Once changed Chenoa returned downstairs.  Hearing the TV, Chenoa knew Tristan had to be in the living room.  Embarrassed by her actions, Chenoa finished cleaning the kitchen and went to bed.  Her body had started to feel tired and heavy from the medicine she had taken earlier.  All she need was a good night’s sleep. 

Crawling into bed, Chenoa groaned at her over irrationality.  Closing her eyes, Chenoa willed herself to fall asleep, which she did with ease.  Her dreams were immediate and colorful.  She was out in the fields standing under the Angel Oak.  The sky was dazzling with bright stars.  A shooting star crossed the heavens and she gasped in awe.

“Cael is having fun tonight,” a calm, rhythmic male voice said.

Turning Chenoa saw the electric tattooed man.  He too was gazing at the heavens, a placid smile on his face.  She looked at him, unable to talk for a moment.

“Who?” she finally asked.

She stared at the man, transfixed by the exquisite glow of his tattoos.  They were almost as bright as the stars.

“Cael, Ventus Caelestis,” he said.

The man moved his gaze from the heavens to Chenoa.

“The celestial wind.  She must be having fun tonight, running around, creating shooting stars.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s not important, Chenoa.”

“Do I know you?”

“Yes and no.”

“Well, that makes it clear…”

Chenoa rolled her eyes.  The man laughed, a noise that sounded light and rich.  Suddenly, she smelled all the seasons at once.  Who was this man?

“Weren’t you at my school today?”

“Yes.”

“Why were you there?”

“To check on you.”

“Why?”

“Because you are remembering things and I don’t wish you to do it alone.”

“Remembering what?”

“Everything.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will. And when you do, I will be here.”

Chenoa couldn’t think of a response.  Part of her knew this was a dream but it felt so real.  Her heart believed that if she reached out, she would be able to touch and feel him.  She wondered if his tattoos were warm from their light. 

“What are you?” she finally inquired.

“How do you know I’m not a who?” he teased.

He strode closer to her, the smell of the seasons growing stronger.

“No man could possible look like you.”

“Awe, but men are not the only creatures that are who’s.  The worlds are full of creatures that are who’s but are not men.”

“You are making no sense.”

Again, he laughed so sweetly, her body tingled.  It was not a romantic tingle as Tristan had made her feel earlier, but a warm, comforting tingle like how her father made her feel when he hugged her. Bowing, the tattooed man spoke to her as if she were royalty.

“I am Ventus Cordis, mistress.  You may call me Cor.”

“Ventus Cordis?  Didn’t you say that uh, Callie?”

“Cael.”

“Right, Cael, was Ventus Cael-something.”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Are you saying you are related?”

“Yes.  She is one of my few sisters.”

“And she is the celestial wind?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Then what does that make you?”

He flashed a mysterious grin at her as he straightened himself and looked at her, his eyes rarely ever blinking.

“I am that I am, mistress.”

“That tells me nothing.”

Cor approached her, his left hand cupping her cheek.  Chenoa thought she would flinch or be scared, but there was such warmth and trust in his electric eyes that she didn’t.  His touch felt like a soft breeze against her skin.  Why did she think she had felt something similar before?

“In good time, Chenoa.  In good time, I will show you everything.”

“What is this everything that you keep mentioning?”

“In good time, mistress.”

They held each other’s eyes for a long time then, as she started to speak again, she felt as if someone had grabbed her around the middle and was pulling her backwards.  Cor’s eyes blazed with some emotion as he yelled to her.

“Do not eat the food or drink he gives.  Do not see only the dream, but the reality.”

Unable to scream, Chenoa found herself flying through blurs of colors until she landed softly.  At some point she had closed her eyes, so, with the soft landing, Chenoa opened them again.  The room was dark with red and purpling lighting.  She looked around and felt her heart rate speed up in a fashion she was not accustom to. The air smelled musty and yet flowery at the same time.  Her body was relaxed and excited simultaneously. 

“My darling,” a voice whispered.

Soft hands slid onto her shoulders, rubbing them gently.  Warmth slipped through her body and an unexplainable moan escaped her. Tender lips kissed her neck and Chenoa rolled her neck to the side to allow the lips to kiss more.  Pleasure gripped her and she wished the lips would never stop.

“You are so soft,” the man murmured between kisses.

His hands ran down her body. Tilting her head up, Chenoa groaned in ecstasy.  Every touch seemed to electrify her body with excitement.  She had lost total control over her body.  Through her half-closed eyelashes, Chenoa saw the face of the man.  It was Tristan.  Gasping, Chenoa tried to pull away, but he pulled her back and pinned her to the bed.  He was wearing only silk boxers and his body was taunt and rippling with lean muscles.  The only bodies Chenoa had ever seen like his were ones she saw in magazines.  Crimson, she looked away quickly.

“Don’t look away, my sweetheart,” he purred.

He kissed her neck and turned her face back to him lovingly.

“Let me see your gorgeous face.  Let me kiss your seductive lips.  Let me pleasure you, my beauty.”

“Tristan…I…”

His lips covered hers in a kiss so powerful that she found herself titillated.  Before she knew what had happened, her arms were wrapped around his neck, kissing him passionately.  It wasn’t enough though.  She wanted more.  More…more…she whispered in heated breath.

“As much as you want,” he murmured back.  

Bolting up in bed, Chenoa found herself panting and her body tingling.  Her mind was foggy, but she was sure she had had a sexual dream.   She couldn’t remember it completely, but her faced burned as she remembered Tristan’s handsome face leaning over her. What was wrong with her that she would dream of man at least ten years older, who was a close friend of her father?  It was just creepy.

Showering, Chenoa tried to clean herself of the vague memories she had from the dreams.  It wasn’t that she hadn’t enjoyed it, but rather that it had been the best dream she ever had.  That made it somehow worse.  Even the thought of the dream made her body sexually excited again.  Turning the water to cold, Chenoa had to repeat the issues with having such dreams in her mind over and over again.

Dressing, Chenoa brushed out her hair and did her make up.  As she threw up her hair, she noticed a red mark slightly behind her right ear.  It looked like a hickey but that was impossible.  She tried dabbing cover up on it, but it seemed to evaporate.  Nothing worked, so she finally decided to leave her hair down to cover it.

Confused, Chenoa went downstairs for breakfast where Tristan was already sitting, enjoying a cup of coffee.  Averting her eyes, Chenoa poured herself a bowl of cereal.  Sitting down to eat, she tried to ignore Tristan’s presence. Tristan continued to read the newspaper as he sipped on his coffee.

“Did you sleep well?” he finally asked without looking up.

“Uh…yes…” Chenoa responded, focusing on her cereal.

“Have good dreams?”

Chenoa choked on her food and started coughing as she tried to breathe.  Tristan quickly got to his feet and started patting her back. Trying to drink some water, Chenoa gasped and sputtered for minute.  Tristan continued to try and help, all the while asking if she was okay. Finally, she took a deep breath and pushed her bowl away from her.

“Are you okay?” Tristan asked concerned.

“Yeah, it just went down the wrong way,” she coughed.

“Okay. Take some deep breathes.”

Doing as he said, Chenoa took several deep breathes as he rubbed her back.  A warm tingling sensation spread from his hands.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

She placed a hand on his arm to signal he could stop. 

“No problem.”

Standing, Chenoa grabbed her backpack and headed towards the door.

“Have a good day, my darling,” Tristan called as Chenoa left the house.

Forcing herself not to stop, Chenoa slammed the door shut and ran for the bus stop, trying to get as much distance as possible from Tristan.  Tristan smiled a crooked smile as he rubbed the back of his neck.  His thumb ran over a red mark on his neck that his long hair had hidden- a large blotchy red spot, identical in location and appearance to Chenoa’s, that looked a lot like a hickey.