Page 14 of Cryptic Dreams
“He wasn’t even Nordic.”
“Well,Lokisays otherwise.”
I roll my eyes yet again. “Well, if I come out Tuesday just make sure you and Aries are the only two gorgeous males to sit at my table. I don’t need any distractions.”Or disappointments.
“You got it, cuz. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up and slip my phone back into the pocket of my sweater, blow out a breath, and close my eyes.
I love Orion so much but all this talk about mates always makes me so sad.
When I was young, long before I knew about mygifts, long before I understood what they would mean for me as I grew up, I had grand plans and beautiful fantasies of meeting my mate and falling in love. I’m a female after all, it’s basically what little girls do, but as my dreams became more intense, as I started reading people’s lives and telling them what I saw, I realized quickly that those fantasies would never be anything more than that.
The only male who’s ever kissed me did it on a dare, a stupid bet when I was in the equivalent of our version of high school in order to see if mycrazy magicwould work with lip to lip contact.
It did.
And after I saw Timothy Mueller stealing baked goods from his neighbors windows and kissing a human girl the summer before, I burst into tears and ran home with the heavy weight of my future dragging behind me.
That was the moment my greatest hope was squashed, and it was the last time I ever voluntarily touched someone I wasn’t related to.
Pathetic.
I finish cleaning up and when I move behind the circulation desk to grab my purse, I slump down in the chair with a defeated sigh.
Always alone.
Carefully, I tug the fingers of my gloves and remove the lace from my hands.
They don’t look any different from anyone else’s, not at first glance.
Super light brown skin. Slender fingers like my father. Short nails. Nothing out of the ordinary at all really. But then I flip them over so they’re palm up, that’s when I can see how drastically different they are.
I trace the identical pattern with my eyes then lift my left index and do it again with my finger tip.
They started out as little more than circles in my palms. Perfectly round circles barely raised above my skin. As time went on, as I grew and changed, those circles became more, and after I went through the super intense vampire version of puberty, they turned into what they are now.
They look like very thin scars, a shade darker than my skin tone and lifted just enough to feel under my fingertips. I’ve come to love the design though, despite what it must mean. The marks are why I have to wear gloves, why I cover the most intense and extreme point of contact for my gifts and regardless of that fact and the hard truth it brings, the marks are rather beautiful, and exactly what sparked my desire to go back to school.
One more brush of the pattern in my palm and I pull on the gloves, cover my hands and grab my purse.
Better hurry so I can avoid another horrible confrontation withhim.
I remove my sunglasses from my bag and put them on as I lock the library then start on my way back to the house. It’s five o’clock in the morning, still pitch black out, but for some reason I feel the need to hide my face. But not from just anyone, from Orion.
Not that he’d be walking around this part of the city right now. It’s silly really because I won’t see him until I make it a point to do so, and no one else is going to notice me. Except for maybe the few drunks who might be staggering around and can focus long enough to see the oversized sunglasses that will probably draw a little attention.
I intentionally failed to mention to my cousin during our phone call that when I got back from Plasma last night,hewas waiting for me again. Same scenario as before, only this time he beat me so badly that I didn’t wake up until my alarm went off for work tonight. I had barely even started to heal by the time I dragged myself from the floor, and I needed to bring multiple blood bags to work with me just so the pain was tolerable.
Ian used silver this time.
Silver brass knuckles that must have been purchased at an underground black market shop in a very illegal transaction, one performed by anti-fangers because the Great Counsel had things like that outlawed unless they were used by swat teams and only in extreme situations.
Doesn’t mean civilians can’t get their hands on them though.
My steps are hurried as I walk down the street. There’s no need to run but I still want to make it back in time to get everything done beforehegets up. I’m not sure I can take any more beatings like that so close together. Not without calling into work and attempting to heal behind my locked door of the attic anyway, and since going to the library is one of the few joys I have in this sorry excuse for a life, I can’t let him take that away from me.
