Chapter 2
Shyla
My mouth is still open as I blink slowly trying to get my brain to catch up with what I just saw. A black bird is now a six-feet-six-inch man with a well contoured body and red hair. Everywhere. I force my eyes away from this nudity and focus on the stunning green eyes that do not look human. I mentally slap myself.
Of course, he isn’t human, he was just a fucking bird.
“What the fuck are you doing in my home?” His voice rumbles deep as he questions me. Strong, booming, and weirdly arousing.
“I, um…” the words trail off once I realize I don’t know the answer to his question.
I don’t know much of anything these days.
A few days ago, I woke up in a home I didn’t recognize with no recollection of who I was. Upon searching, I found a purse with my identification. My name is Shyla Warren and I’m thirty years old. Yet, I didn’t feel a connection with the picture staring back at me nor the reflection in the mirror.
Disregarding that mystery, I dug some more and found death certificates and obituaries for people I can’t remember. According to the programs, they were my parents and I lost them on the same day. Plane accident. Again, I felt disconnected from the images.
I’d chalked it up to severe grief since the dates on the programs were a month ago. The moment I began to wonder if I’m all alone, I got a call from a friend and co-worker, Kizzy. She was thanking me again for house-sitting for her for the next eight months. Apparently, my lease was up at my place and I volunteered since she had business in Europe.
Strolling through her house, I saw pictures of us at various events but still nothing. Yet somehow, I knew she never leaves without her pocket poodle, Nelson. Her favorite color is pink, and she’d kill me if I ever tried to dip my spoon in the banana pudding, she orders from the soul food restaurant a few blocks away. I also found out I’m on vacation from my account manager job.
I frown as I retrace my steps to answer him.
I was taking a walk, trying to see if anything jogged my memory when I felt as if I was being called into this building. It was weird, no voices were involved, just a feeling as if my memory was leading me to this place. On autopilot, I followed the feeling hoping to find answers for my existence. Up. That’s all I felt. I need to go up. I enter the elevator at the end of the hall. It kept going until I was deposited on the highest floor. I walked down the hallway to the only door and found it ajar. Without thought I entered, taking in my surroundings and marveling over the Victorian feel of the place until a bird landed on the windowsill. I stared at the bird, startled by its appearances and unable to turn away. Then that bird unfolded itself into the man staring at me, silently demanding answers.
“Answer me,” he demands.
There’s something eerily familiar about him. It hurts my brain; I feel it’s right on the tip of my consciousness, but I cannot reach it. Frustrated, I go with as close to the truth as I can get without sounding bananas.
“I don’t know. I was walking, came into the building, and got on the elevator. This was the only door and it was open.”
“Why?” he asks, placing his hands on his damn near porcelain hips, not caring that he’s still naked.
His coloring confuses me. His skin looks so delicate but everything else about him is damn near fiery. His masculine beauty stuns me but it’s not the time to be enthralled with his looks.
“That’s the thing,” I explain. “I don’t know why.”
His scarlet brows furrow, telling me my explanation isn’t good enough. I didn’t see him move, yet he’s standing in front of me, my nose almost hitting his massive chest.
“Tell me the truth,” he mumbles.
“I don’t know. That is the truth!”
Tilting my head back, I dare to try to look him in the eyes. I’m shocked to find confusion.
“You just understood me?”
I shrug, thinking I’m not the only crazy one in the room. “We’ve been communicating this entire time. I don’t know why you’re now surprised I understand English.”
“I wasn't speaking English.”
Now I’m confused. “When?”
“When I told you to tell me the truth.” He studies me, looking as if I’ve somehow unlocked a safe, he was trying to crack.
“Sure, you were.”
“I was not speaking English. Like now. I’m speaking old Norse, the language of my people so who in the hell are you?”
