Because this is Miriam. How could I forget that?
Curling a hand around the nape of her neck, I bend over her and kiss her. Aware of our audience of one, I keep it light, tipping her head only slightly to stroke past her lips once. Enough to taste and savor.
“Let’s do this.” Clasping her hand in mine, I open the door and walk through.
Being a basketball player here affords me a couple of connections, and I pulled on them. And shelled out some money. But it was all worth it to reserve this large hall usually booked for weddings and receptions. Tonight, huge floor-to-ceiling boards occupy different sections of the room. We draw closer to the first one; a panel from the first omnibus of Ravaged Lands covers the board. It’s an integral turning point in the series. Sarafina Rose defeats the creature who killed her parents, and she discovers her demon half.
I know this because I’ve devoured everything Ravaged Lands since she shared the truth about it with me. And goddamn, it’sphenomenal. Especially the current issues. Reading about North and his relationship with Sarafina ... how she sees him as this fierce, strong, and noble fighter and leader not in spite of his heritage but because of it ... knowing that’s how she views me? It’s humbling.
But this ... this is not the efforts of a superfan.
This is the work of a man who wants to see the joy in the eyes of the woman he loves.
Even thinking that terrifies me because I don’t delude myself into believing she feels the same. She doesn’t. And she’s told me that. Hell, she doesn’t even believe in love or long-term commitments. In the two weeks we’ve been sharing a bed, we haven’t talked about what we are or where we’re headed. And I, who am not afraid to get on a court and battle it out with fucking giants over a ball, am scared of one five-foot-two woman.
Because she can do what those men on the court can’t.
She can break me.
A knot lodges itself behind my sternum, and I ignore it. At least for tonight.
For tonight, it’s about her.
“Jordan,” she rasps, slowly shuffling forward. Shock widens her eyes, and her fingers flutter at the base of her throat. That slender column works up and down, but for a few seconds, no words emerge. Then she whispers, “What is this?”
“This is for you.” That’s all I’ve got because the nerves have returned with a vengeance, bringing along buddies. “There’s more.” I nod toward the panel.
Just as she turns back, astonishment still glazing her eyes, people surge from behind the panel as if doors were thrown open.
But not just any people.
They’re actors dressed as the characters from Ravaged Lands. The demon Baldar. Hannah and Manassah, Sarafina’s parents. Dani and Hiram, her younger brother and sister.
And then Sarafina Rose.
Wow. I blink.
I’d chosen the actors myself from the portfolios, but in costumes ... my pulse thuds so loudly the sonorous beat almost drowns out the dialogue. It’s almost as if they climbed directly from the pages of the graphic novel and into this hall in Ball Arena. Especially the woman playing Sarafina.
I glance at Miriam, and she’s mesmerized. Utterly transfixed, and my heart soars.
The scene closes, and every character freezes except for Sarafina Rose, who stalks through a freestanding door to the next panel. We walk over, and this panel depicts another pivotal moment in the series. When Sarafina breaks free from the cage several men imprisoned her in to harvest and sell her blood. Days of their taunting and insults tortured her nearly as much as their devices to steal her essence. She battles her way free, reclaiming her freedom and her power, the dialogue as well as the action breathtaking and heartbreaking.
After she slays the last man, Sarafina moves on to the next scene.
And the next one.
The last act I deliberately chose because it depicts when Sarafina meets North. As they circle each other, weapons raised, the chemistry between them is palpable. Each parry and thrust equals foreplay, and fuck if I’m not getting hot. This scene sets these two on the path to becoming lovers as well as partners in their battle against evil.
It’s brilliant.
By the time the last performance concludes in front of the remaining panel, I want to cheer, whistle, clap. But I do none of that. Instead, I turn to Miriam. And my knees nearly buckle.
Tears stream down her face.
She doesn’t make a sound. Neither her shoulders nor her chest shudders. But the moisture tracking down her face is unmistakable. And she doesn’t try to hide it as she looks up at me.
“You make me believe,” she whispers.
