Lukas (Ashes & Embers 3)

I continue to gaze around his house. Stained wooden beams run across the ceiling and walls. The floors are dark hardwood with colored rugs beneath a large, black leather, sectional couch and mahogany coffee table. Two purple velvet accent chairs sit off to the side, turned toward a huge flat screen television mounted on the wall. The tall stained glass windows are beautiful and timeless, and give off a warm, colorful glow to the room. Wide archways with stone accents divide the rooms. It’s just breathtaking and so rich looking, the kind of house you would see in a fantasy movie.

I slowly walk around the living room, admiring the artwork on the walls and the statues and trinkets perfectly displayed, lightly running my fingertips over the beautiful antique accent furniture, remembering how he told me he also liked to feel the depth of these treasures, and I want to feel what he feels.

“Hello.”

I jump about a mile, and then lean forward, not quite believing what I’m seeing . . . and hearing. In front of me is a huge black metal birdcage sitting atop a marble stand, and inside is a raven. A real raven. I step closer to the magnificent bird, who’s also eyeing me with his amber eyes.

“Well, hello there,” I say, captivated. The bird is beautiful, as black as night, tilting his head at me.

“Don’t talk to him!” Lukas shouts from the kitchen.

“I’m a pretty bird,” the bird says.

Oh, wow! He’s incredible. “Hi, pretty bird,” I say softly.

The bird cocks his head at me. “Don’t talk to him,” he says, mimicking Lukas. Exactly. Somehow, the bird has impersonated Lukas’ raspy voice perfectly, which is creepy and cool and pretty wild.

“I see you met Ray.” Lukas crosses the room and stands next to me. “You have to be careful around him. He repeats everything.”

I turn to him in awe. “Lukas, he’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me about him?”

“He’s amazing,” the bird says, impersonating my own voice almost exactly now.

“Oh my God!” I exclaim. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Lukas runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah, he’s cool, but he’s a fucking pain in the ass. When he gets in a mood, he talks non-stop and repeats everything I say. It’s only cool sometimes. Trust me.”

I stare at the bird, waiting for him to say something, and I think he’s doing the same to me. He raises his little wings a bit and skitters across his perch to come closer to me.

“I love him! I had no idea they could talk. Is he a raven?” I poke my finger through the cage bars and gently stroke his wing.

“He is. I found him when he was a baby, years ago. He had a broken wing, so I brought him home to take care of him, and when he started repeating everything I said, I couldn’t let him go. I got attached to him. He’s kind of a runt, I think. He hasn’t grown much at all. And, yeah, some can learn to talk, and as you can see, they have an uncanny ability to mimic voices and sounds. For a while there, he could mimic my ring tone.”

“Amazing,” Ray squawks, clearly excited.

Lukas grabs my hand and pulls me away from the bird. “Okay, that’s enough of him. If we give him too much attention, he won’t shut up. I’d like to be able to talk to you without him babbling in the background.”

I can’t help but laugh. “He’s hard to ignore. Your house is gorgeous. I can’t stop looking at everything. It’s such a unique place.” I smile at him. “Just like you.”

He grins. “I hope that’s a compliment?”

“It is, and something smells great. What are you making?”

He leans down and whispers into my ear. “Chicken a la king.”

“Why are you whispering,” I whisper back.

“We don’t want the bird to know we’re eating one of his kind.”

“Lukas!” I cover my mouth and try to suppress my laugh. “That’s not funny.”

“I know. That’s why I whispered. Let’s go eat. It’s ready.”

I follow him to the kitchen, which is a classy mix of modern appliances with an antique table and chairs, granite counter tops, stone backsplash, and more gothic wall decor.

He pulls out a chair and motions for me to sit. “Can I help with anything?” I ask him, feeling spoiled. I’ve never had a man cook for me before, and I have to admit, it’s definitely a nice feeling.

“Nope, I’ve got it all under control.”

I watch him move around the kitchen, setting bowls and plates of food on the table in front of me.

“White wine?” he asks, holding a bottle up.

“Ooh, sounds great.”

He takes his seat and pours two glasses of wine. Everything he’s prepared looks and smells delicious. All his serving dishes are black with a marble pattern—very different from the cream-colored set I have at home. He’s made a big tossed spring mix salad that we each fill our own salad bowls from, and the chicken a la king is arranged on my plate with a side garnish of orange peel slices in the shape of a flower. I feel like I’m sitting in a five star restaurant and not some young goth guy’s kitchen.

“I’m very impressed,” I say, smiling across the table at him. “You did all of this?”

“I sure did. I love to cook.”

“It shows. It looks too pretty to eat.”

“Don’t be shy. Dig in. I have extra forks, and I can make you lots more pretty food.”

I shake my head and smile as I cut up my food, loving how he teases me. “This house is so big. Do you get lonely here?” I ask him before taking a bite of the chicken. “Mm . . . this is delicious!” I exclaim, and it really is yummy perfection. Is there anything he can’t do?

“I have the bird to keep me company,” he says simply, and I can tell that he means it sincerely, like having just the bird is totally okay, nothing and no one else needed. I’m not sure if that’s sad or admirable.

“Can I ask you something personal?” I want to get to know him, but I hate feeling like I’m prying into his life and possibly digging up bad memories for him.

He tips his glass at me before raising it to his lips. “That’s why we’re here, baby doll, to get to know each other better. Ask away.”

“Have you ever been in a long term relationship?”

He nods and swallows. “Yup. I was with a girl for almost three years, seventeen to twenty. We had a pretty great thing going, but unfortunately, money changes people.”

“Your inheritance? Did getting all that money so young change you?”

He shakes his hair out of his eyes and smirks a little. “No, me getting all that money changed her.”

“Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Hey, better I found out before it went any further and she spent every dime, right?”

“True, but it’s still a shame.”

“It is, because I really loved her, and I thought she loved me. I guess she did, at least for a while.” He props his elbow on the table and rubs the side of his face. “As soon as I got the money, she changed. She went from being a fun, sweet girl to a demanding bitch. And ya know what? I would have given her anything, but the way she treated me? No fucking way. She just assumed, and expected, that she had

free reign to my money and could spend it on whatever she wanted, and demand all sorts of crazy shit from me, like she was entitled to it.”

“That’s terrible. My faith in people just dwindles the more I hear stories like that. Doesn’t anyone value love and commitment anymore? Or is everyone just about getting something better for themselves?”

“Um, yeah, that’s pretty much how it seems to be, doesn’t it?”

“It does. Are you still in love with her?” I blurt the last part out before I can change my mind about asking. As much as I’m afraid to hear the answer, I need to hear it, because I’m slowly falling for him and I don’t think I can compete with the memory of a girl he might still be in love with. I can’t take another hit to my heart just when I’m finally starting to feel a little bit of happiness again.

He leans back in his chair and looks up at the ceiling. “I’ll always care about her and miss what we had, but no, I’m not in love with her anymore.” Sitting forward again, he studies me silently. “And how about you? Are you still in love with him?”

I’ve reached a point where I can answer that question with certainty. “No, not anymore. Like you, of course, I’ll always care about him, but he’s just hurt me too much and destroyed too much. He’s not the man I fell in love with.” Lukas listens intently, chewing slowly, relief evident in his eyes at my admission. “I guess my parents were right,” I continue. “They told me years ago, when I got pregnant and married, that we were way too young to make such a big commitment, that people change too much, especially in their twenties, and don’t really know what they want in life yet. And looking back on that, I think that’s true in a lot of ways, although I hate to admit it to my parents.”

He runs his finger over the rim of his wine glass, his eyes following the circle he’s making on the crystal edge. “Do you feel that way about me?” he finally asks, shifting his eyes up to meet mine. “Do you think, because I’m in my twenties, that I don’t know what I want? That in a few years I’ll be different?” He tilts his head a little. “That I might grow away from you?”