The Remains of Hope

3| Make Me Feel Alive

"Well," he amended. "More like your neighbor from the next apartment over." 

"Who in the heck did you bribe? I know for a fact that all of the empty rooms were hard-pressed for and the manager there doesn't like Drakhenae." My words came out sharper than I'd intended, and I prayed that my voice hadn't shook – that it wasn't obvious how much his presence affected me.

He last "visited" less than six months ago, but I still ran my gaze over him, over features that were more than familiar now. The arches of his dark brows, to the slope of his nose and to sensual lips -- those unfairly demand attention. The sensuality of them was further out of context compared to the jagged scar that ran across the side of his face, from the edge of one brow diagonally down to almost touch the corner of his mouth. The scar was too precise to be a mere accident, too deep. The white line contrasted against his olive tanned skin and other darker features -- his dark eyes and deep brown hair, both somewhat testimonies to his Italian heritage. Though the fact that his hair fell almost to his shoulders added to the wild look his scar gave.

But there was no mistaking who he was – what he was. A predator through and through. It was obvious from the small details that added up -- the way he held himself, the way his smile carried a wicked glint, the way his eyes made promises you knew he'd never break, and the wide breadth of his shoulders to his intimidating height. The scar that ran along the side of his face only added to it. But the leathery, large reptilian-like wings that jutted from his back, edges tipped with claws and bone covered in scales, along with the additional scales that adorned the curve of his cheekbones were what really drove the point home. Drakhenae were lethality incarnate.

And despite knowing him for the past four years, I knew why it felt like I didn't. Because I virtually knew nothing about him, and at times like now, I liked to keep it that way.

"I didn't bribe anyone. The manager might not like my kind, but he certainly likes pleasing war 'heroes.' Plus, Cerise gave in a good word, and you know how those turn out." If anyone was the real war hero, it was Cerise. But that wasn't really how she cashed in all those favors and had the general awe – or hate – of every person on this planet. The Drakhenae were one thing, but Cerise was of an entirely different league.

I opened my mouth to respond, but it had begun to really sink in and dawn to me that – oh merde. "You're going to be my neighbor?"

"Ah, oui," he responded, grinning again and stepping closer, effortlessly switching between French and English, like he had been for the entire conversation. It was really annoying when he did that – stick to one language! "But isn't it wasted space? There's more than enough room in every apartment here for a whole family. Seems wasted."

I held up my hand, getting his meaning loud and clear. This was why I needed to bolt as soon as possible. Cerise liked to say that I only seemed to grow "alive" whenever I argued with him, whenever I pushed his help away or ignored how he expertly tried to unravel me and convince me of things I'd left far behind me. That Amanda was dead, she needed to stay dead because she'd been the one who got her own twin sister dead.

I let out a sigh, backing away. Everything was always more in focus whenever I was around him – the pain that liked to rocket around in my chest, the hopes that I liked to push away. Though I almost regretted it, because I saw the switch happen, saw Ivan become that person who cared too much for his good and wasn't the rakishly handsome, flirting Ivan, but the one who made me think more of his scar. The one who offered understanding, hope, and arms to break down into.

This Ivan offered promises without saying anything at all. And the thing about people who offered promises without saying anything was that you couldn't help making unspoken promises back. Promises you'd break either way.