A mistake.
“Roane!” I call after him.
He doesn’t turn around and I stare after his tall form as he strides away, vanishing in the gloom beyond the columns. I look down at myself, my bare legs, my pants, my undergarments and shoes in a heap beside me, and my face burns. The fact that he walked away after what we did makes him a bastard.
Unless there’s something I’m missing. What’s going on with him? And why did I let him get close again—to my body, to my heart? He’s struggling with something, it’s pretty obvious, but what?
He’s an enigma, a riddle, and I want to solve him.
Is that all this is? Do I think I have feelings for him because he engages my mind, intrigues it with his mystery?
You know that’s not the answer,I tell myself.Be honest. You’re accusing him of telling lies when you’re not straight with yourself either.
Yeah.That’s not all. I have soft, warm feelings for him, and now… him leaving me like this is sharpening them into something else.
Something hot and unpleasant.
So this world seems to be unstable. He’s worried. I understand that. It would be nice if he shared information and his worries with me, if he made me a part of his life. If he opened up. If he didn’t shut me out every time and left me to run after him.
Is that too much to ask? I’m stuck here with him, and I… damn, I like him. If only he weren’t such an ass sometimes. I like him, and I want him, I want to have his arms around me again, his lips on mine, I want his attention, his desire, his fondness, his worry focused on me.
But he considers me a mistake.
Curled up in the nest, I cat-nap, waking up time and again to the building shaking, though the tremors are less frequent now. Roane’s journal rests beside me, but I haven’t glanced inside again.
I rub my eyes and sigh.
“Can’t sleep?” Olm appears beside me, startling me. He’s sitting on top of the covers, arms looped around his knees. “Shall I sing you a lullaby?”
His book is on my other side and I reach out to pat it. “You could tell me a story.Yourstory, perhaps.”
“You never give up, do you?” He sighs.
“ShouldI give up?”
“That’s not what I said.”
I study his boyish face, the fall of pale hair over his brow, the hand he has draped over a folded knee. “It’s what you meant.”
“I am… reluctant to share my story,” he murmurs.
“Yeah, I noticed. Did you do something that might change the way I see you? Have you committed a crime? Kicked any puppies?”
He looks puzzled. “I don’t kick puppies.”
“Good to know.” I yawn and pile more furs on top of me. “What about kittens?”
“Are you joking? You’re joking, right?”
I snort. “Just checking. I don’t even know your world. Maybe you don’t even have puppies and kittens in it.”
“We do.”
“Okay. What about horses, wildcats, dragons?—”
“I come from your world,” he snaps. “So we have similar experiences to draw from.”
“Oh.” I sit up, suddenly wide awake. “Really? And do you have any family?”
