A Reason To Be: Book 1 Read online

  ANTHIA ARCHONTIDES & MARIA XYSTRA

  Text copyright © 2017 Anthia Archontides & Maria Xystra

  All Rights Reserved

  This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of events to real life, or of characters to real persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  On this venture to the unknown, we were blessed to have the support of our friends and family, and most importantly, friends who became family.

  Many thanks to Katherine Evangelou, for putting up with us throughout the editing process – we could not have done this without you. To Eftychia Charalambous, our number one reader – you are a true inspiration. To Andria Archontides, our first reviewer – your comments are invaluable. To Constantinos Markitanis, for his patience and understanding – we love you, man.

  A huge thank you to Anna Dittmann, for giving life to our book with your amazing illustration. And, to Pantelis Archontides, for all the technical support and field expertise – your help is greatly appreciated.

  Lastly, thank you, dear Anthia, for turning simple ideas into exceptional scenes and for all the endless moments of fun and laughter. And, thank you, dear Maria, for our countless days and nights in cafes, restaurants, hotels, as well as cars, while giving voice to thoughts that weren’t even formed yet.

  Just, thank you everyone, for everything.

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  ‘Some may call it a curse, a life like mine;

  but others, a blessing…’

  [Within Temptation]

  PROLOGUE

  But is it really a curse, if it can’t be broken? And is it truly a blessing if it wraps chains around your soul?

  How do I tell my story, when knowing is as dangerous as ignorance; if not more so.

  I can’t believe it’s still so hard to shake off that sense. Every time I lean over someone’s neck and get ready to puncture the soft skin to feed my need, a wave of emotions enfolds every bit of me and draws me down. For the mere second my bite takes, I get lost, all clarity is swept away leaving my primal hunger to take over and satisfy the itching nerves of my body with warm, sweet blood.

  Self-loathing follows. Well, before the bite, during the bite, after the bite. It’s constant, never leaving me, never diminishing.

  Just like my memories. Always there, even now, nine years later, they unfold before my eyes like the rerun of a bad series, over and over again. No matter how many times I replay that scene in my mind, it never gets easier, it never fades. Never stops haunting me.

  ‘You’ll always be mine,’ he whispered in my ear and by the time my eyes snapped wide open, his fangs were buried deep in my throat. I didn’t get the chance to fight back, or to argue for myself. He stripped me of every choice, just like he stripped my life from me.

  ‘Marcus…’, I tried to call for him, to stop this insanity. But his bite was so accurate, so perfectly planned and on target to meet his goal; to make me one of them.

  ‘Welcome to the other side, love,’ he said with a crooked smile as he stood there, gloating in his triumph. I felt my knees weakening and as they hit the floor, an echoing thud filled the room. My palms stretched out beneath me, trembling, struggling to keep me from plummeting headfirst into the floor. I slowly raised my head to meet his eyes as he stood by the door, giving me one last look and turning away, leaving me lying there in a pool of blood, panting, fighting fate, dying. That was the last I saw of him.

  Marcus used to be my friend. He was the one who gave me the love and affection I have always longed for. He might have been a vampire, but he was my anchor, and I was so in love with him, I trusted him completely.

  Until the night of my eighteenth birthday that is; the night he asked me to marry him. When I said yes, I hadn’t truly realized what I was agreeing to. That night, he gave me my ‘gift’: the bite. The thing is I never wanted this. Every time we’d talked about it, I was sure to emphasize my reluctance in becoming a vampire, making it clear that I wasn’t on board with that plan. But it didn’t seem to register with him.

  I used to be happy, carefree, loved, you know that image of a girl running through a field, laughing, with the sun shining and the breeze fanning her hair playfully? Yeah, I used to have that. Not the field, just that feeling of happiness and contentment.

  At the first light of the new day, I lost everything. My ‘fiancé’ had just turned me into a living dead. My trust in people was so spectacularly crashed, as were my dreams and hopes for a happy ending. No reason to carry on, no reason to be. Everything had gone up in smoke. That dawn I fled my home. I gathered what was left of me, mustered up whatever courage remained and got as far away as I could.

  And, who am I today but a runaway, a lost cause, a shadow of a soul? And, what do I have but a future that is doomed? A secret that cries for release, yet should never be shared. A reality not easily handled.

  So, how do I choose to tell my story? I lie; I paint a pretty picture for the sake of others. I cloak the real me in a fake background, a fake name and a fake smile. I shelter myself from scrutiny and rejection.

  But what about you? Do you want the truth, or something beautiful…?

  CHAPTER 1

  Send. I click on the button and go back to inbox. At least a dozen new emails are waiting for my attention, as punishment for spending two weeks in Greece.

  As the bartender leaves my burger on the bar in front of me, every thought vanishes from my mind. The sweet smell invades my senses in the most fulfilling way and I push my tablet aside, casting my full focus on my lunch.

  “Would you like anything else?” he asks me politely, probably stifling a laugh at the way I attack my burger.

  “No, I’m fine thanks…um, are you Eric?” I waste no time in asking for the person I’m actually here for.

  “No, I’m Neil. Eric works the night shift,” he smiles and starts to walk away. “Do you want me to give him a message?” he turns and catches me halfway through a huge bite.

  “Mmmm, no,” I muffle and shake my head. “Fankff,” I thank him and continue savaging my burger.

  The reason I left my office today for lunch break is this guy, Eric. The norm is for me to stay at the company and spend my break with a sandwich, but today was the exception. And from what I can tell, it might become the new norm ’cause this place is absolutely perfect.

  Eric is Sam’s boyfriend. I haven’t had the chance to meet him yet. And ever since I came back from my two-week holiday in Greece, Sam has been nagging me to meet him.

  Samantha Dannel is a succes
sful event planner. And my college roommate, plus best friend ever since, plus secret keeper. And this is where her new boyfriend works. A small bar in the middle of the city, very close to Anderson and Morris Consultants, where I work. So, I thought it might be a nice chance for me to meet this ‘Eric’ guy, but apparently today is not the day.

  To be honest, today is not the day for a lot of things. I wasn’t really ready to go back to work and going out with Sam last night resulted in a major hangover I’m still not over.

  Ever since Sam moved back home after college and dragged me along with her, we got into the habit of going for drinks at least once every other Sunday. It seemed like a very good idea at the time, since neither of us was working, but now it’s starting to take its toll on our Mondays. Because when I drink from her, even those few drops of blood, it’s like an energy drink to me, instantly boosting my spirits, and the pheromones I release into her system act like… let’s just say she gets high from it. So, we end up club hopping until the late am.

  This morning was practically a haze. I remember retracing my eyeliner from last night in front of the mirror – what a disgrace. And I couldn’t find my keys until I opened my front door and heard the familiar clinging sound. Yes, I had left them outside the door all night. Thankfully, Frank, the nightshift doorman of my building, takes his job very seriously and lets nobody in without an interrogation.

  A classic rock song starts playing in the background and I turn to find someone walking away from the jukebox with a smile. The soft tune fits perfectly with the ambience of the place. A pool table is placed in front of the jukebox and there’s a flipper machine in the left corner, leaving room for tables and chairs in the rest of the space. The wooden bar on the far wall gives the place a sense of coziness and the glass windows circling two of the bar’s walls give a vintage feel. It’s a rather nice and quiet spot where someone can relax and get away for a bit. I had never come here before and if Sam hadn’t met Eric, I probably never would have. The entrance is on the corner of two streets and a pair of saloon-style swinging doors decorate it. I found that very amusing and I unconsciously turn my head to the entrance again.

  A pair of sneakers comes into view right beneath the swinging doors. Stylish, ripped jeans, clinging on the narrow waist of their owner, take a couple of steps into the bar. Impressed, I move my eyes upwards to find a black t-shirt emphasizing the strong physique of a masculine body. Not too bulk, not too thin, the perfect in-between. The sun behind him casts his features into shadow but the more he comes closer, the clearer it gets. His elaborate tattoo designs decorate his perfectly sculpted arms in the most natural way, making me wonder whether he was born with them. I finally move my gaze to his head to complete the image and everything stands still. Strong cheekbones, a narrow nose, beautiful lips and light stubble. Arched eyebrows frame his hazel eyes and make him look mysteriously sexy. His shoulder length, light brown hair is gathered in a loose knot, but some strands fall free and encircle his gorgeous face. His olive complexion, gives him a remarkable, permanent tan that ladies would kill for. Admittedly, the whole package is something to kill for.

  “No… I said: NO,” he says in a demanding voice on the phone. The rest of the background noise that seemed to have muted upon his arrival comes back to my ears and I realize that I’m staring. I turn back to my burger. Where were you last night? I smile to myself, thinking what he might taste like. And I’m not just talking about his blood.

  “Can’t you deal with it without calling me every two minutes, Ty?” his words become more aggressive by the second. He waves at the bartender, and nodding back he starts making him a drink. So, he’s a regular customer; I think this is going to be my favorite spot from now on! Wait- a regular? Please don’t let him be Eric! But then again, he looks nothing like Sam described.

  “Figure it out and call me when it’s done.” He hangs up and tosses the phone on the bar, settling on a stool two seats away from me. His muscles flex with his abrupt movement and I’m struck once more by his physique. Add ‘intimidating’ to the list of his characteristics; probably not one to mess with. But, definitely one to sleep with!

  He turns and makes eye contact with me and I’m too stunned to swallow my bite, afraid that it’s gonna go down the wrong pipe and I’ll choke in front of him. His eyes scream ‘what are you looking at?’ and when I try to smile, my lips fail to obey the order and I feel my face grimacing as if I tasted something weird.

  He unlocks our staring and turns to the bartender. I’m pretty sure I heard the sound of muffled laughter in his throat.

  “Everything OK?” the bartender asks him with a hint of caution in his voice.

  “It’d better be,” he replies and takes a sip from his drink.

  “Monday is not working for you either, huh?” What? Did I just say that? Is the filter in my brain out of order? I quickly turn to my plate and play with a potato chip. This comes as a surprise to me since I never initiate small talk with a complete stranger. And truth be told, I’m not what you’d call sociable.

  “You can say that again,” he remarks.

  I sense his frustration and I feel the need to cheer him up. So, there goes nothing:

  “Monday is not working for you either, huh,” I repeat amusingly.

  He chuckles and it’s a soft ringing in my ears. I smile back at him.

  He studies me, and I see his composure shifting. The comfortable feeling of safety that was emanating from him is now covered by a perplexing vibe. I witness his beautiful face slipping into the persona of an arrogant ladies’ man. And, not really sure why, it kind of bothers me.

  “What’s your drink?” he asks me.

  He stares at me and my words fail to come out.

  “What IS your drink,” he repeats, as if my delay to answer annoys him.

  I hurry to answer. What’s my drink?

  “Drink!” Drink?? Seriously? I feel like I’m back in high school and the teacher is leaning over me waiting for an answer.

  “Water,” I try to fix things. Way to go dumbass. That’s much better, yes. Jesus.

  “Water is fine…I mean…I don’t need another drink, thanks.”

  “I’m not negotiating here, tipsy,” he says and eyes my Perrier bottle giving me a sarcastic, utterly malicious half-smile.

  How does he do that? Being charming and an asshole at the same time? Tipsy? Really? Again, not sure why, I feel bothered by his stance and sense the frustration building up inside of me.

  I clear my throat pointedly. “I’m going back to work, so I’ll stick to my water, asshole,” I answer bitterly. OK, so the last word didn’t come out but I’m sure the message was delivered.

  He picks up his drink and takes a big gulp of the dark liquid. The ice clinks in his glass and he inhales deeply, as he tastes the alcohol before swallowing. Is he irritated? He puts both his hands clenched-fisted on the bar, as if he is fighting the urge to punch something – or someone – and picks up his drink again finishing it. Yeap, he's irritated.

  “I haven’t seen you here before,” he comments.

  “Before what?” Huh? Too late, I realize I blurted the first thing that came to my mind, a result of me slipping into my usual defense mechanism, answering with a question.

  He turns to me in wonder and chuckles. At least my answer – as stupid as it might have been – amused him.

  His presence is disarming, I’ll give him that. I do, however, feel uncomfortable, annoyed and… and… well, that’s it. Uncomfortable and annoyed. Uncomft-annoyed.

  Time to go, Lex.

  I grab my tablet and shoot off my stool.

  “Will I see you here again?” he surprises me with a question.

  “Will you be here?”

  “Yeah,” he answers with a cockiness I wish to wipe off his face with a punch.

  “Then, no,” I shut him off and I leave some money for my lunch as I hurriedly lean to pick up my purse from the floor. On my way up, I bump my head on the edge of the bar. Shit. You couldn�
��t just let me have an impressive exit, could you?

  A second later I hear ‘Mr. What’s Your Drink’ chuckling. The blood rushes to my head, fueling a mixture of embarrassment and anger. Now, I’m also emb-angry! Emb-angry and uncomft-annoyed!

  I straighten up and turn my back to him heading for the door.

  I step into the street, back to the hot and sunny Californian day, back to reality. Has it only been an hour? It felt like a millennium. Honestly, tomorrow, I'm taking a sandwich at work.

  CHAPTER 2

  ‘Come on Sam, pick up the phone’, I murmur as I make my way to the elevator.

  “Luke was looking for you,” Lilly states as I pass the front desk. “Lexy!” she shouts at me noticing that the information didn’t register.

  “Huh?” I try to turn my attention to her with my cell still attached to my ear.

  “Luke wants to see you,” she informs me.

  “Oh, OK… Color?” I ask her and point at an imaginary tie across my chest.

  “Patterned,” she replies and smiles at me. So, at least, one of us is in a good mood today. You see, Luke Morris, our boss and one of the senior partners at AMC, has the tendency to choose his ties based on his frame of mind. If it’s dark, that means he’s in a bad mood and consequently the whole office avoids interactions with him. If it’s patterned, his mood is within the normal limits of sanguinity and accord. And if he goes for a brightly colored tie, like red or yellow, then we are all tiptoeing around him because he is stressed and anxious about a deal.

  “Hey babe,” Sam’s voice comes through the phone.

  “Hey,” I acknowledge her and walk towards the elevator. “Tell Luke I’ll be in my office,” I tell Lilly over my shoulder.

  “What happened?” Sam goes straight to the point.

  “How do you know that something happened?”

  “Babe, you’re my best friend, I can tell. The ringing of the phone said you had something to share.” As she realizes that I don’t buy it she admits “OK, fine. You never call in the middle of your work day unless something’s up. So, what is it?”