched her out in a crowd. It was always as if his heart echoed her beat. Or maybe the other way around. He was never quite sure.

It is all right
, he whispered into her mind.
This is what you want. What you need.

He lowered his mouth, aiming for hers, hovering, anticipating, and yet holding back. Her lips parted only a fraction but enough to prove her willingness, her acceptance, her hunger for what she too had been missing. But again, he hesitated, teasing her with his breath. She watched, waited…hoped? It was all there in her brown eyes. His hands at her waist pulled her toward him and he began to move his hips against hers, slowly in the rhythm of the music that pulsed the air around them.

As the poet extraordinaire wrote:
love
is posterior to death.
And he could surely testify to that because his love had never abated, never dimmed, never faded. If anything, it burned more fiercely and threatened to overpower him.

Initial of creation, and

The exponent of breath
.

With that one thought, he blocked out everything around them, covered her mouth with his, and kissed her the way he'd dreamt for years, their flesh melding, their breath mingling, their minds merging, and then he drew her breath right out of her, as if it contained her essence, and filled his lungs with her until his heart thudded and his resolve to wait swayed. She arched her neck, gave him access. Kissing along her jawline, he pressed his mouth to that sensitive flesh and felt her pulse fluttering beneath his lips. He could almost taste the sweet blood coursing through her veins, and his teeth glided over the surface of her skin, teasing her and himself, and she shuddered with a need that reflected his own.

It was then he pulled away, careful not to overindulge his senses and push beyond the extent of his restraint. He'd lost control before, with others who had meant nothing to him, others who had reminded him of Hannah but paled in comparison, but he would not take that chance with Hannah.

In New Orleans, he'd learned hospitals had what he needed—blood—in ample supply. But then he'd seen a woman one night…she'd looked so much like Hannah, with her hair pulled back, her features clean and pure, without all that stuff other women wore, and longing welled up inside him like a tsunami and overwhelmed him. He'd wanted to simply speak to her, hear her voice, be near her…but then another desire kicked in…overpowered him.

It had taken almost two years to gain a modicum of control, and then he'd seen an Amish woman walking along a deserted street. She'd twirled her prayer
kapp
carelessly as if it meant nothing. He'd attempted changing her, to see if he could, if it was truly possible, the way he would eventually change Hannah, but the woman had fought and a deeper instinct had clicked into full throttle.

But Hannah wouldn't fight. She would want this new life. She would want him.

Reaching for her hand, he twirled her beneath his arm, and her eyes widened with wonder and shock as he coaxed laughter out of her. The song on somebody's CD changer switched to something upbeat, but all he could see or hear was Hannah, twirling and dancing with him, moving her hips, her arms, her feet, her laughter ringing out into the night.

He showed her different dance moves, how they “got down” in New Orleans, some sleazy but exhilarating salsa and even a slow, unsteady waltz. He took her from fast to slow, smooth to frenzied, sensual to erotic. Her movements at first were stiff and jerky but endearing and sweet, and slowly, as the songs shifted from fast to slow again, she loosened up and began to relax, her body moving in a more womanly way.

When she became breathless, he led her away from the other dancers. He had taught her to follow him, and she did so effortlessly now. Akiva handed her a red plastic cup of punch and this time she drank more readily, thirstily gulping down the liquid, a sweeter concoction that made the alcohol more palatable but also more potent. Her eyes became dazed, and when she smiled at him, not as shy as before and now slightly lopsided, he became aware once more of everything around them, the glittering stars, the others dancing, some watching them, the swelling music, the scattered laughter.

“Come on.” He clasped her hand in his and led her out of the circle of cars and light, passing other couples making out and groping in the back seats of cars and inside buggies, and into the darkness.

“Where are we going?” She clung to his hand as if it was the only thing she knew or trusted.

With a confident smile, he walked into the night with her by his side, swinging their joined hands between them. She giggled, and he laughed with her—the first carefree moment he'd had in ages. He kept walking beyond the beat of the music.

He should have come for her sooner. Actually, he never should have left. But regrets were useless. He would make the best of what they now had, with forever stretched out before them like a rainbow of possibilities.

When they reached a safe distance, far from the others, he pulled her against him and kissed her again, whispering into her mind, and tasting the sweet alcoholic brew on her tongue. She held on to him as if her world was spinning out from under her.

Eventually, she placed an unsteady hand against his chest, and he drew back immediately.

A frown settled between her brows. “Are you all right? Did I hurt your wound?”

“My…?” He tucked her hand in his and then flattened it against his chest.
So like her to be thinking of another's pain or need.
“No, sweet Hannah. I am fine. Come on.”

“Don't you want to dance some more?”

“Later.” He led her down a hill toward a forest, their hands linked, and her footsteps stayed close behind his. The music from the party had long since faded into the distance and the sounds of the woods took over, with the crackling of branches under foot and the fluttering and crunching of fallen leaves.

He took her to a secluded spot along a creek bank, near the spot where he had kissed her in another life. The water flowed in a concerto of rippling notes and trills, a composition no orchestra or maestro could emulate. The moon offered pale light to the sloping ground and wooded area, and seemed to safeguard them. Hannah held on to his hand as if reluctant to let go and gazed up at him.

“You don't have to be afraid,” he said, feeling uncertain in their newfound relationship, wanting to tell her who he was and yet feeling fear hold him back. “I will always protect you.” He looked deep into her glazed eyes. Maybe with her senses slightly dulled by the alcoholic punch he could tell her and she could more easily accept him. Maybe she would agree to be with him—tonight—and their forever could finally begin. Now. Tonight.

“I'm not afraid.” She glanced down at the red cup in one hand, sipped from it, and then offered it to him. “Not with you here.”

He placed it beside a nearby rock. When he turned back to her, she stared at him with an odd look, a mixture of timidity and boldness, her hands twisting together.

“Akiva,” she bit her lip, “did I…” she hesitated, “do it wrong?”

Her question jarred him. He leaned toward her, thinking she meant the kiss and how he'd prove to her she was mistaken. “Do what?”

“Dancing. I just thought since maybe you didn't want others to see…”

He smiled. “Did you enjoy it?”

A blush brightened her cheeks. “Yes.”

“Then you did it perfectly.” He took her hand in his again. “And I brought you here because I didn't want to share you with anyone else.”

She smiled back at him a bit crookedly and then glanced around as if just now taking in the sparse wintry scenery and seclusion of the place. “Where are we?”

“Does it matter?”

Looking at him, a sheen to her brown eyes, she shook her head, then moved toward the rock but tripped. Akiva lunged forward and caught her against his chest before she could fall.

“Are you okay?”

She laughed, twirled away from him, and plopped down on the ground with a solid
whump
. After a moment, she gathered her skirts around her, smoothed the material over her legs. “I'm fine.
Gut
.” And she laughed again.

Akiva settled beside her and stretched out his legs toward the creek. “This is better. Quieter.”

“I think I bruised my—” She leaned toward him and rubbed her backside.

Smiling, he asked, “Want me to check it for you?”

She jerked back the other way. “No!” But she was laughing then eyeing him warily. “You wouldn't, would you?”

“Not unless you wanted…or needed me to. I'll never do anything against your will, Hannah. There may be a lot of things you could say about me, but I will be true to my word. Understand?”

She nodded, searched his face as if looking for something…or someone. “You met Jacob in New Orleans?”

A mixture of emotions unsettled him. Was he jealous of himself? Or did he only want her to love this new creature he had become. But wasn't he one and the same? Sometimes he wasn't sure, and he leaned back into the shadows. “Yes.”

“Does it hurt you when I talk about him?”

“It is one reason I am here.” He wanted to tell her now that it was him—Jacob—in the flesh. But how? Did she already sense the connection? Could she accept the truth?

“Why were you there?” she asked before he could figure out how to tell her Jacob was alive and sitting beside her. “Were you on
rumschpringe
too?”

He chuckled and rubbed his jaw. “You might say that.”

“You are Amish then.” She seemed to like that about him.

“I was never baptized.”

“But you were raised with the Amish?”

“One thing I've learned”—he stared into the dark waters rolling over stones—“our upbringing can't save us or protect us, Hannah.”

She blinked as if taking his words into herself. “What did you two do in New Orleans? Party like this?”

He laughed outright. “The parties there make this”—he waved his arm behind them—“look tame. We drank until we were sick. We took crank. Smoked—”

“What's that? What did you say? Crank?”

“A drug.”

“And were there…” She hesitated, suddenly looking vulnerable as she looked down at her fingers pinching together. “Were there girls with you?”

Ah jealousy, a byproduct of love. He approached the subject carefully. “Of course.” He shrugged as if they were of no importance, because they had not been. Being with any other girl was not the same as being near Hannah. Sex was simply sex, a physical need to be satisfied, like hunger or sleep, nothing more, nothing less. He had a similar need now, a raw hunger, but he wouldn't satisfy it at Hannah's sacrifice. “Girls came to New Orleans with Jacob from this area. You may know some.”

Shifting, Hannah straightened her skirt. “Yes, my sister, Rachel…”

“But that is not what you are asking, is it?

She looked at him then, fear and hope mingling in those large, round eyes. Moonlight shimmered in their depths as tears welled up.

“You want to know if Jacob was with another.”

“Yes.” Her reply was a mere breath. Was she more afraid to know or to hope?

“He loved you, Hannah. Only you.”

Her shoulders sagged with relief and she gave him a watery smile. “Thank you.”

“Never doubt that.”

She tilted her head back, bracing her hands behind her, and one elbow dipped, then straightened abruptly, making her seem a bit unsteady. “Rachel was friends with Jacob. But they were just friends. Nothing more.” Hannah rolled her lips inward then slowly relaxed again. “Rachel married a few weeks ago.”

Had the doubt of Jacob and Rachel's relationship always stood between sisters? Akiva tilted his head back and studied the stars, picked out Andromeda and Cassiopeia. “Josef, right? Is that who she married?”

“Yes! How did you…?”

“She loved him even then.”

Relief washed over Hannah's face, suffused color beneath her skin, brightening her eyes. “They're living with Josef's family now, not far, but I miss her. I worried she might…well, that she and Jacob might have…because she was older than me.” She blinked several times and tried to focus on Akiva, but her gaze swayed as if he kept moving when he was sitting still. “So you know Rachel…or she knows you. Then I could—”

“Do you remember?” Akiva interrupted her, his gaze now studying her rather than the heavenly bodies. To him, she was heaven, her thick hair, her sparkling eyes—all the promises of heaven wrapped in woman's body. But he didn't want to talk about Rachel or anyone else.

“Remember what?”

He leaned close, and her wide eyes loomed before him. His mouth was but a breath from hers when he whispered, “When you first knew you loved Jacob?”

Emotions flashed over her features, easy to read, but it was when they settled on despair that he struggled. At times it was hard to remember that she was thinking of him, or who he used to be. He felt eternally divided from that boy that he once was. Her love for Jacob clouded his mind with red rage and pulsing jealousy. Could she ever see Jacob inside of him, find who he used to be and bring out that piece she adored? Could she ever make the connection that he was Jacob? Here? Now? In the flesh?