Page 37 of Cryptic Dreams
Every time she takes a breath, I do as well. Every beat of her heart mirrors my own. I hear every sound she makes though she tries to stay silent, even the way the fabric of her clothes brushes against her skin. Each emotion that passes through Zephyr passes through me as well, and while it helps to know she is mostly calm, mostly at ease in my home, the flashes of fear that come out of nowhere, the anxiety that hangs in the air when she walks passed my room, the hurt and confusion she harbors when we accidentally cross paths, I feel them all. And they are wreaking havoc on my already aching heart.
After she woke earlier this week, once she felt strong enough, Zephyr requested to stay in one of the extra bedrooms down the hall. She did not fight the need to be here once it was explained to her but she did not ask me directly, made the request through Orion, and though I had left to give her space when I felt her begin to wake, it hurt me nonetheless.
It felt like the first step in her process of rejecting me altogether.
I cannot blame her if that’s how she feels, if that’s what she chooses to do. I hurt her far worse by treating her the way I did, but what has me perplexed is how strongly I feel our bond in spite of her most likely decision.
Zephyr’s cousin and his mate made up the extra room, purchased her a few items—including paints and canvas—then got her settled and stayed another two days before they felt comfortable leaving her alone with me.
I explained myself to Orion. I told him what I said to Zephyr and why I said it, and while he understood to a degree, he still harbors some anger and hesitance toward me because of it. Something I don’t blame him for either. And it was his comment about how hehopesZephyr doesn’t reject me coupled with her conflicting feelings that has me so utterly confused that I’ve been driving myself mad with questions these last few days and nights.
I feel the negative, feel it strong and forcefully, but I also feel her curiosity, the little thrill of excitement when she hears me coming down the hall. And through it all, I can feel her love, the love for me that she somehow still has, and the resolute decision to fight it as well. Zephyr accepts that I am her mate, accepts that she loves me but she refuses to act on it in any way, yet she doesn’t deny or reject it either. She merely fights the feelings and attempts to push them to the back of her mind.
So I’ve given her a wide berth.
I avoid the parts of the house she’s in, only enter the kitchen when I know she’s gotten what she needed and returned to her room. I make sure I’m in for the day when she chooses to shower or sneaks down to my library to find another book to read.
Zephyr seems to require very little in almost all ways and while I appreciate that she is satisfied with endless books and paint supplies, it also saddens me to think she needs absolutely nothing else to feel content.
According to Orion, she didn’t even replace her phone after it was crushed.
I imagine this comes from living the way she had for so long, surviving in that hoarded shack with a man who stripped everything from her including her joy. My gentle breeze adapted to having nothing and finding her happiness in the only ways she knew how, and it breaks my heart that this is how she believes she deserves to live.
And her nightmares?My god.
Her nightmares break my heart even more.
Zephyr has had them every day since she woke, horrible dreams that rip her from sleep, that cause her to scream and sob at all hours. It has taken everything in me, every ounce of my restraint, to not go to her when this happens, and I fear that is wearing on me in much the same way as everything else.
I do not believe she would take kindly to waking to find me comforting her, not after the wide array of emotions I felt pass through her when she woke and realized she was in my bed. Everything that has followed has been just as difficult; avoiding her when I want nothing more than to be in her presence, giving her space when I am dying to share it with her. I just want to bask in her warmth, to bathe in her light. I want the opportunity to explain myself and confess my original intent as well as my profound love, but again, it is an impossibility while my beautiful mate wants nothing to do with me.
Karmic, I suppose.
I did the same. I hurt her and now it is her chance to hurt me, and once she realizes all it will take is but a few simple words to sever our bond, surely Zephyr will do so and I will crumble to nothing but dust where I stand when it happens.
It is selfish to have thoughts like this though, thoughts of redemption and forgiveness, hopes of a future that will allow us to be together as intended. It accounts only for my feelings and desires but I can’t seem to change it. My love for her won’t allow me to even if I tried.
But still, I shall give her space and when Zephyr decides to come to me, to bridge the gap between us, I will be ready and waiting with an open heart and apology on my lips. Even if she only speaks to me to reject our bond, I will still be ready because Zephyr at the very least deserves that from me.
And while I listen to her sleep, my eyes wearing a path in the design of my ceiling, the pillow that still holds her scent the strongest clutched to my chest, I will silently pray I did not ruin the only potentially good thing to ever happen to me.
That’s my plan anyway, right up until my bloody doorbell rings and brings with it the very worst thing to ever happen to me.
Then I lunge from the bed and fly down the stairs because I do not want my sire ringing again. If he does, the bastard could bloody well wake my mate and after another brutal day, I might skin him alive if that happens.
“Do you always answer nude?” Atticus frowns as I throw open the door. “Please tell me you at least cover your knob when the young girls from Clean Drip deliver your weekly groceries.”
I frown and reach for a dressing gown, and hastily wrap it around my body as I step into the doorway to prevent my father and very obviously drunk mother from entering my home. Drusilla is basically lying on the iron railing of my front steps and I momentarily wonder how I am such a disgrace to them when the female who gave birth to me can scarcely stay vertical.
“You’re not going to let us in?” Father looks over my shoulder into the hall. “That’s rather rude, now isn’t it, son?”
“It’s not a good time.” I move to step onto the porch but Atticus plows through me, dragging my boneless mother behind him. “But please,come in.”
Atticus stops in the middle of the foyer, does a slow spin as he examines my home as if it’s the first time he’s ever been here, then turns his gaze up the grand staircase. “So it’s true?”
I grab the back of my mother’s coat, the puffy hood surrounded in fur, and secure her on the coat rack. “What’s bloody true?”
Father turns to face me, an evil gleam in his black eyes. “You have found your mate.”
