Winter's Fury - Volume Two of The Saga of the Twelves Read Free Page A

coal-filled eyes, noticing
her irises were huge. He was glad to have something else to look at
other than the warm flesh underneath the skin-tight
leotard.
    She tapped the pointed toe
of her book into the dirt a few more times, her head tilting to
regard him from an angle. “There’s been a lot on your mind lately,
Ricardo Charon. Things you haven’t had the will to explain to
anyone else.”
    “ If
that’s the truth, then how would you know about it?” he demanded,
petulant, half-turning from her. Why is
she making me act so immature? He had to
peer away.
    She exhaled through a
chuckle. “I know, Ricardo Charon. I know.”
    He heard her moving and
looked back toward her. He was surprised to find her no more than a
foot away from him, bent at the waist. Her hand was cupped over one
side of her mouth as she came nearer his left ear. “Marianna
White-Horse,” she whispered from her throat.
    Though he turned toward
her, stunned, the sound of her voice was still capable of making
his gut twist in his abdomen. “How do you know that name!?!” he
said, after a shaking himself free of thoughts he knew were not
his. His voiced sounded funny, even in his ears.
    “ Does it
matter?”
    He was about to answer,
but she stopped him with a raised eyebrow.
    “ Does it?”
    “ Well… yeah, it does,” he
sputtered.
    She straightened, tucking
her long hair behind her ears, her face stern. She was staring
directly into his eyes.
    His brow furled as the
details of her began to register. First, she was black and yet her
hair was so straight, it could have been drawn with a ruler. It did
not look like she used extensions. It did not look like a wig
either. He could see the individual follicles sprouting right out
of her head. It was her hair, grown extremely long. How long would
it take someone of her genetic origin to grow hair to that length?
Though her skin was the color of night, her features appeared
Caucasian. There was even an Asian-like tightness about the upper
part of her face. It was broad, typical of an African-American,
yet, it was not the same. He could not explain it.
    Rather, if he could, he
probably would have said she looked like a mix of all the races!
    “ I think what she is doing
matters more. Don’t you?” She said it as though she was purring,
coming about to stand before the teenager, no more than ten inches
away.
    Ricardo noticed she was
taller than him, and it was not because there were heels on her
boots. Her shoes were flat and yet he had to gaze up at her
slightly to look her in the face. “W-what is she doing?” he asked,
terrified of the answer. What if she was having sex with some
Hollywood-wanna-be? Oh god, could he bear to hear that? His little
Marianna underneath the bulging chest of some… some… some
Hipster!
    The tall, lithe woman
before him bounced with mirth. “It’s nothing like that, Ricardo
Charon. Of that, I can assure you.” She reached out to stroke his
face. “You’re little dumpling’s virginity is quite
intact.”
    His vision narrowed of
its’ own accord. “Who are you?” Mistrust was bleeding from every
pore now. How could she know so much about him? How could she know
what Marianna was doing? She was in Los Angeles. There was no way
-.
    Her laughter stopped as if
strangled. Her hand dropped to her side. Her eyes were direct once
more. “I am Rasputna.”
    Her name meant nothing to
him. “Why are you here?”
    Her head tilted cutely to
one side again. “I thought I’d made myself clear the first time.”
She stepped even further into his personal space. “I came here for
you.”
    “ Me? Why me?” he queried,
his voice caught in his throat, inadvertently leaning away from
her.
    She grabbed him so fast;
he hadn’t had the time to move. One moment, he wasn’t in her arms,
the next he was, held firm about the waist, her pelvis digging
suggestively into his. She wrapped a leg around him, bringing them
even closer together. She was so strong, Ricardo could barely