Page 25 of Cryptic Dreams
Pushing that thought aside, I focus on why Zephyr might have chosen to work at the New Orleans Public Library because I’ll continue driving myself mad if I don’t.
I will not entertain madness, not until I have to.
With a huff, I stomp down the sidewalk and let my mind wander but only a bit.
I suspect she chose to work there for the same reason I choose to avoid the Vampire Counsel Library.
My bastard sire has handpicked the pieces of literature that sit on the shelves, banning anything that could be considered damning to the Counsel itself, pushing the books that paint him a hero, Kadoc a villain, and conveniently forgets to mention all the bullshit that went on between three generations of my line during that time.
Atticus is very literally rewriting history, and he’s putting those books in the only place anyone can go to look into it.
And though she is majoring in all things pertaining to our creation and the old ways, Zephyr is not stupid enough to buy my father’s brand of bullshit.
I flinch as I abruptly turn down the alley next to the human hall of books, my mind flashing to the other night when my gentle breeze followed me—when I pinned her to the bricks and made her feel so small she briefly considered disappearing completely. When my dumbarse pushed away the only creature on the planet with the potential to actually…
Shaking my head, I dematerialize to the roof and stalk toward the center, the portion that sits above the circulation desk where Zephyr should be, but she isn’t.
I don’t feel her here, don’t sense her presence or her energy.
So I head toward the part of the roof that covers the old dusty card catalog—an ancient system even to the likes of me—but slow my pace when I realize that Egyptian goddess isn’t there either.
And that is even more curious than the stupid thoughts I was trying not to entertain before I got here.
I do a complete sweep of the building, walking the entire roof in grids to see if I can pick up any sign of my gentle breeze, but I don’t, and instead of dropping this even stupider compulsion to follow her around all of New Orleans, I jump down to the sidewalk and begin taking Zephyr’s usual path to that god awful house she lives in.
Daft.
Stupid.
Moronic imbecile, all but rejecting the female to only stalk through the city after her hours later.
This obsession with Zephyr is going to drive me insane quicker than the madness that will come from not mating her.
A few moments later, I find myself standing outside the decrepit two story shithole she callshome, staring up at the darkened upper level as I listen for the male that lives here as well.
Fucking human male.
Something that makes me see bloody red, white and all the colors each time I think about it.
It doesn’t stop me from coming here, though. Nor does it prevent me from gaping at the front of the house in the middle of the sidewalk as though I’m completely amazed that this piece of garbage is still standing.
It’s no place for my mate.
With a growl, I dematerialize myself onto the roof of the house across the street, taking up my post where I have the best view into her attic bedroom and when I settle in for what is no doubt going to be a longer time than acceptable—which isnone, by the way—my heart stutters in my chest as my gaze lands on the female herself.
Zephyr is sitting on a stool in front of an easel, her hair carelessly thrown up in her trademark messy knot, an oversized t-shirt is hanging off one of her shoulders, and that is all she’s wearing from what I can tell because I see miles of golden-tan skin shimmering in the dim light of her room. Zephyr bobs her head slowly as she lifts one elegant hand to the canvas, her movements fluid and precise as she gently presses the brush against it before giving the weeping willow some life amongst its branches.
I watch intently as she continues, adding little leaves in various shades of green, touching with black or white here and there. The tree looks like a living and breathing thing, so realistic I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips and when Zephyr pauses and glances over her shoulder briefly, it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to let it spread across my face.
My gentle breeze, this magnificent creature, has streaks of green and blue paint on her cheeks and forehead, a dot of white on her nose, a smudge of black on her chin. Zephyr is positively covered in oil paint and if I weren’t such a bastard, it’d make me chuckle because I find it rather…adorable.
Good god, I’m losing my mind.
I have to be to think such things, and it’s drawing attention to myself because becoming careless with my thoughts has Zephyr lowering her pallet and turning toward the window.
Ducking out of sight, I drop to my haunches, crouched down as far as I can go until a noise inside that room has me jolting to my feet.
Crying.
