He began chopping the herbs with surprising efficiency, without any instruction from me. The slices were neat and even. “I would kill to be able to read your mind,” he said darkly.
I choked, caught somewhere between relief and surprise. “You can’t?”
“No. Unfortunately, I am not all powerful. I don’t know if I ever have been.”
“Oh.”
The chopping continued. His sure hands wielded the knife like a dagger. “But I don’t need to read your mind to be able to sense the way your body is reacting right now. You’re feeling something, Ginger. And you’re feeling it strongly.”
I forced out a breathy laugh. It sounded strained, even to my own ears. “That’s called hatred.”
His movements stopped. “You hate me?”
“Of course,” I said quickly. Another lie.
He set the knife down with a thunk that echoed throughout the quiet cottage and gripped the counter with both hands, trapping me again. “Why?” he asked quietly.
I swallowed. His warmth surrounded me like a cloak, and the smell of oak and jasmine overwhelmed me. It was weirdly familiar. Comforting. “You’ve thrown me off kilter,” I admitted. It was a safe admission. “You disrupted my normal.”
I would rather die than admit that he had invaded my every waking thought from the moment he walked into my life, whether I liked it or not.
“And that’s a bad thing?”
I felt the ghost of something against my hair. His nose? My legs threatened to buckle. “The worst.”
“Such a shame,” he said softly. “Because you are the one thing I live for.”
“It is a shame,” I breathed.
He settled his chin onto my shoulder for a moment, his chest pressing into my back. His breath mingled with mine as he spoke. “There goes your heart, revealing your secrets again. Little liar.”
If I turned my head, just a little, his mouth would be right there… My body ached for it. If I gave him the opportunity to steal a kiss from me, would he take it?
He stepped back, leaving a chill in his wake.
I missed his presence immediately.
I took a moment to compose myself, and then set about assembling my breakfast. My eggs were burnt, but only just.
I stirred in the tomatoes and herbs, salt and pepper, and returned to the table to find Shade sitting quietly, staring at his hands.
His fingertips were a dark, inky black.
“Why do they do that?” I asked, pointing at his fingers with my spoon.
His brow furrowed. “I’m not really sure,” he mused. “Sometimes I can control the color, and sometimes I cannot. It’s very frustrating.”
“Is it connected to something? Like your thoughts? Your intentions?” I shoveled a spoonful of eggs into my mouth. The breakfast was delicious, even with the additional char.
“Perhaps.”
“Are you thinking about dark and murderous things right now, then?”
His cheek twitched. “Something like that.”
I swallowed heavily, nearly choking in the process. “If you were going to destroy the town, you could have done so already. What’s taking you so long?” I attempted a joking tone, but it sounded more panicked than anything. My cheeks warmed with embarrassment.
“I do not wish to destroy the place you call home,” he said quietly.
