Chapter 6
"This is my room." He opens the door into a space that looks like an apartment. There's a small kitchen to the right of the entrance with a fridge, a microwave and a dishwasher, and to the left is a comfy-looking brown microfiber sectional with a matching ottoman. The plush carpet is a deep caramel color, and the desk in the corner is made of oak. The king-sized bed through the archway on the right, is dressed in a navy duvet with silver and cobalt blue pillows.
"Have a seat." Anthony gestures toward two russet leather chairs in the intimate rotunda. "I'm going to get my treasure chest," he says excitedly.
I set my purse on the floor and sit down in one of the chairs, tracing my fingers across the soft leather. Soccer magazines lie in a neat stack on the glass table situated between the two seats. The room offers a perfect view of the lake, and it seems to go on for about a mile. Ducks and their young waddle toward the water and a few swans float ever so gracefully on the rippling surface.
Anthony comes back, carrying a small wooden chest.
"Oh, it really is a treasure chest," I say, studying the details of it. Norse writings cover the handmade box, vine-like plants and slithering serpents snake around the sides and the top. "It looks ancient." I always wondered what my mom's fascination with the Norse was all about, but now that I know I'm a Huldra, I'm becoming as fascinated as she is.
"I have no idea how old it is, but the designs date back to the Viking Age."
"Come on, you don't believe...it would be rotten by now..." I remember what he said earlier about me and stop myself from being skeptical again. "Cool!" I say quickly.
He sets the toaster-sized chest on top of the table. The chest creaks when he opens it. I can't help myself from glancing around the lid to get a peak of what's inside.
"This is what I wanted to show you. You told me you like Norse mythology, and you specifically talked about Huldras."
So he wasn't offended by my Huldra comment?
"So here you are." Anthony lifts a scroll up, unrolls it, and shows me the picture. It looks like an ancient ink drawing of a beautiful woman with flowers in her long wavy hair. The woman is wearing a thin garment, almost Greek-looking in style, and underneath the woman are a series of futhark symbols—ancient Norse letters.
"What does it say?" I ask, sitting on the edge of my seat. I tried to learn Futhark right before my dad died, but gave it up as other things took over in my life.
"Lady of the forest," Anthony says.
"So she's a—Huldra?" My heart jumps into my throat because that word has a whole different meaning to me than it did just a few days ago.
"Yes." He smiles.
"How old is the drawing?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he says, handing me the frayed scroll.
"Try me," I say, carefully accepting it.
"All right, the numbers on the bottom say one-zero-seven-nine."
"As in the year one thousand and seventy-nine?" I gasp.
"Yes."
I don't know if he's pulling my leg or if he's actually telling the truth. "How did you get your hands on this, exactly?" I wonder if my family in Minnesota also has similar types of drawings, or chests.
"My mother bought it in Norway at an auction," he says.
I believe that he believes that it's an original, but is it really authentic? "What do you know of Huldras?" I ask him carefully, curious to hear what his view of the seductive forest maidens is.
"Well, I'm not sure, but from what I've read, they have bark-covered backs, long animal tails, and seduce poor men into...well, pleasuring the Huldras for months on end, and if the men don't comply, the Huldra kills them."
I think I see him blush a little. "Do you believe they actually exist?"
He looks me straight in the eyes and then says, "You'd be surprised if I told you how much I know of those creatures."
I keep my gaze steady in his and feel a chill surge through my spine as the air thickens.
He then looks out the window and our connection is broken. "But don't be ridiculous. They're just a myth, like trolls and fairies." He slumps back in his seat and crosses his right ankle just above his left knee. "Some man probably made up a lie because he was unable to stay faithful to his wife, and when she found out, he blamed it on the Huldra, saying that she had forced him into having sex with her."
My cheeks suddenly feel warm. "Well, it's an interesting concept."
He looks back at me again, and a smile plays at the edge of his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly leans forward and closes the lid.
There's something about the way he moves that mesmerizes me. And mixed with how I yearn to control him, make him do what I want, make him do what I want...to me, it's a dangerous combination.
Even though my mom warned me, and I promised not to use my flair on anyone, I find my thoughts lingering on what might happen if I tried it right now.
Could I even get him to...kiss me? My heart rate speeds up triple-time.
Then, I feel the guilt creep in. It's completely wrong!
But oh, so amazing.
I'm stunned at myself for how irrational my thoughts are right now, and how my emotions are all over the place. It's like the old, sensible me is fighting with the new, carnal me, and I have no idea who will win.
As he stands up, his hand brushes across my knee. A surge of desire overwhelms me, and I have to silence a gasp.
A bewildered look flits across his face and he pauses, as if he noticed something, too. But before I can fully read his expression, he carries his treasure chest the other room.
I should probably go before this gets out of hand. That would be the smart thing to do. I bring my fingertips to my lips and exhale a slow breath.
I want to kiss him, like I've never wanted to kiss anyone. And I want for him to be mine.
Suddenly Anthony's standing in front of me again, and he's holding the scroll. "Keep it for a day or two," he says, handing it to me. "Show your mom. I'm sure she'll like it."
I stand up. "I don't think I should." I really should just run away and never see him again. These emotions are way too powerful for me to control.
"Well, I know where you go to school, and normally you're a good girl, except for when you spit in unsuspecting, but well-deserving girls' faces." He grins.
I want to punch him in the arm, but I hold back, knowing any skin-on-skin contact would be dangerous. "You knew all along!" His comments almost make me think he's been watching me even before we met. No, that would be too strange and creepy. Anthony doesn't seem like a stalker.
"Of course I know. Principal Jenkins shares everything with me." He cracks a smug little smile.
"So, is Principal Jenkins like your puppet?" I ask.
"No, I'd never call him that." He laughs. "Maybe a little, but we both benefit from our...agreement."
Before I can ask what he means, my phone buzzes and I stoop to search for it in my purse. Once I locate it, I see that I missed a call from Ashley. It's ten minutes until I'm supposed to meet her at the mall to get a dress for the prom. Crap!
I stand up. "Well, it's been a pleasure, Anthony, but I have another appointment to get to." I don't really want to leave, but I'll be darned if I cancel an appointment with Ashley for she would never let me forget it.
Anthony places the scroll on the table, and then moves in front of me, blocking my way out of the rotunda. My heart leaps into my mouth. I look up into his spellbinding eyes as blood rushes to my head. My stomach flutters like mad. I dig my fingernails into my palms so I won't touch him, because if I do, I know something bad—something amazing—will happen.
He takes a small step toward me so he's standing only three inches away. I wonder if he notices the electricity between us like I do. It frightens me that the way I feel about him is like the beginning of an obsession—it's so strong, and not at all in my control. I'm not sure whether or not it truly is me feeling this or if it's just these crazy urges I've been experiencing lately.
"Thanks for coming. I hope..." His voice is deep and sincere. "I hope we can be great..." He steps so close that his breath flutters on my face.
I bite my lip, afraid—no, not afraid—only anxious and excited about what might happen. And though I'm not quite sure what's transpiring between us, I'm acutely aware that every particle in my body wants him.
Then my mind starts racing when I think about how much I want to kiss his lips, and to feel his hands on my body. Would he be worth having around for eternity?
Maybe.
No.
Absolutely.
When he brushes my cheek with his hand, something takes over, and it's not the rational part of me. The will to put on the brakes is lost in his eyes, in his touch, and it's as if the Huldra in me prevents me from having any reasonable thoughts. If I leave just a hint of my saliva on his skin...
It would be wrong, so wrong, but I can't stop myself now—I have to go through with it.
I rise onto my tiptoes and kiss him gently on the cheek, leaving a trace of wetness. I don't expect him to react the way he does, but I can tell from his reaction that he definitely likes the kiss—a lot.
He swings me around, gently pushes me up against the wall by my shoulders, locking me immobile, and stares into my eyes.
My heart is pounding in my chest as the anticipation grows.
He leans down and kisses my collarbone. Then he kisses a trail up my neck and I lift my chin to give him space.
I moan.
His eyes fall upon my lips and then his fingers brush against them ever so lightly. His breath is shallow, his lips parted, his eyes—hungry.
Releasing my shoulder and lips, he grabs my hips and presses them against the wall. Then his hands continue around to my back.
But then he stops. Suddenly, as if he realizes what he's doing, he pulls back. He glances at me and then looks away.
"I'm sorry, I...I don't know what came over me," he says and picks up the scroll from the table. "Here, I'll walk you downstairs." He stands to the side, waiting for me to pass.
I feel excited, disappointed, shocked even, but something has awakened in me that I've never felt before.
I hate it.
I love it.