THE COLOR OF TWILIGHT
by
Celeste Anwar
© copyright January 2004, Celeste Anwar
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright January 2004
New Concepts Publishing
5202 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Exquisite pain dawned inside him. It fired in his belly, sizzled in his groin, pierced his very soul. He hadn't expected it, hadn't expected to feel the agony so fiercely once more. Seeing her enflamed him beyond imagining. Time couldn't diminish the effect she had on him. Had a hundred years passed, he would know her, recognize her form, the autumn red flow of her hair, the eyes of spring green and summer gold. Fay magic could not hide her from him, no mask could shield her charms.
Always she haunted him, his dreams, his waking hours. And he'd finally found her.
Initially, Frost Tamann's first reaction upon seeing her again was a mixture of shock and relief. As she entered the room, swaying sensually with the music, however, he could see she'd suffered no lasting harm, no imprisonment, no torture. She appeared, in fact, healthier, happier, and more beautiful than she ever had at the community.
Slowly, stunned relief dissipated as anger swallowed him whole. All these years, he'd feared the worst, never believed his counsel, who'd said she'd run away. He'd thought her kidnapped, drugged, imprisoned somewhere beyond his reach, in a place dark and cold. A place where no life sustaining sunlight could touch her.
Wrong ... he'd been so wrong ... and they were right. The rumors and sightings he'd trailed in his last desperate hope had led him here, to the new country. He'd never expected to find her, never expected that she would choose exile from their people rather than—
Red hot rage and frustrated desire merged, honed sharp as a blade, overpowering soft emotion and fueling senses long frozen. Unfamiliar heat surged in his groin at her proximity, closer than he'd been in years. He cursed beneath his breath, clenching his jaw, tightening his fists as he fought for control over base reactions that hadn't surfaced in ten years ... and she had been the cause before.
It was worse now. The raw pain had built steadily, eating him from the inside until he felt wounded entirely, a hollow man incapable of living. And here she was, enjoying a costume ball, the picture of happiness and contentment.
It didn't seem right that she should be happy, not after what she'd done. He watched as she accepted a beverage from a flirting bartender, watched her smile, sip her drink, touch her collarbone in a gesture of surprise as the heat of the liquor burned its way down her throat.
His fingertips prickled, closed in his fist, as though he had touched the silken smoothness of her skin, brushed the hair from her neck. He willed her to turn to him, longing to see her eyes as she looked on him. Again and again he called to her. Slowly, as though his mind's voice finally carried above the din, she faced him.
He felt as though the wind had been knocked from his lungs, a blow struck to his solar plexus as he caught and held her gaze across the crowded ballroom. In an instant, Frost knew she wore no protection. Her guard was down. Even at the distance, he could sense the quickening of her pulse, knew her breath grew harsh and uneven. Her skin flushed beneath the white fox mask, blooming pink on her cheeks. Did her womanhood flush with the excitement so apparent to his immortal eyes? The thought conjured bittersweet memories, of kisses stolen, pleasure denied, her hot mouth and soft body begging and torturing him like no other could.
She held still, as a hare rather than the snow fox of her costume. She didn't run.
She didn't recognize him.
Frost smiled. She had no idea how much danger she'd just placed herself in with her inability to flee. Deep inside, he'd known it would be this way when he found her again. He never truly believed the lies he'd told himself.
Ten years he'd waited. A decade of searching, of torment,
by
Celeste Anwar
© copyright January 2004, Celeste Anwar
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright January 2004
New Concepts Publishing
5202 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Exquisite pain dawned inside him. It fired in his belly, sizzled in his groin, pierced his very soul. He hadn't expected it, hadn't expected to feel the agony so fiercely once more. Seeing her enflamed him beyond imagining. Time couldn't diminish the effect she had on him. Had a hundred years passed, he would know her, recognize her form, the autumn red flow of her hair, the eyes of spring green and summer gold. Fay magic could not hide her from him, no mask could shield her charms.
Always she haunted him, his dreams, his waking hours. And he'd finally found her.
Initially, Frost Tamann's first reaction upon seeing her again was a mixture of shock and relief. As she entered the room, swaying sensually with the music, however, he could see she'd suffered no lasting harm, no imprisonment, no torture. She appeared, in fact, healthier, happier, and more beautiful than she ever had at the community.
Slowly, stunned relief dissipated as anger swallowed him whole. All these years, he'd feared the worst, never believed his counsel, who'd said she'd run away. He'd thought her kidnapped, drugged, imprisoned somewhere beyond his reach, in a place dark and cold. A place where no life sustaining sunlight could touch her.
Wrong ... he'd been so wrong ... and they were right. The rumors and sightings he'd trailed in his last desperate hope had led him here, to the new country. He'd never expected to find her, never expected that she would choose exile from their people rather than—
Red hot rage and frustrated desire merged, honed sharp as a blade, overpowering soft emotion and fueling senses long frozen. Unfamiliar heat surged in his groin at her proximity, closer than he'd been in years. He cursed beneath his breath, clenching his jaw, tightening his fists as he fought for control over base reactions that hadn't surfaced in ten years ... and she had been the cause before.
It was worse now. The raw pain had built steadily, eating him from the inside until he felt wounded entirely, a hollow man incapable of living. And here she was, enjoying a costume ball, the picture of happiness and contentment.
It didn't seem right that she should be happy, not after what she'd done. He watched as she accepted a beverage from a flirting bartender, watched her smile, sip her drink, touch her collarbone in a gesture of surprise as the heat of the liquor burned its way down her throat.
His fingertips prickled, closed in his fist, as though he had touched the silken smoothness of her skin, brushed the hair from her neck. He willed her to turn to him, longing to see her eyes as she looked on him. Again and again he called to her. Slowly, as though his mind's voice finally carried above the din, she faced him.
He felt as though the wind had been knocked from his lungs, a blow struck to his solar plexus as he caught and held her gaze across the crowded ballroom. In an instant, Frost knew she wore no protection. Her guard was down. Even at the distance, he could sense the quickening of her pulse, knew her breath grew harsh and uneven. Her skin flushed beneath the white fox mask, blooming pink on her cheeks. Did her womanhood flush with the excitement so apparent to his immortal eyes? The thought conjured bittersweet memories, of kisses stolen, pleasure denied, her hot mouth and soft body begging and torturing him like no other could.
She held still, as a hare rather than the snow fox of her costume. She didn't run.
She didn't recognize him.
Frost smiled. She had no idea how much danger she'd just placed herself in with her inability to flee. Deep inside, he'd known it would be this way when he found her again. He never truly believed the lies he'd told himself.
Ten years he'd waited. A decade of searching, of torment,
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