Vain (The Seven Deadly 1)

“It’s Din-John-E,” a deep voice interrupted and my head shot up.

Struck. Speechless.

A deep, punching sensation washed over my entire body and I almost fell to my knees at the powerful impression. My breaths became labored and I fought for a clear head. A balmy, scorching but unbelievably ecstasy-ridden awareness swam through my body. An exhilarating, pleasant haze settled over me and it...Burned. So. Good. This was a feeling of realization. I stood there, relishing the effects.

I remember Sarah Pringle telling me once about a boy she had met while on holiday in Europe. The way she painted him made me doubt her sanity.

“I can’t describe him, Sophie,” she’d said, her hands covering her cheeks in desperation. “It was like my body knew instantly that he was mine and that I was his.”

“Awfully primitive of you to admit that, Sarah,” I’d mocked, making everyone around us laugh.

But now I knew what she meant. Now I understood what she was trying to convey to me.

The boy who stood before me was on the cusp of becoming a man. All taut, lean muscle, narrow where a boy needed to be and broad where a man should always be. I’d never known a person could be this drawn to another human being, especially a complete stranger. His face captivated me without the ability to speak. I felt my chest grasp for air but was unable to accommodate its feverish demand, so I stupidly sat panting there like a dog after a brisk run. He leaned over me, hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans, pulling the fabric of his shirt stiff against the muscles of his arms and shoulders and sending me deeper into immediate obsession.

I gulped down my lack of breath and studied him. He was the complete opposite of what I’d always imagined I’d be the most attracted to. Straight black hair met his chin but was tucked behind his ears, cerulean blue eyes stared at me strangely, his full bottom lip separated from his upper lip in question. He was looking down a straight Roman nose at me and his square jaw was clenched.

“Are you the one they call Sophie?” he asked stiffly, already exasperated with me it seemed.

“I am.”

“I am Dingane,” his thick accent repeated.

When he spoke, my eyes involuntarily rolled to the back of my head. His deep silky voice washed over me like warm water on a cold afternoon and I willingly leaned closer to him. The proximity was like fuel to my already out of control flame. I bent away from him to gain rational thought and shook my head.

“But you’re white,” I stupidly blurted, making me want to crawl underneath something.

“You are incredibly astute,” he said tightly.

“I’m sorry, I was-I was just expecting an African,” I stammered.

“My name is Ian. Dingane is a nickname, but I am African. My ancestors came to South Africa in the seventeen-hundreds from England,” he explained although he seemed annoyed to be doing so, as if I deserved no such courtesy.

His accent sounded like a mix of formal English, Australian and Dutch. That’s the only way I could describe it. I’d never heard its equal. It was so incredibly beautiful and unique. Every film I’d ever watched that featured the South African accent completely butchered it. Listening to him was like listening to velvet.

o;Sophie,” Pembrook smiled, “here are all your necessary papers. An emergency card, as well as cash. Keep these close to your body. You’re flying to Germany first, then Dubai, staying the night. The hotel arrangements are in your travel documents. A car has been arranged to pick you up there. From Dubai you will fly to Nairobi, Kenya, where a small plane has been chartered to take you to Kampala, Uganda. Look for a boy named Dingane to pick you up. I’ve taken the liberty of outfitting your case with a satellite phone for...”

“Emergencies?” I asked, smiling back.

Pembrook’s shoulders visibly relaxed and he wrapped his long, lanky arms around my shoulders.

“Do be careful, my dear,” he whispered against my hair before speeding off down the hall.

I sighed as I watched him make way for the kitchens. I turned to Spencer and smiled again.

He held his hand out to me and I took it. He squeezed it softly. “It’ll be okay,” he reassured, but I didn’t believe him.

I looked around me, at how empty the foyer was and felt a little disappointed that Sav and the rest of my friends hadn’t shown up. I’d texted them the night before, but I suppose there was no reason to say goodbye to someone they cared very little for.

I met Spencer’s eyes once more. “They didn’t come,” I told him matter-of-factly.

“No, they didn’t,” he stated.

“No need to dwell. I’ll just be a moment,” I told him and headed toward my father’s office.

I knocked on his door and heard a faint “enter.” I obeyed and turned the handle. Billowing cigar smoke enveloped me before dissipating behind me. The cleared smoke revealed my father, busy as usual, and on his phone.

“No! No! I never agreed to that!” My father turned my direction. “Just a minute, will you?” he asked the receiver. “What is it?” he asked me.