Page 18 of His Curse
All gone.
All somehow my fault.
I reach toward the nightstand and grab a cigarette then light it with trembling fingers.
A deep inhale has me a little calmer and my hands a little steadier, but when I swing my legs over the edge of my bed, everything tilts to the right so I just hang my head and take another drag off my smoke.
Shit.
Shit, that was intense.
So fucking intense, and so goddamn real.
But there are a few very good reasons it can't be.
"Care to discuss your dreams now, wolf?" Zan asks as he turns on the small lamp by the window. "Perhaps it will do you some good."
I shake my head and suck down some more nicotine. "I'm good."
"You are not."
"I am."
"Not,” he huffs.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"But you must."
"No, Imustn’t,” I say as I smirk and meet his eyes. "You already know more than anyone else; that should be enough."
"Ah, but it isn't, is it?" Zan leans forward and drops his elbows to his knees. "It never truly is enough, for I am demon." We stare each other down for what seems like hours even though I’m sure it’s only seconds before that sardonic fucking grin spreads across his face. "Then perhaps you will share with me something else.” He gets to his feet, Zan's perma-swagger carrying him to the wall across from me, the one hidden by a colorful blanket my grandmother hand-wove for me when I was a pup. He reaches for a corner, his fingers tracing patterns in the colorful material, and just when I expect him to ask where the blanket came from, Zan snatches it down to reveal my obsession. "Perhaps you can explain this?"
Normally, I'd be in his face growling, baring my teeth, priming for a fight and telling him to mind his own damn business after pulling a stunt like that, but I don't have it in me, not right now.
And definitely not with my best friend who probably means well, even if he has zero tact and is absolutely shit at showing it.
So, I just cringe, stab out my cigarette in the ashtray and light another one. "I'd rather not."
Zan scans the news articles, the clippings and photos, the dozens of case files as he walks slowly along twenty-five years of research. "Pick one, wolf. We either discuss this most interesting art installation, or you finally share with me your nightmare that is becoming almost hourly. It is up to you, but I will not leave until at least one of those mysteries have been solved."
"Sometimes I really fucking hate how nosy you are."
"And yet, you love me all the same."
I sigh and push my hand back through my hair, my much shorter hair, thanks to Cora. "Let’s start with the nightmare. It'll be easier to explain at”—I glance at my phone—“Christ, it's three in the morning?"
Zan nods. "This is when your nightmare happens most frequently."
“”And you just, what? Happen to be taking your nightly stroll at that time?” The asshat gives me a pointed look and I shake my head. “You are one creepy fuck, demon."
"No, I'm merely so in tune with your evil that I can't help but be a little drawn to it. Soul or not, it does not change my genetics."
"So you think my nightmare comes from my curse?"
He tilts his head side to side then glances at the wall again. "Not entirely. I believe they may stem from your curse, stem from the things it forces you to do, the things you still share with no one, but I do not believe they are directlylinkedto your curse.” Then Zan meets my eyes. "Not the one you just had, anyway."
Gods, he is fucking intuitive as shit.
