As we walk towards his desk, where his drawings lie over the chipped wood, I instinctively reach for them and flick through his incredible talent. There are drawings of Felix and Zara, his father, and people from his pack.
I slip out the last drawing to find one of myself. For a moment, I’m so stunned I can’t speak. Caleb doesn’t say anything either.
It’s in black and white, all but my eyes, which are almost identical to the actual colour. I take it between my fingers and draw it up to my face for better inspection. The first thing I notice is that I look happy, alive, and bright.
Caleb’s chest brushes my back as I stare in awe. The details are incredible. I had no idea a pencil could make art look this realistic.
“When did you do this?” I whisper.
“A few weeks after meeting you,” he confesses.
My heart aches because that’s when I was convinced he hated me.
“This must have taken you ages.” I brush my fingers over the page and the blue eyes that lock onto mine.
Caleb shrugs. “I’ve drawn more.”
I frown as I glance at him. “Of me?”
“Yes.”
My brows raise. “Can I see?”
He leans over to grab a sketchbook in which he flicks through pages and pages of my face. “Holy shit,” I mumble. “And I thought I was the stalker.”
“Watch it.” He nudges me playfully.
“What’s this got to do with sleeping?”
Caleb sighs as he takes the sketchbook from my hands and places it back down on his desk. I turn to look at him as his green eyes move between mine. He looks particularly tired today, and it doesn’t sit well with me.
“I have dreams,” he starts. “Precognitive dreams. I learnt from a young age that they weren’t just dreams, they’d eventually come true if I didn’t do anything to stop them.”
I freeze as I listen.
“I’ve dreamt about my father, my mother, my brother…you. Drawing helps me to visualise how I’d like things to go differently, how I’m going to make a difference by projecting my energy into it.”
“What sort of dreams do you have about me?”
Caleb’s teeth sink into his bottom lip, as if he’d rather eat glass than tell me.
“Bad?” I whisper.
All he does is nod. My blood runs cold.
“How do you stop them from becoming a reality?”
He strokes back my curls tenderly, and I keep in the shudder that wants to travel through me. “By being a better person. By not becoming like my father.”
“But you’re not like your father.” I shake my head.
Caleb attempts a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “We’ve come a long way, huh?”
“I’ve heard the speculation,” I say. “And I know you wouldn’t dream of being that evil.”
“No,” he rasps. “I wouldn’t. But a lot of people think I could.”
Guilt swarms me because I thought the same when I first met him.
