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Sirus stalked closer, moving around the chair. Each long stride caused her heart to beat a little bit faster. His tall form cast her in shadow, and he stopped so close Gwen could feel the heat of his body radiating against the front of her.
“You do,” he said in that same flat tone, as if it were undeniable fact. Gwen shivered, unable to see his eyes clearly in the dim light but feeling the darkness emanating from him. “If you didn’t,” he added, “neither of us would be here. In London. In this room.”
It was jarring how tempted she was to believe him. How tempted she was to lean into the warmth of him like she had in her dream. Gwen sucked in a stuttered breath when she caught herself swaying forward. Enough.
“If you need to contact your friends and family, it can be arranged,” he said again. “You are not a prisoner.”
Gwen huffed a pathetic little laugh and took a small step back from him. “Don’t worry,” she snapped bitterly. “No one cares that I’m gone. No one’s going to come for me.”
He cocked his head in that animal way. Maybe it was panic or bitterness or exhaustion, but the words just fell out of her. “My parents aren’t around,” she blurted flatly. “Miss Jones is the only one who would care enough to notice I’m gone, and clearly she knows what happened. I don’t have anyone else. So, no. There’s no one to contact.”
The biting self-pity in her rant made her want to throw herself out the window.
“Very well,” he replied without a touch of empathy or feeling at all.
Gwen was glad for it, honestly. She wasn’t sure if she could handle his pity.
She glared up into his face. Sirus was so far from what she’d expected in so many ways, but something about this frigid, predatory, shadowed man still stirred some kind of familiarity in her blood. She knew nothing about him, yet she felt she knew him. Just like in her dream. Her heart slammed into her ribs as he held her gaze, as if he knew she was going to ask something more and was waiting. “I’ve seen you before,” she whispered, her voice giving in to her nerves. “In a dream. How is that possible?”
* * *
Sirus had steeled himself, sensing she wished to say something more, assuming she would argue with him. He didn’t mind her arguing. Very few creatures were bold enough to argue with him, even amongst his more intimate acquaintances. Plus, he rather liked the way Gwendolyn’s nose crinkled when she was frustrated, even if he knew he shouldn’t.
What he’d told her had been the truth, and he’d hoped it would help her come to terms with her reality. Sirus had anticipated she would grow more tentative of him as their conversation went on, as he’d answered her questions about vampires. But the opposite was true, strangely enough, and he’d found himself not quite desiring to leave her company just yet. Each question had pulled him in further. Her determination to deny her reality became a challenge for him to prove her wrong. She was of magick; that wasn’t a question. Though it was obvious she had no awareness of her magickal pulse. Perhaps she’d merely lived too long without recognizing it for what it was? Perhaps somehow she’d managed to keep her magicks subdued? He doubted it.
Sirus had surmised that she must be under some kind of binding spell. It was the only way to explain the clear presence of her magick without her knowing. Unless she was just that deeply in denial? Also doubtful. Magick was not easily ignored by those born to be conduits. Even without schooling and practice to turn the chaos of magick into order it would eventually find a path. Would burst forth into the world without control. He’d seen that happen with his own eyes once before. An entire cargo ship burned to ash by a reedy waif of a girl no more than fifteen. Levian had learned to control her magick rather well since then.
Gwendolyn did not exude chaos, but she was definitely magickal. Sirus had to resist the urge to draw closer to her, as if he were pulled in by the magnetic force of her essence. Though that wasn’t the only reason he was tempted to draw closer to her. He was drawn in by the rawness of her emotions, her lack of veiled control that most creatures practiced in his presence. She was not wary or skittish—at least, not of him. She was bold. In fact, for a moment he’d wondered if she wasn’t going to lean into him. To touch him. The temptation of feeling her fingers on him again had drawn the entirety of his focus…and then she’d spoken.
He’d not expected her to confess it so easily. Sirus struggled to comprehend the fact that she was alone in the world. She seemed far from the reclusive sort he was used to. She was young and bold and actually quite pretty. It made little sense that she would be so withdrawn from the world. That she would lack friends. The fact that she was without parents was significant, and it begged far more questions than it answered about her current circumstances and her origin.
Then she’d shocked him further.
Sirus’s spine went rigid the moment the words slipped from her lips, and a strange feeling swept through the whole of his person. “You saw me? In a dream?” he clarified to be sure.
Gwendolyn fidgeted with the sleeve of her jacket as she leaned further over the back of the chair, away from him. “K-kind of,” she stammered, seemingly uncertain of herself now that she’d said what she had. “Not clearly, but I knew it was you.”
He held the breath in his lungs for a long while. She had dreamt of him.
Her reaction upon their first meeting had been strange and disconcerting, as if she’d recognized him. Now he knew why. The clarification brought no comfort, but it did spur forth many questions. What had she dreamt, exactly? What had he been doing in these dreams? What had they been doing in these dreams? Sirus caught himself and took a step back from her, forcing his head clear.
“Magick,” he replied simply, addressing her initial question.
She blinked before her face twisted with annoyance, her nose crinkling. He tensed. It was ridiculous how attractive he found that little tic. How attractive he was starting to find her. No. That would not do. Intrigued was bad enough. Attracted was not acceptable.
“Is that your excuse for everything?” she snapped, drawing him out of his thoughts. “For weeks I’ve had the same damn dream, over and over, and you’re always in it. I knew it was you, even back in my apartment. How is it possible that I could dream about you when you don’t even know who I am? When I don’t know who you are?”
“How long?” His heart was beating faster.
“What?”
“How long, exactly, have you been having this dream?” he clarified, forcing his tone calm and cool.
She pulled a face, that crinkle showing up once more. His molars ground. “I don’t know. A few weeks. Does it matter?”
He couldn’t be sure, but he imagined her dreams must have started the moment he’d come to New York to look for her. Perhaps it was only foreshadowing. Much like how the witch had predicted their arrival. Foresight was not so rare in the world of magick. Perhaps she simply held such an ability. But his instincts flared, telling him it wasn’t quite that simple.
A cold sweat spread up his back in the warm room. Gwendolyn may have predicted his arrival, but she didn’t know him. She couldn’t know him. She was simply naive and clearly swayed by this dream to respond to him in a way that wasn’t natural. It should have comforted him. Having an answer. It didn’t.
