The Chosen One

By Rebecca Bernadette Mance

Slowly, Sarah lifted her eyes into the tangible tenseness that swarmed the quiet room and closed around her throat to fit into the dark prince’s inky glowing eyes.

Dressed in his white flowing robes edged in an intricate gold threaded pattern, he was an author’s Arabian night’s gallant and her illicit fantasy. With all of the courage she could muster, Sarah held his gaze with a challenge attempting to quell her inner chaos.

“At last you come, Chosen One. I have waited without patience.” His deep quiet voice and exotic accent framed vividly the fleeting memories of her dreams. I have searched for you for such a very long time.”

The accuracy of his words struck raw fear in her heart sending her on the immediate attack. “Are we on that again? — Excuse me sir, if I seem rude, but my name is Sarah . . . Sarah Hope . . . I don’t really go by Chosen One.”

The heavy veil muffled the effect of her words.
He smiled a sexy knowing smile his eyes sinking into her and rummaging into her soul where he didn’t belong. “Sarah Hope, yes I know your name, it is very beautiful and fitting for you. Why do you suppose your mother named you this name?”

“She said that I was born for a reason,” Sarah said, instantly regretting her words for she was certain it would only play into his crazy notions about her.

He smiled again and nodded. “Indeed, your mother was quite correct. You are The Chosen One, and that is the reason you were born.”

Sarah groaned. “You have got to be kidding, that sounds like something out of a bad movie.”

“Yet, you know I speak the truth.”

“I don’t think my mother ever believed anyone would make a connection between “Sarah” and the Chosen One.”

His eyes shaded with burning force. “Do you know what Sarah means in Hebrew?”

Sarah felt her thoughts come to a halt from the ironic religious inconsistency of his question. “What does an Arab know, or care about a Hebrew name?”

“Are you Jewish?” His voice was a concentrated whisper as if he had only just considered at this moment the possibility.
“I am a Catholic.”

He nodded, holding her with his radiant eyes. “Ah yes, of course.” Then he smiled. “Little better, but perfectly ironic.”

“Would you still think I was the Chosen One even if I was Jewish?”

He shrugged his smile. “You are the Chosen One, if you were Jewish, we would have dealt with that problem just as we will deal with you being a Catholic. Though I admit, it is an easier problem”

Sarah tucked her hair behind her ear, her thoughts racing. “So what does Sarah mean in Hebrew?

“Princess.”

The word stood alone in the air. Like a word game show the words “Prince” and “Princess” stood together on an imaginary scrabble game.
Sarah laughed nervously. “Really? How coincidental.”

The man was obviously crazy. Perhaps too much inbreeding had occurred in the Saudi royal family. “Well, I guess for today I am The Chosen One because you chose me to come and dance.
That is all fine as long as you understand I am only chosen to dance and nothing else, we will be just fine with each other,” she said firmly. “And I am ready to dance, if you will just show me where I need to get started.”

His smile disappeared and silence covered the room. Sarah scanned the sober faces that surrounded her while her fear escalated from 0 to 60. “Was it something I said? I mean, that is why you hired me despite your insane notions, so you should not look so shocked.”

Vassar’s intense eyes captured and held her even while he waved his hand gesturing the others leave the room.

All exited quickly and quietly except three body guards who stepped back into the far corners of the room. “Sarah, surely you must presume why you are truly here,”

“And it is not to dance,” he added, his voice dropping husky.

From the author

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Bernadette Mance
• Release date: Nov 5, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452456522

Rebecca Bernadette Mance

Rebecca Bernadette Mance has lived in Florida, Texas, California and now lives on a farm in Kentucky, Finnegan's Run, named after a California Collie that passed away on the farm. She has a husband Joe and son Joseph, both who served in combat, Vietnam and Afghanistan, respectively. She owns her own remote California paralegal business called E-Global Legal Support Services LLC serving California and Arizona clients. Rebecca worked in the Bay area for over ten years as a litigation secretary and paralegal and wrote books during the long commutes on BART. Besides running E-Global and writing, Rebecca works on her farm with nearly 50 fruit trees, gardens and a small forest and thick tree-line to support local wildlife. Her favorite thing to do is to walk the land or sit on the front porch with a glass of wine and her two Collies, Mr. Oliver and Magic Merlin. Favorite quote: "Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass...it's learning to dance in the rain." "As an Indie writer I find that it is a jungle out there sometimes, you are going to take it in the gut because you do everything yourself without backing....When book strikes a controversial chord, it invites trouble, but it also makes for an excellent book. I have learned that to be a good story teller, you have to break rules, you aren't perfect, you don't have professional editors unless you can afford them....but you pour your heart into the book and in the end, it is what drives you to write. Being an Indie writer has been an amazing experience...it means you take the hits, but you write exactly what you want to write, with all of its flaws and beauty...and I think that is what writing is really about...it is the story, the characters...being submerged in a moment and truly feeling that moment. I write with my own rules.....I feel deeply every book I write...from The Letter, The Chosen One, Iron Horse King, Once Upon A Misty Bluegrasss Hill, Silent Magic Music and now my latest two books book which are light erotica, The Wine Prince - Vine of Obsession and The Medici Prince - Glass of Obsession. Thank you to all my fans, friends, family and supporters. I can't believe that I sell books every day all over the world. I am utterly humbled. My blog follows are from countries all over the world and in places I may never have a chance to visit. That is an accomplishment for a girl who once did sleep in her car. Follow my blog at RebeccaMance.com."

Book preview

The

Chosen

One

Author: Rebecca Bernadette Mance

Copyright Rebecca Mance May 30, 2008

All rights reserved by the author. This work is registered with the United States Copyright Office

Published by Rebecca Mance at Smashwords.

Other books include: The Letter, Iron Horse King, Once Upon A Misty Bluegrass Hill, Silent Magic Music and The Wine Prince: Vine of Obsession.

Prologue

Where are you, oh Chosen One?

I have searched the world far and wide.

When I find you, you must come,

To live your life by my side.

Together we must unite our Lands,

Bring our worlds together in peace.

The wild wind and the desert sand,

So the storms that brew finally cease.

My beloved one, come to me,

The hour has grown late.

We must fulfill our destiny,

We must live out our fate.

***

Chapter 1

In the Land where all men live Free,

The Land over where the Eagle Flies.

With Eyes the Color of the Deep Blue Sea,

And Hair the color of Western Sun Setting Skies

In the Land where the West Wind Blows,

Dancing the Dance as old as Time,

At The place the gentleman knows,

She moves to a Desert Chime.

In the land where Freedom reins,

The land the girl will soon depart.

Her destiny to be bound in love's chains,

And to be a prisoner to her own heart.

Come…Come to me my sweetheart. His low sultry voice was framed in an accent that ignited fire in her belly. His dark mesmerizing eyes held Sarah snared in their inky depths with her mind and body frozen in a deep erotic trance.

He was tall and his skin musky and forbidden. He reached out to her sending delicious quivers over his lean muscled chest and shoulders.

Partially covered in a white silky cloth, his thick ebony hair beckoned Sarah’s digits to run a course through his luscious waves.

But she would never touch him willingly. No, no I won’t come to you. Please...go away...I hate you!

He smiled tenderly. You do not hate me my love, just touch my hand and you will see.

Sarah jolted awake soggy and knotted in her bed sheets.

Groaning against the day and without a reason to leave her cocoon, she twisted over to face a poster that represented her past life. "Dream and Achieve."

In her previous life she would have been the frazzled, top-of-her-class medical student plunging into a day full of classes and internship.

She would have dashed from her bed to race through her morning rituals while listening to her mother’s old Cars CD for the umpteenth time and wish she could afford an MP3 player.

She would have lugged her overstuffed camo backpack through her day, chatting with friends, going to the library to meet with her study group or dragging a basket to the laundry mat if she had time. She would have ended her day with solitary late night study in sweatpants and a half a gallon of ice cream that didn’t put a single pound on her energetic body.

That life was replaced by one where she was anesthetized with grief that had nothing to do with her unwanted dreams of the beautiful man.

Her once organized, modestly appointed apartment, decorated with what had been the latest Save On Mega Store back to school décor for college students was scattered with newspapers, discarded clothing and empty soda cans.

Her grief centered on her half brother Josh who had died in combat in Iraq and her mother who died a year later of a broken heart, disguised as cancer.

Not so long ago she possessed boundless verve. Now she was inorganic. Everyone said she would be sad and numb for a while. Now the sadness stretched to forever, punctuated by moments of overwhelming anguish.

She had given up everything in her life including school’s endless hurry up and late night study. Morphing into a recluse, her only act of survival was to go to work.

Not that her middle-eastern dancing gig was real work. She had learned the dance for exercise and to find her sexy side because God had not gifted her with a single sensual inclination. Now, it was just a way to make money at an activity that successfully substituted an emotion other than misery.

She got up from bed in a tin-man fashion, completely void of her previous copiousness and padded to her jewelry box. Pulling out her brother’s letter, she took a shuddering breath then let her eyes soak in his final words for the thousandth time.

Hey Sis, I have been thinking about something. Some people say, I am just one person, what difference can I make? To them I say, I am only one, but I am one and I can make a difference. What I do matters, what you do matters. Each of us has an obligation to do something to make the world better. I have helped people who were so desperate. I have made the world better. I know that sounds kinda weird coming from me, but since I came here, I think about those kinds of things. You know, you think about what really matters. Well, I have to go now. I have to get to the patrol.

Love Always, Josh.

They were written in his endearing scrawled handwriting that mother had always complained about. Josh hadn’t cared about handwriting, he had a higher calling.

He had been a soldier and awarded a Silver Star, and the effort had been successful. It was the only thing that brought her comfort in her darkest moments.

She was so damned proud of him and she had told him so countless times.

If I could just tell him one more time…

What fate had compelled him to convey such an important message to her just a few days before he was killed? While his words did apply to him because he had changed the world by his heroic actions, Sarah was not interested in changing the world or in obligations to a higher good. She had no capacity for such things and she often no longer even cared to be alive to contemplate such things.

Josh did have a purpose and saved many lives, but not everyone had had a purpose. If she ever did have a purpose their deaths had robbed her of any desire to search for a purpose or to attempt to make a difference. Life now was merely about existing, about memories, about regrets and more than anything, about loneliness.

She had lost so much in such a short time. Her dear mother had been her best friend and now she was gone too.

Sarah lovingly folded Josh’s letter and tucked it back into the jewelry box and wiped away the previously unnoticed tears.

Sarah crawled back into her crumpled unmade bed…something her previous self would not dream of doing. Washing her bedding was also part of her previous once a week pen-tuck apartment ritual. Now she was just too tired. It didn’t matter anyway.

Sarah tossed herself on her side and looked at her motivational poster. "I Can Do Anything."

Nothing moved her spirit or motivated her any longer.

Except when she danced.

When she danced she wasn’t tired or sad. In fact, in dance Sarah was a different person altogether. When she heard the beat of the middle-eastern music and began to dance, she felt something more than hurt. Unfortunately the dance also led her mind to the man who came to her in her dreams.

Dark eyes, the Arab man who invaded her dreams.

Her mind must be twisted and imbalanced to dream about a stranger…a handsome Arab…when she so hated them so much because of Josh!

It was not fair that the man in her dreams had the power to bring her utterly and completely alive. Thank goodness he was just a dream, because he was her secret shame.

And even though he didn’t exist except looming around the edges of her mind when she danced and conquering her in her dreams–He put fire in her heart and she despised him with every fiber of her being.

Chapter 2

Tell whoso hath sorrow

Grief shall never last

E’en as joy hath no morrow

So woe shall go past.

Tales From The Arabian Nights.

Sarah glimpsed the man staring at her fixedly from the shadows. She was poised in her final backward arch, her costume shimmering under the lights when she saw him.

Maybe it was his profile, or his height – or perhaps it was the glimmer of his eyes the musky-skinned man in the shadows struck her breathless.

It was Dark Eyes – the man from her dreams.

But no, it could not be. It was totally impossible, because he didn’t really exist. He was just a figment of her grief-stricken mind – someone who haunted her in slumber.

He was not real.

He better not be real.

The audience broke into a boisterous applause jolting her to her frazzled senses. Only moments before, Sarah was performing the middle-eastern dance for a small private audience consisting of a Saudi Royal and his bodyguards and guests at The Harem.

Easing up from her arched pose with a graceful sweep, Sarah turned to her thundering audience her eyes chasing to dark eyes in the shadows. Another shock shudder raced through her jarring her to the bone and belying the smile fixed on her face for the benefit of her cheering audience.

Slowly, the man in flowing robes – primitive, ruthless and barbaric – turned fully toward her and stepped out of the shadow. Her gaze clashed with familiar simmering eyes that were as dark and fathomless as the finest polished onyx and beautifully framed with thick spiky lashes. His penetrating gaze traveled over her face searching her eyes thoroughly before slowly and seductively sliding downward, singing her flesh along its path.

She gasped while a new piece of music began and continued without her only to die off abruptly leaving the room in cricket silence.

Come to me, Chosen One. The sound of his deeply accented voice that vibrated through her being and penetrated her soul was as familiar as her own name. The man from her dreams was a devastating reality elegantly towering in his ancient garb and the staggering moment that carried him had arrived unbidden and abruptly.

Damn him. A dream could not contain this man. He was everything sexy. Of course he would be. If only he wasn’t. Her confounded luck … he would have to be tall and dark with high cheekbones and a straight arrogant nose, a manly-solid jaw and chin topped by firm seductive lips — yes, of course he would be all that. And so much more.

The silent, spellbound audience waited as if this scene that unfolded before them had been long anticipated.

Come to me. His accented voice dropped to a husky whisper and he slowly stretched his hand out to beckon her.

Without ever breaking her gaze with him, Sarah slowly shook her head and said, no.

Disappointment beyond the obvious flickered in his eyes. Letting his arm drop, he continued to look deeply into her eyes.

You would not even speak to me? he asked quietly.

No, I want nothing to do with you. I have no idea what you want, or why you are here, but I want you to stay away from me.

I cannot do that, and you know I cannot.

What are you talking about? Sarah shuddered from the power of his words, trying to grab on to one of her racing thoughts. Start with who are you and what you want?

I will one day be King Vassar Abdual Aziz ibn Saud. Today, I am only the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia, He stepped forward smiling. As to what I want, I have come for you.

His words rocked Sarah’s world. She felt hysteria rising within her. But panic was not an option even if she hadn’t already bypassed crushing fear.

You are no Crown Prince; you are some sort of wacko! Sarah said in a scathing tone belying the chaos breakings lose in her head. Her next words were cut off when her boss Sam flew through the swinging doors that lead to the dining room from the kitchen and his office beyond.

Sarah, what are you doing? You are not dancing, and these fine gentlemen came specifically to see you dance. Sam’s eyes narrowed in annoyance and his face mottled with red patches that matched the red patches on his bulbous nose.

Nothing new there, Sam was always a grouch.

Do not be angry with her, she is just coming to terms with her life. Vassar spoke pleasantly to Sam as if they were discussing the weather. The prince’s men surrounded their future king in a defensive posture. Baffled, Sam looked back and forth between Sarah and the prince.

Please, all of you leave, and you also, Vassar said to Sam. I wish to speak with Sarah alone.

No. Sam, don’t leave! I want to go home. I want this man to leave. Sarah tried but failed to stop the tremor in her voice.

Sarah! Do not be so rude! The prince is our very special guest. You will talk, and you will dance if that is what he wants. I add that he has paid quite a handsome price this evening for the privilege and the least you can do is be polite and talk to him. Sam glared at her with a clear warning about the consequences of her refusal.

Sam, he is an Arab … he could be a terrorist or something, Sarah said, her voice pitched to a panic while she observed the other Arab men exiting the room. I don’t want to be alone with him.

Don’t be a racist, all he wants to do is talk and anyway I don’t think terrorists do much talking. You Republicans think everyone is a terrorist. Sam scowled one more warning before pivoting his large body around and retreating through the swinging doors to the kitchen.

Sarah looked at the prince, fear building like a pressure cooker.

So, you are a dancer. In a sweeping gesture Prince Vassar indicated the dance floor with glowing eyes and a devastating smile turning up the corners of his sensual mouth.

When she didn’t answer, he continued, You like the dance, the belly-dance, the dance of my ancestors, he elaborated, as if her dancing explained everything, including his presence there and what he wanted from her.

Yes, I dance.

Why? he asked quietly, stepping toward her.

I don’t know. I have just always liked it. Sarah stepped back willing herself not to give into the temptation to run.

She would never admit to him that the beat of the music as old as time held the power move her soul…or that it was exotic and intoxicating on levels within herself she didn’t wish to explore.

You like middle-eastern music very much then?

Yes, I guess I do, Sarah responded, her pounding heart and unaccountable terror nearly drowning out all other thoughts in her head.

Yet, you do not like Arabs – that seems odd doesn’t it? His voice was low and husky.

No, well, I mean, I don’t hate Arabs or anything, if that is what you mean, I just – well, I do like them, I mean, I am not prejudice or anything.

Vassar laughed low. Politically correct even in your hate.

No, that is not true, I don’t hate Arabs, I don’t, Sarah lied.

So, it is only me you fear and dislike then? He smiled, tilting his head slightly in a most endearing fashion. God, but was the man was a real sexy piece of work.

No, it isn’t that, I don’t hate you or anything, I just don’t understand why you are here or what you want.

You already know why I am here — I have come for you. His gaze became intense, scorching her and the earth around her feet. You are The Chosen One.

The Chosen One? she almost yelled. Wait just a minute bucko, I am not a Chosen One, what are you — a weirdo or something? I am not some sort of human sacrifice or whatever you are implying I am.

You are in my dreams, you will be my wife. His quiet tone illustrated clearly that he believed she already understood.

You are crazy, nuts, actually. I am most certainly not going to be your wife, or anyone’s wife. I wouldn’t marry an Arab, and I wouldn’t, even if there were no men left on the planet earth except Arabs! She turned on her heel and moved swiftly for the door. She had to end this here and now.

You recognized me didn’t you? he asked softly, stopping her retreat mid-step. She would die before she would divulge the things they had done together in her dreams.

If I see you in my sleep, then I can assure you it is a terrible nightmare. She kept her back to him.

Your feelings and closed mind are because of your brother? His words hit the mark neatly sending a burst of fresh pain through her heart. Sarah swung around rage and loss filling her.

How dare you speak of my brother! How do you even know about Josh for that matter? Josh died in an Iraq, a brave soldier killed when his convoy came under attack, what would you know about that? Why would one American soldier matter to a Saudi Prince? Don’t speak to me about my brother because you are not fit to even utter his name. She recoiled in physical pain with each word.

"I am not an Iraqi or an Al-Qaeda Sarah, and I think what happened to your brother makes you prejudice against me without even knowing me."

Pain and loss clawed at her insides. No one appreciates the loss or understands anything about Josh, his sacrifice, or mine. How could an Arab possibly understand? You are the cause of it all, you and your stupid religion.

Perhaps she was prejudice, but she just did not care. The epiphany was liberating.

I mean no insult. The melting sympathy in his eyes hit her sharply.

I am so done with this conversation. Please leave, take your men with you and never come back, because if you don’t, I am going turn you into the FBI or someone like that. You are totally and completely crazy.

Sam pushed through the double doors leading from the kitchen scowling at Sarah as if he had witnessed at least some of the conversation. What is going on now, how come you are still not dancing or talking nice to this gentleman? I should fire you…Chosen One or not…whatever that is!

Vassar’s men filed through the door, as if obeying some silent command.

Before Sarah could respond, Vassar looked at her intently and said, I am sorry, but it is terribly late. I thank you for your beautiful dance. I shall leave you now, but I would like to see you again very soon. Sam, please do not fire Sarah, she has not displeased me, she is just upset about coming to terms with destiny, but soon she will understand.

Sarah didn’t reply, instead she turned and raced from the dining room to her dressing room.

She slammed her dressing room door behind her and leaned against it.

Why hadn't she seen it coming? She had watched the scene play out in her mind countless times and heard that same music a hundred times in her dreams. Yet she had done nothing to avoid the moment that brought the man from her dreams to a reality. And now his arrival had unfolded right in front of her, just like those hundreds of fragmented dreams.

Instead of numbness, she was overwhelmed with a barrage of intense emotions.

She hadn’t wanted to feel ever again. But he and the emotions he brought with him had landed with an explosion into her world.

She now understood the frightening truth of her dreams. Dark Eyes did exist and had now entered her world. Nothing, nothing was ever going to be the same again.

The question was what was she going to do about it?

Chapter 3

Deem not that absence breeds in me aught of forgetfulness;

What should remember I did you fro’ my remembrance wane?

Time dies but never dies the fondest love for you we bear;

And in your love I’ll die and in your love I will rise again.

Tales From The Arabian Nights

Gripped by the emotions of this monumental event, Vassar stood in inert contemplation. She had been more beautiful than he ever imagined with a funny little cleft in her chin and a deep sadness that clung to her being.

Strawberry blonde hair and big violet eyes, just like his dreams only more vivid and real.

Vassar was baffled and frustrated by Sarah’s strong reaction of hatred.

Did she not understand her dreams or was she simply overwhelmed with being confronted by her destiny? The ramifications were staggering, even if she didn’t