Page 34 of Cryptic Dreams
If I’m to feel simultaneous joy and pain while surrounded by the scent of the male I love but can never be with, my mate that doesn’t want me because I am nothing, then this is definitely hell.
Funny.
I would have thought between my gift and the fact that I was doomed to live withhimuntil he finally died, maybe the Gods of Old would have cut me some slack and at least allowed me into their heaven. I thought living a life as lonely and hollow as mine would have meant I could spend eternity with my fallen loved ones in a place where who I am or what I can do doesn’t matter.
Guess I thought wrong.
Determined to see what kind of torment I’m facing, I shift around a little more and force my eyes open.
The first thing I see is an intricate pattern above me. Swirls and loops, the filigree in gold leaf set against a soft white. I trace my eyes over the beautiful design then follow what appears to be crown molding to a deep burgundy wallpaper with more of the same pattern in an almost iridescent and slightly lighter shade of the same color. There’s an antique dressing table straight across from me, the mirror large and surrounded by an elaborate wood frame, most likely cherrywood based on the color.
My gaze moves left to find a matching wardrobe and desk, a mess of what appears to be ledgers and record books, a quill pen and ink, even red wax and heavy seal stamp sitting on top. The chair is slightly askew with a black crushed velvet smoking jacket carelessly draped over it. To my immediate left is a bedside table made of the same wood and ornate designs, and a beautiful oil lamp providing a very soft light. There’s a vintage looking clock, a heavy glass ashtray and in it sits a simple though lovely wooden pipe.
This is not what I expected hell to look like.
Nope, definitely didn’t think hell would look like it could easily pass as a room in Versailles, something that’s proven once again as my eyes shift to the bed I’m lying in.
Four elaborate wooden posts. A plethora of pillows behind me, black satin sheets around me. The comforter is black as well with thin swirls of gold and burgundy weaving together over the pillowy down, and a Sherpa throw in a cream color at the foot. Everything is just so beautiful and inviting, comforting even, and maybe it means I’m not doomed after all.
Movement to my right has my gaze swinging in that direction and what I see—oh god, it makes my heart swell.
There’s a chaise in the corner next to black iron French doors that lead to a balcony, heavy blackout tapestries on either side of a spectacular view of the city below, but it’s the body on the chaise that has my chest tightening.
Aries.
My sweet cousin's mate is curled up on the beautiful piece of furniture fast asleep, a slight frown marring his handsome face. His dark red hair is wild, the same color in thick stubble on his cheeks surrounding his troubled expression. He looks exhausted even while he sleeps and it worries me, especially when more movement draws my attention, and tears spring to my eyes.
Orion, my amazing cousin, my best friend and only family, is sitting in a rather plush high back chair, his upper body draped over the side of this enormous bed. His head is resting on his arm, his brow furrowed against it under the shaggy wisps of his almost black hair. His other arm is outstretched so his fingers sit close to my thigh and I know without asking that he probably hasn’t moved from that spot for some time and only when necessary.
I don’t exactly understand what’s going on, don’t know where I am or why my cousin and his mate are here with me, but I’m so damn happy to see them I could cry.
So I do.
A few little tears roll down my cheeks as I reach out and push a couple strands of hair from Orion’s face. My gloves are gone, but that’s ok. It doesn’t stop me from touching him because I know his history without having to see it, and even if I do, it isn’t upsetting, and Orion doesn’t mind. He and Aries are the only two I’ve ever touched without my gloves, ever since that boy kissed me anyway, and while it’s been less than a handful of times, I welcome the sensation of his hair against my fingertips.
I brush it away again and turn on my side to watch my cousin sleep, the frown disappearing with each gentle stroke of my fingers. Sometimes I forget how handsome Orion is, or how alike we look. He’s my cousin, more like my brother, and while I don’t take him for granted, at times it feels like our relationship is purely out of obligation.
Not for me. It’s completely effortless to love Orion and want to be around him, but I can’t imagine he always feels the same. I know he doesn’t. Not that he doesn’t love me, but the constant worry and protective need he has, the way he feels like he has to fill an almost paternal role in my life because he’s older and we’re all each other has left, that’s what has to be hard for him. I bet that is so taxing, so tiring, that it’s hard to just embrace our relationship for what it is, and the burden that comes with sharing blood with me makes it even more difficult I’m sure.
He’s always been that way though, always my protector, my savior, my big brother and best friend. As my gift developed and created more and more issues, Orion stepped into a role I don’t know if he ever meant to play, and once our parents were killed it became even more intense. That’s when he got worse, and Orion went from only a little overprotective to batshit crazy levels.
A flash of...something... flickers in my mind as my fingers skim his forehead and I pause my movement in order to hang onto it.
The kitchen at the house.
Him.
Pain.
The storm cellar.
“Oh my god,” I gasp as a flood of memories burst through the dam in my brain and fill my head with fuzzy pictures.
“Z?” Orion’s voice is full of sleep and when I blink at him with wide eyes, he blows out a relieved sigh. “Oh thank god, Zephyr, I—”
I quickly flatten my palm against his cheek and suddenly I’m right back in the cellar.
Blood.
