Chapter 21
1587 Words
21
It was almost midnight when we stopped at a hotel past Birmingham, Alabama.
This time we got two rooms, and Micah called dibs on sleeping with me. In the hallway, after bidding goodnight to the others, I caught Victor’s gaze lingering on me. I saw something there, something I couldn’t quite grasp. Was he jealous? No. Worried? That wasn’t it either.
Inside our room, Micah threw himself at one of the beds, tossing me one of his trademark smiles. “So, darling, will you join me?” He patted the empty space beside him.
I rolled my eyes and rummaged through my things. “Why are you in this?”
He sat up straight. “What do you mean?”
“Why are you here? Why are you coming with us and helping us?”
“I thought it was pretty obvious. Because of you, darling.” He winked and I rolled my eyes again. “Okay, seriously, I don’t know.” His tone became quieter. “There are a few moments when I believe that whatever is happening to us has something to do with the darkness surrounding the world.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “The bats and the feelings make me think the darkness is involved in our problems, I guess. But this world doesn’t bother me. I even like the dark. What I don’t like are these pains and the impression I’m missing something, that I’m still missing some part of me.”
It made sense. Though how could he not care that the world was drowning in darkness and every living creature was in the path of death?
The image of his possessed face as he killed his parents’ killer flashed before my eyes.
I approached him and, careful with my words and tone, said, “What happened when you killed those men?” At his raised eyebrow, I hurried on. “I mean, in the vision, you looked … not yourself.”
“One more question to which I don’t know the answer. Like you said, I wasn’t myself. The sight of my parents dead beside me was too much. I was out of control.”
Like when he had attacked me in my closet and almost strangled me. I don’t know if he could also read minds, but he looked up at me, regret flickering in his black eyes. “I’m sorry about the way I acted at your apartment. I was trying to get you out of there, safe and sound, and you were making it so hard. I don’t know what came over me.” His eyes were focused on mine, causing my breath to catch. “I’m sorry.”
I nodded. “It’s okay,” I whispered before disappearing into the bathroom. Besides dying for a shower, I needed to get away from the temptation of lying with him in that bed.
When I went back to the room, the temptation grew. Micah wore only jeans, which left his chest and chiseled muscles apparent. His tattoos sucked me in. He had a coiled snake on his left shoulder, four lines of Hebrew writing over his chest, and tribal drawings to the side of his abdomen, which spread onto his back.
I averted my gaze, my cheeks growing hot.
“Hi, darling,” he said, deliberately provoking me.
I stopped in front of the mirror to comb my hair. “It’s not that warm in here.”
“I know.” He chuckled, adding to my irritation. “I need your touch and thought being shirtless would make the deal more attractive. Plus, you would want me more.”
With my jaw practically on the ground, I turned to him. “Want you more? Are you insane?”
“No.” He sat at edge of the bed near me. That was when I saw his hands shaking. “Could you come here and help me?” he asked, his tone nicer but more urgent.
Disregarding his gigantic ego, I walked the few steps to him and extended my hand. Even if I wasn’t tempted, he needed me to become healthier. He grabbed my hand and, with one corner of his lips curling up, he pulled me closer, resting my palm on his brawny chest.
The cold shock spread from my skin to his before I could protest. For a moment, I forgot I was touching his body and relished the refreshing sensation that came with my healing ability. It was like a relieving twinkling sensation crawling under my skin, taking me over. Pressing my hand with his, he moaned, eyes shut and head tilted back.
The cold diminished slowly, until it was gone. Still holding my hand to his chest, he opened his eyes and looked straight at me—through me.
“Are you better?” My voice broke, my breathing uneven.
Nodding, he gripped my other wrist. He pulled me until I was standing between his legs, less than two inches from him. His gaze never left mine as he stood, brushing his body against mine. My heart skipped a beat.
He leaned into me, but I pulled back. He put his hand behind my neck. “You want this,” he whispered, his breath mixing with his scent, poisoning my mind.
“No,” I said, putting my arms against his chest to push him back. Who was I kidding? He was super hot and into me at this exact moment. Of course I wanted this. But, would I still think I wanted this when I saw Victor the next day? Until I met Micah, the Victor in my visions had been the only guy in my life.
Micah pulled me to him and leaned down. He wasn’t as subtle or gentle or slow as Victor was in my dreams. He was direct and rough and damned sexy. His lips brushed against mine, but a knock on the door made me jump back.
He grunted. “Who is it?”
“It’s me,” Victor said.
My eyes went wide, and I ran to the door and propped it open. Victor sloped against the doorframe, his face white and his breathing irregular.
“Oh God, what is it?” I reached to him, passing my arm around his waist and helping him in.
“Pain,” he whispered between gritted teeth. I helped him sit on the bed.
Micah stood before the window, still shirtless, fuming and pacing, not looking back.
“Did I interrupt something?” Victor raised his eyebrows, glancing from Micah to me.
“No,” I exclaimed, hoping I wasn’t blushing.
Victor extended his hand to me. “Please, could you help me?”
Without answering, I took his hand in mine and almost fell on my knees when the warmth took over me, sending strong feelings to my core. God, he was so weak!
In the depths of healing, I heard Micah murmur, “I’m gonna take a walk.”
Victor ended up taking more of my energy than I realized. After the healing, I plopped down on the bed beside him, sleepy.
“Thank you,” he whispered, glancing sideways at me. “Does it hurt you?”
“No.” At least, I didn’t feel anything. “I’m just a little tired.”
He looked around. “Where’s Micah?”
“I think he left.” I stood up and walked to the window. A minute ago, I had been in Micah’s arms, ready to kiss him. A shiver ran up my spine. God, Micah was impossibly hot and dangerously sexy. If only my heart didn’t belong to Victor—the Victor from my visions. I glanced at the guy before me, wishing he was the one he would never be.
After a few tense moments, he spoke, “Tell me more about your visions.” His voice was low and unsure. “About me in your visions.”
I leaned against the cold glass window. “Why do you want to know?”
“I was wondering how different your Victor is from me.” He glanced up at me, his sea-green gaze sweeping into my soul. “Was he a good friend? Or more?”
“Well, I’m not certain.” I wanted to hold his stare, even if it made me dizzy and confused. How could I talk about him to him? “We were best friends, companions, buddies. And we also acted like boyfriend and girlfriend, most of the time. I mean, we were jealous of each other’s past. I burned inside the few times we talked about your former girlfriends.” I saw his lips twitching as if they wanted to curl up in a smile, but it never came. “We kissed a little, but we never made out. So, I’m guessing we weren’t more, like you asked.”
“Do you like him?” he asked. When I frowned, he rephrased, “Do you love him?” I averted my gaze and didn’t answer, but I guess my silence was the answer. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
I glanced back at him. “For what?”
“For not being the one you wanted me to be. It would have been nice to be the one you hoped for. It would be nice to have a friend again, to have someone to care about.”
What to say to that? I compelled myself to be still and keep my mouth shut.
Unfortunately, unlike Micah and my dream Victor, he didn’t seem one bit into me. I wouldn’t be the one falling on my knees and begging for his love. With his stoic and reserved personality, I would look like a clown, or worse, desperate. All I needed was to run to him and cry on his lap. That would be fantastic.
I glanced at the alarm clock beside him. “It’s getting late,” I said, willing my voice to sound firm and strong.
“Yeah, right.” He stood and walked to the door, where he paused and looked back at me. He had to make my pulse race even more? How unfair. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
Once he was gone, I threw myself on one of the beds, hugged the pillow, and forced myself to think about ponies and cute puppies so I wouldn’t cry.
God, these three men—two real and one fictitious—were going to kill me.
- Writer
