Spellbinder Notes (Day 4)

Species (according to Ursa):

4) Nonelements:

- Have existed before most creations (believed to be among the first)

- They are not born, but just appear into creation

o This means they are neither alive nor dead, so they can't die (immortal?)

- They feed off of love or hate

o Because they feed off of love, they are irresistible to those they wish to attract

o They feed through physical (often sexual) contact (so weird…kind of like succubuses (?) succubi (?))

o Highly addictive to their victims (victims fall in love with/addicted to a nonelement who has fed on them)

o Very dangerous

- Can only leave their homelands/territory for short times before needing to return

- Their appearances changes depending on if they are feeding off love or fear (how?)

- Belong to the Quintet

o The five species that were created before the gods (supposedly by the first gods)

- Only way to resist a nonelement is to have given your heart and soul to someone else in love, to be more powerful then them, or to be part of the Quintet or to be older than them

- ? how can you be older than a nonelement?

- ? do nonelements love or just make others love them?

- ? can their victims really be in love or is it more like a drug addiction?

Taking a deep breath, Chenoa breathed in the afternoon air. It was a beautiful spring day. She loved the feeling of the weather changing from spring to summer. Despite it being a Monday, Chenoa felt happy as if a weight was lifted from her.

"Chenny!" someone called to her from nearby.

Looking around, Chenoa beamed as her neighbor's farmhand headed towards her at a run, his hands waving in the air. Matt was a simple looking fellow with thick, dirty blonde hair and cool hazel eyes. When he spoke, he had a slow, melodic southern accent. He had a smile that was innocent, but a little distant. Though Matt was polite and kind, he never really seemed all there. Chenoa would say he was "cute" more than handsome. Although she didn't know his exact age, Chenoa knew he was older than her by at least five years.

"Matt," Chenoa said, giving Matt a friendly hug.

"How are ya, Ms. Chenny? Ya ran by so fast this morning I didn't get to talk to ya."

"I am better now that school is over for the day."

"Oh Ms. Chenny, how can ya say that? I am so jealous that ya get to go to such a fine school."

"Didn't you go to school, Matt?"

"Naw, Chenny. My folks didn't think much of school. So, I stopped going when I was ya age. But I sure did love it. Especially English. I loved reading books."

"Really what was your favorite?"

"Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Swain."

"Twain."

"What?"

"Nothing, babe."

"Oh, Chenny, I am no babe. I am definitely a man."

Laughing loudly and fully, Chenoa shook her head. Matt cocked his head to the side and seemed confused.

"No, Matt, babe is just a term of endearment. Like calling someone hun or sweetie."

"Term of endearment?"

Matt blushed as he looked at his hands. Beaming, Chenoa wrapped her hands in the straps of her backpack. It always made Chenoa happy to talk to Matt. He was a sweet guy, even if he wasn't the brightest duck in town. Not only that, but he always was positive and optimistic.

"Yes, Matt, a term of endearment. You know I consider you a good friend."

Matt's smile faltered only slightly as Chenoa glanced at her house. She really wanted to get home, so she could eat something and then sleep.

"I will be getting back to the fields," Matt said quickly. "I have some more work before I can be done for the day."

"Oh okay! I'll see you tomorrow!"

Turning quickly, Matt ran back to the fields. With a grateful sigh, Chenoa thought to herself how amazing Matt was. It was like he always knew what she was thinking. She never had to ask him to leave or make up an excuse to stop talking. He just always seemed to know.

Entering her kitchen, Chenoa kicked off her shoes and placed her backpack on the kitchen table. Grabbing a glass of water, Chenoa drank it as she leaned over the sink. From the kitchen sink, Chenoa could see the fields that stretched far behind her house. They had never farmed anything, so it was just fields of wild prairie grass with heavy woods behind them. There was a lone tree in the middle of the field. The tree was a descendent of the Angel Oak in South Carolina, one of oldest tree in United States. Chenoa never understood, though, how the descendent of an American tree got all the way to her country. Her Angel Oak was a massive tree, several hundred years old, with large sweeping branches that cover a massive space. Its branches arched out over the fields, creating a beautiful scene. Chenoa loved that Angel Oak. Long as she could remember, Chenoa had gone to the tree to think.

As Chenoa stared out at the field and the Angel Oak, a memory from her nightmare flashed into her mind. The painted field with the gnarled black and white tree standing in the distance waiting for her. Calling her to.

"You must be Chenoa," someone said from behind her.

Spinning around, Chenoa saw a strange man in her kitchen. Tall and lean, the man appeared agile, almost feline in nature, seemingly relaxed, but, in reality, tensed to pounce. His face was a strange combination of masculine and feminine with a delicate oval shape, a slender but strong jaw, beautiful cheek bones, and sharp almond eyes. Long dark lashes hung over brilliantly green eyes that flashed with amusement.

"Uh…uh…" Chenoa couldn't find her voice. She found herself lost in his eyes. They were like prisms pulling her to him.

"I am Tristan," the man said.

His voice flowed like a river, hypnotizing her.

"I am Chenoa," she said in a soft voice.

Chenoa didn't even blink as she spoke, completely unable to look away from him for even a second.

Come to me, my darling, a voice whispered in Chenoa's mind. Come to me and find great pleasure.

His lips curled into a smile, emphasizing his full lower lip, which cradled his thinner upper lip, both a gentle shade of pink. Framing his face was long, silken hair of full-moon white.

"Chenoa?" someone interjected.

Blinking, Chenoa realized that there was barely a breath between her and Tristan. He held her hand next to his chest, holding her gaze. The smile still played on his lips. Papa Bear stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his eyebrows raised at the scene. Blushing, Chenoa broke away from Tristan, who did not even appear ruffled at being found in such close proximity to Chenoa.

"Papa Bear," Chenoa stammered, "I was just introducing myself to Tristan here."

"Oh, I see," Papa Bear said.

His eyes locked on Tristan, rather than his daughter.

"Why don't you wash up for dinner, baby girl?"

Nodding, Chenoa excused herself and headed upstairs. Papa Bear approached Tristan, who grinned wolfishly. Laughing, Papa Bear patted Tristan's shoulder, who joined in laughing. Without warning, Papa Bear smashed his fist across Tristan's face. Tristan jerked sideways but stayed standing. Straightening, Tristan still laughed softly as he rubbed his jaw. His skin pristine as ever.

"Behave yourself," Papa Bear warned before going to the fridge and grabbing the ingredients for dinner.

"I was just introducing myself, Adrian," Tristan said calmly.

"Bull," Papa Bear said flatly. "She's not just another girl."

"I know that."

"Do you?"

Tristan's face became serious.

"I do."

Chenoa ran up the stairs and closed her bedroom door quickly. Her breath came fast and shallow. Her heart was racing. For some reason she felt as if she had just run a long race. The only thing she could think of was Tristan and his unusual attraction. What made it worse was her father had walked in on whatever had been happening. Slapping her hand against her forehead, Chenoa groaned. How embarrassing! It would have been embarrassing having her father see her like that with a guy her age, but with Tristan, who was obviously Papa Bear's friend, was a hundred times worse.

How could she have been so weird with her dad's friend? Was she some hormone crazed teen? It wasn't like she had never seen a good-looking man before. So, what if he had the greenest eyes ever and a gorgeous smile? Her heart started beating faster again and Chenoa ran to her bathroom to take a cold shower. When she finally finished, she slipped into her pajamas, a t-shirt, and boxer shorts. She took a few ibuprofens pm with another glass of water.

Heading down to the kitchen, she sat at the set table. Papa Bear flitted around the kitchen as he worked on dinner as Tristan grabbed a few glasses from the cabinet.

"Chenoa, what would you like to drink?" Tristan inquired, beaming at her.

"Water is fine," she replied, unable to meeting his gaze.

Tristan walked behind Papa Bear and filled up three glasses with water and ice. Bringing them to the table, he placed one in front of each placemat.

"Feel better from your shower?" Tristan asked to make conversation.

"Yes, I do. Thank you for asking."

Papa Bear watched them carefully as he diced the last of some vegetables. His eyes were hard and weary, but, like usual, Tristan ignored his friend. Despite her father's worries, Tristan behaved perfectly during dinner. They had a pleasant but harmless conversation while enjoying a delicious meal.

"Your father has always been a great cook," Tristan grinned. "I remember one time we had a double date with two Nymphs…this was of course before he met your mother…and…"

"Nymphs?" Chenoa interrupted.

She peered across at her father, whose faced remained still except for small patches of pink on his cheeks.

"They were Nymph twins. Nymph was their last name and it was a very dull evening. Don't bore her, Tristan," Papa Bear sighed.

Though Papa Bear tried to seem nonchalant, his eyes flashed warningly at his friend. The pink brightened in his cheeks and Chenoa raised an eyebrow at her father and Tristan. There was obviously more to the story and Chenoa couldn't believe her father was blushing. It was adorable.

"You just don't want your little girl to know what a wild guy you were before you meet Aine."

Tristan winked at Chenoa, who felt herself relax. While he was a truly attractive man, she did not feel the uncontrollable pull to him now. She must have just been startled by him, she reasoned. Caught off guard and probably still tired from her nap at school. Mentally shaking her head, Chenoa reminded herself that she had been weird all day. No reason to blame poor Tristan.

As the evening progressed, it turned out to be quite enjoyable. After a while, even Papa Bear seemed to relax. Briefly, Papa Bear had wondered if letting Tristan visit was a mistake. Tristan and he had been friends for many years, but Tristan always had a dangerous and complicated effect on people. And despite Tristan's best intentions, Tristan was often unpredictable and reckless.

"I'll wash the dishes," Chenoa volunteered when dinner was over.

She picked up her father's and Tristan's plates. As she leaned over to get Tristan's plate, her hair fell over her shoulders, causing a whiff of her scent to reach him. Tristan's eyes darkened as he tightened his hands into fists under the table. Luckily, her hair hid his face from Papa Bear, who would have recognized the look right away. Since Papa Bear could not see Tristan's face, Tristan was able to replace his normal look before anyone noticed.

Papa Bear yawned as he pushed himself back from the table and kissed Chenoa on the top of her head. He thanked her and told them he had a bit more work to do. Adrian Rose was a famous carpenter, who had created stunning furniture on order. Many people sought his work and he had orders to last months. Currently, he had a bedroom set due in about week that he had been working on for over a month.

"Okay, Papa Bear," Chenoa said, filling the sink with hot water and soap. "I'll do the dishes. No worries."

Heading towards his workshop, Papa Bear smiled to himself as he thought about completing his work. Tristan watched Chenoa for a while as she cleaned their dishes. He couldn't help but watch her. She had changed so much since he last saw her, and he couldn't decide if the change was for the better. Yet the way she moved, as if just flowing, did seem the same. The humming grin that played across her face as she did any work was the same. The kindness and love that reflected in her eyes was the same. Maybe the differences were in his head. No…she was different…she was very different on some level he couldn't identify.

A plate slipped from her hand and she gasped as water splashed her face and shirt. Tristan's eyes darkened as he saw her shirt cling to her chest. The white t-shirt became slightly transparent and he had to force his eyes up to her face. The water on her face made her skin glisten and her smile was infectious as she wiped herself with the back of her hand. Quickly standing, Tristan grabbed a towel and approached her.

"Here, let me help," he said softly.

He reached down and gently wiped the water and soap off her face. She giggled at her own silliness and grinned so broadly her cheek bones forced her eyes closed. His heart stammered as his eyes darkened more. Tenderly, he brushed back her damp hair from her face, causing Chenoa to pause mid laugh. Her nerves lit on fire as her senses told her she was in danger. Once again, she locked eyes with him and found herself being pulled into his prisms. Shaking herself, Chenoa quickly averted her gaze and pulled her shirt away from her body.

"I need to change," she stammered, excusing herself from the room.

Without waiting for a response, Chenoa dashed away. Following her with his eyes, Tristan lifted the towel to his face and smelled it. Realizing what he was doing, he threw the towel into the trash. Storming off to the living room, Tristan dropped down onto the couch and turned on the TV.

Upstairs Chenoa changed her shirt as she reprimanded herself. She was imagining things. She was placing her fantasies onto Tristan. He would not be making a move on her. Chenoa was a minor and he was a family friend. It was ridiculous that she had over reacted like that. Tristan was probably uncomfortable now. Her father would have done the same thing as him. All he did was try to help dry her face and brush her hair back. That wasn't weird. Still her nerves hummed danger as she did her best to convince herself of the facts. When she closed her eyes, Chenoa could see the prism green of Tristan's eyes as if she still stared into them.

"What is wrong with me today?" Chenoa scowled at herself. "Get a life, Chenoa."

Once changed Chenoa returned downstairs. Hearing the TV, Chenoa knew Tristan had to be in the living room. Embarrassed by her actions, Chenoa finished cleaning the kitchen and went to bed. Her body had started to feel tired and heavy from the medicine she had taken earlier. All she need was a good night's sleep.

Crawling into bed, Chenoa groaned at her over irrationality. Closing her eyes, Chenoa willed herself to fall asleep, which she did with ease. Her dreams were immediate and colorful. She was out in the fields standing under the Angel Oak. The sky was dazzling with bright stars. A shooting star crossed the heavens and she gasped in awe.

"Cael is having fun tonight," a calm, rhythmic male voice said.

Turning Chenoa saw the electric tattooed man. He too was gazing at the heavens, a placid smile on his face. She looked at him, unable to talk for a moment.

"Who?" she finally asked.

She stared at the man, transfixed by the exquisite glow of his tattoos. They were almost as bright as the stars.

"Cael, Ventus Caelestis," he said.

The man moved his gaze from the heavens to Chenoa.

"The celestial wind. She must be having fun tonight, running around, creating shooting stars."

"I don't understand."

"It's not important, Chenoa."

"Do I know you?"

"Yes and no."

"Well, that makes it clear…"

Chenoa rolled her eyes. The man laughed, a noise that sounded light and rich. Suddenly, she smelled all the seasons at once. Who was this man?

"Weren't you at my school today?"

"Yes."

"Why were you there?"

"To check on you."

"Why?"

"Because you are remembering things and I don't wish you to do it alone."

"Remembering what?"

"Everything."

"I don't understand."

"You will. And when you do, I will be here."

Chenoa couldn't think of a response. Part of her knew this was a dream but it felt so real. Her heart believed that if she reached out, she would be able to touch and feel him. She wondered if his tattoos were warm from their light.

"What are you?" she finally inquired.

"How do you know I'm not a who?" he teased.

He strode closer to her, the smell of the seasons growing stronger.

"No man could possible look like you."

"Awe, but men are not the only creatures that are who's. The worlds are full of creatures that are who's but are not men."

"You are making no sense."

Again, he laughed so sweetly, her body tingled. It was not a romantic tingle as Tristan had made her feel earlier, but a warm, comforting tingle like how her father made her feel when he hugged her. Bowing, the tattooed man spoke to her as if she were royalty.

"I am Ventus Cordis, mistress. You may call me Cor."

"Ventus Cordis? Didn't you say that uh, Callie?"

"Cael."

"Right, Cael, was Ventus Cael-something."

"Yes, mistress."

"Are you saying you are related?"

"Yes. She is one of my few sisters."

"And she is the celestial wind?"

"Yes, mistress."

"Then what does that make you?"

He flashed a mysterious grin at her as he straightened himself and looked at her, his eyes rarely ever blinking.

"I am that I am, mistress."

"That tells me nothing."

Cor approached her, his left hand cupping her cheek. Chenoa thought she would flinch or be scared, but there was such warmth and trust in his electric eyes that she didn't. His touch felt like a soft breeze against her skin. Why did she think she had felt something similar before?

"In good time, Chenoa. In good time, I will show you everything."

"What is this everything that you keep mentioning?"

"In good time, mistress."

They held each other's eyes for a long time then, as she started to speak again, she felt as if someone had grabbed her around the middle and was pulling her backwards. Cor's eyes blazed with some emotion as he yelled to her.

"Do not eat the food or drink he gives. Do not see only the dream, but the reality."

Unable to scream, Chenoa found herself flying through blurs of colors until she landed softly. At some point she had closed her eyes, so, with the soft landing, Chenoa opened them again. The room was dark with red and purpling lighting. She looked around and felt her heart rate speed up in a fashion she was not accustom to. The air smelled musty and yet flowery at the same time. Her body was relaxed and excited simultaneously.

"My darling," a voice whispered.

Soft hands slid onto her shoulders, rubbing them gently. Warmth slipped through her body and an unexplainable moan escaped her. Tender lips kissed her neck and Chenoa rolled her neck to the side to allow the lips to kiss more. Pleasure gripped her and she wished the lips would never stop.

"You are so soft," the man murmured between kisses.

His hands ran down her body. Tilting her head up, Chenoa groaned in ecstasy. Every touch seemed to electrify her body with excitement. She had lost total control over her body. Through her half-closed eyelashes, Chenoa saw the face of the man. It was Tristan. Gasping, Chenoa tried to pull away, but he pulled her back and pinned her to the bed. He was wearing only silk boxers and his body was taunt and rippling with lean muscles. The only bodies Chenoa had ever seen like his were ones she saw in magazines. Crimson, she looked away quickly.

"Don't look away, my sweetheart," he purred.

He kissed her neck and turned her face back to him lovingly.

"Let me see your gorgeous face. Let me kiss your seductive lips. Let me pleasure you, my beauty."

"Tristan…I…"

His lips covered hers in a kiss so powerful that she found herself titillated. Before she knew what had happened, her arms were wrapped around his neck, kissing him passionately. It wasn't enough though. She wanted more. More…more…she whispered in heated breath.

"As much as you want," he murmured back.

Bolting up in bed, Chenoa found herself panting and her body tingling. Her mind was foggy, but she was sure she had had a sexual dream. She couldn't remember it completely, but her faced burned as she remembered Tristan's handsome face leaning over her. What was wrong with her that she would dream of man at least ten years older, who was a close friend of her father? It was just creepy.

Showering, Chenoa tried to clean herself of the vague memories she had from the dreams. It wasn't that she hadn't enjoyed it, but rather that it had been the best dream she ever had. That made it somehow worse. Even the thought of the dream made her body sexually excited again. Turning the water to cold, Chenoa had to repeat the issues with having such dreams in her mind over and over again.

Dressing, Chenoa brushed out her hair and did her make up. As she threw up her hair, she noticed a red mark slightly behind her right ear. It looked like a hickey but that was impossible. She tried dabbing cover up on it, but it seemed to evaporate. Nothing worked, so she finally decided to leave her hair down to cover it.

Confused, Chenoa went downstairs for breakfast where Tristan was already sitting, enjoying a cup of coffee. Averting her eyes, Chenoa poured herself a bowl of cereal. Sitting down to eat, she tried to ignore Tristan's presence. Tristan continued to read the newspaper as he sipped on his coffee.

"Did you sleep well?" he finally asked without looking up.

"Uh…yes…" Chenoa responded, focusing on her cereal.

"Have good dreams?"

Chenoa choked on her food and started coughing as she tried to breathe. Tristan quickly got to his feet and started patting her back. Trying to drink some water, Chenoa gasped and sputtered for minute. Tristan continued to try and help, all the while asking if she was okay. Finally, she took a deep breath and pushed her bowl away from her.

"Are you okay?" Tristan asked concerned.

"Yeah, it just went down the wrong way," she coughed.

"Okay. Take some deep breathes."

Doing as he said, Chenoa took several deep breathes as he rubbed her back. A warm tingling sensation spread from his hands.

"Thank you," she murmured.

She placed a hand on his arm to signal he could stop.

"No problem."

Standing, Chenoa grabbed her backpack and headed towards the door.

"Have a good day, my darling," Tristan called as Chenoa left the house.

Forcing herself not to stop, Chenoa slammed the door shut and ran for the bus stop, trying to get as much distance as possible from Tristan. Tristan smiled a crooked smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. His thumb ran over a red mark on his neck that his long hair had hidden- a large blotchy red spot, identical in location and appearance to Chenoa's, that looked a lot like a hickey.