Fantasy Mystery
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The dark days are over and all that everyone expects are brighter days ahead.
In a world where different types of mythical creatures coexist there might be differences, differences that are beyond unfathomable, but between all th...
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Even though Phoebi swore in the name of her cousin’s dead rabbit that she told not a soul —and for some reason Zuina was on her side— Carmiabell remained unconvinced.
She knew how zipped she was on her end, and though carrying the bag with her all over was not a genius idea of keeping a low profile, she was sure that no one would be interested in her things.
The soft spot she had for Zuina saved Phoebi from a punch on her face to force the name out of her vocals.
Tense became the tone of the day, every goblin turning into a suspect.
She couldn't say the same about Phoebi or Zuina; it wasn't their bags that had been bearing the devil.
“Did you know that chicken can’t fly?”
Off course Damon had to appear and annoy her.
He took a seat next to her.
Carmiabell was no jock nor a fan of sports but she found herself more times than she could count seated on the basketball court side.
It was always about seeing Damon do a super jump and the bottom of his blue-shark sleeveless opening up to a crack of his magnificent set of abs. Now, it was the only place she could think by herself before detention time.
Some part of her wondered if he had noticed that she had been spying at him.
“Yes.” Frankly, chicken was the least of her worries.
“Me too,” he answered with a smirk Carmiabell was getting too familiar with and a wink in his turquoise eyes that almost brought the captivity of the sea right in front of her eyes.
He switched his glare from Carmiabell —which was beginning to heat her up— to the court and sighed.
“What's your definition of adventure?” His tone was suddenly calm and less comical compared to all the other times he had uttered a word.
“What do you mean?”
Subtly, he moved his brows twitched.
As if prudently filtering his next words, he gazed at one spot at the court. “My definition of adventure is-”
His lips paused at a small O, envisioning himself in his fantasies before narrating them out loud.
Carmiabell could tell that he was not following the game; he glared opposite where the ball was headed.
“Trying something new.” He finally broke the building suspense. “Like riding a griffin, or a witches broom, or solving a mystery like those big detectives. Did I mention dancing with trolls? Or walking through a monster-infested forest.”
Some were quite ridiculous. If not impossible. Why would anyone commit suicide in the name of adventure? Thinking of it, it was exactly what she had done. Indirectly.
He sustained his glare on the wall for a little longer as if picturing more of his so-called stupid adventures.
“What's yours?” He restored his executing eyes to Carmiabell’s flushing cheeks.
She dared not lock her eyes —that vampire had a charm that not even she could resist.
She stared at the court —which for a fact the game was over.
Carmiabell couldn’t tell her definition. It wasn't a question she met in a test, but it was definitely not taking a black apple from trash and putting it in her bag to later be stolen by a damn goblin.
“Dating a handsome vampire like me and running off under the sunset?”
“Over my dead body.”
He giggled.
“What, I'm not handsome?”
He would have to kill her to get the words out of her mouth.
“I'm pregnant.”
“What?” His look matched that of a shocked individual.
“I thought we were saying things that are impossible.”
He broke into a chuckle, which for a moment Carmiabell spared a look on his face.
A set of well serviced pearl-white teeth had stolen most of the stars at night and brought them to broad daylight.
His canines, or should I say fangs, were equally sized to those of humans just with jagged edges.
Only fresh blood or something equally magnetic could lead them to protruding, sizing themselves to those of a wolf.
“I love your sense of humor, and your taste of adventure too,” he uttered, suppressing his last grin.
“My taste of adventure?” Every time she thought she had managed to gather enough confidence to look directly into his eyes, it happened to her that some parts of her body were misbehaving.
Why would her fine-melanin turn pinkish? Or her belly feel like an abyss invested with cruel butterflies penetrating its walls.
Fastidiously, she restored her eyes to the court, hoping that Damon had not noticed a thing.
“Yeah. It was all in your bag.”
“What?” Carmiabell almost chocked in a rush of saliva.
For as long as she had ever known vampires, they had no talent in stealing, leave alone reciprocating anything with a stone of equal mass.
“You really want me to say it out loud? You already know what I'm talking about.”
“That’s not an adventure. That’s treason.”
“I know.” That smirk. Again. Taunting her. “And that is why I want to make you an offer.”
