His breath was cool against my skin

The fog lay over the city like wet gauze, clinging and sticking to every curve of her elegant skyline. The buildings seemed to prod at the moist haze like fingers tentatively exploring, searching for a weak point through which to escape. The light of the moon, fat and bright, couldn’t penetrate the blanket of vapor and the city was left at the mercy of streetlamp’s dismal yellow glow.

I walked alone through the thick curtain of suspended water, the white mass swirling in the momentary eddies my body created in the air. My shoes were silent against the wet concrete of the sidewalk, the tread prints left by the soft soles the only proof of my passing. My heavy black Naval coat hugged me warmly and my denim-clad legs moved me through the sleeping metropolis.

Every plant that lined my path was coated in dew, the tiny drops adorning every leaf and flower like the finest diamonds, which sparkled in the softly diffused lamplight. Night’s wet kisses had collected on my face, coalescing until heavy enough to run down my nose like a teasing tongue.

The air shifted around me. It moved and gave me pause, tempting me to turn around and look for what had caused the disturbance, and every single horror movie I’d ever seen flashed through my head. If I didn’t look, then nothing would be there, right? Isn’t that how it worked with the monsters under the bed?

I kept walking. It was all I could do not to speed up, not to take my hands out of my pockets so I could be ready to run, and I managed to feel a little proud of myself about that. The air moved more deliberately, as though an unseen body had moved through it, and my momentary pride vanished under a rising swell of fear.

My pace increased involuntarily; there was nothing I could have done to slow my legs down when the steady staccato of footsteps suddenly began and sent my heart racing. The sound seemed to echo off the thick air itself, effectively disguising from which direction the steps were coming.

I moved into a walk-jog. Walk two strides then jog one, walk two jog one, walk two jog one—

“Why afraid little mouse?” The voice was male, thick with an accent that drew out his vowels and the sound was candy for my ears. “You have been waiting for me.”

With each word my pace slowed a little more until I all but stood still. His voice vibrated through the dense air, touching and teasing me where hands could not reach, and with a sigh I stopped walking. My eyelids felt heavy and I blinked slowly as though I were drunk, not on manmade alcohol but on his voice; bottled it would be illegal.

He emerged from the mist like an apparition, and I could do nothing but wait for him to reach me. He stepped into the liquid pool of lamplight and the planes of his face seemed to be a Michelangelo sculpture come to life.

He stepped well into my personal space, the bump of his body against mine serving to convince my mind I wasn’t hallucinating, and I gazed up into his dark eyes. He lifted his hand slowly, deliberately, and I held my breath until his elegant fingers lightly brushed my cheek.

I found my voice and gathered my wits enough to ask, “Who are you?”

He smiled, a gentle curving of his lush mouth, “Don’t you know me?”

I stared at him, taking in every angle and curve of his face, absolutely certain that if I’d met someone so beautiful I’d remember them. I shook my head and frowned at him, “No. Should I?”

“You summoned me long ago,” he said as he bent at the waist and brushed a light kiss across one cheek and then the other, “Many lifetimes ago, in fact.”

His breath was cool against my skin, and yet a rush of heat coursed through me at his touch. “I don’t understand.” I whispered.

“Centuries ago you asked for love to find you.” He lowered his head and pressed his lips to mine in a brief, soft kiss. “Sorry I’m late.”