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I took a peek, and sure enough the handsome man with tousled blond hair was looking my way. Sadly, it was hard to take him seriously since he was wearing a camouflage tuxedo, like all the men in the wedding party. “He’s cute,” I commented.
“Cute? Um, he’s freaking gorgeous.”
“Why don’t you go ask him out?”
Her eyes lit up like an evil genius. “Do you mind?”
“Why would I?”
She popped up and patted the bun on top of my head. “Someday you’re going to meet your person. I just hope I’m around to see it.”
What if I already had met him?Chapter FourteenEric
Eric set his laptop on his coffee table, so tired the words on the screen had begun to blur. Devon already had him on a new assignment investigating a local hospital’s misuse of government funds, allowing himself to take all the glory for the Clayton Palmer scandal. The guy really was a douche. If Eric could quit, he would. Unfortunately, the book had always directed his career path, even if it didn’t always make sense. When he had lived in Prague, he’d been forced to finish his political science degree, which had been useless to him. He’d ended up working an IT job until the book told him to come back to America and pursue a career in journalism. At least this job was more satisfying. Anything was better than answering phones all day, trying to explain to people how to fix their internet connections.
He leaned his head against the back of his cracked, faux-leather couch and rubbed his eyes before closing them. Visions of Sorrel filled his mind, so much so he almost gave in and went to her in her dreams. He was sure she would be walking in the vineyard, but he could convince her they should be on the beach and she should wear a bikini. Pleasure like no other overcame him as he thought of them together on the warm sand with hardly a thing between them. After resisting the call to go to her, he drifted off to sleep. If only he could dream of her on demand. Instead he found himself in his old childhood room, frightened.
He was a child and covering his head with his ratty old blanket while he cowered on the stained mattress lying on the floor. He could hear his parents screaming. His mother, Portia, was accusing his father, Vincent, of cheating on her again, thereby killing the woman who lived below them. His father readily admitted to sleeping with the woman, then blamed it on Portia for growing fat and ugly. Vincent swore he would have killed Portia by now except the curse prevented him from doing so. Eric held in his sobs. If his father heard him crying, he would punish him for being weak. Selene men were supposed to be strong and emotionless. Bastards. They were supposed to fight for what was rightfully theirs and never stop until they broke the curse and killed off every living member of the traitorous Tellus family. It didn’t matter what they had to do, even if they had to give their lives—they would see the Tellus family die.
But Eric didn’t want to be like that. His breathing became more labored before he remembered he wasn’t a little boy anymore and this was a dream. He needed to wake up. He came out from under the blanket, trying to come to his senses. He almost had until someone pounded on the dilapidated door with peeling gray paint.
“Open up the damn door,” his father shouted. He was no dream.
“No,” Eric whispered. He pushed himself back into the corner, as far away as he could from the man who he’d always promised himself he would never become. He covered his head with his hands, worried that was exactly who he had become. He had used his dark powers to extract information and inflict pain. He had almost killed two men. Did it matter if his intentions were good? That he had done it to protect the purest thing he had ever known?
The pounding became louder. “Don’t make me kick down this door,” Vincent shouted.
Eric slowly stood and smiled, remembering something. “You can’t. This is my dream. And I’m not a child.” He would no longer be a willing victim.
Vincent barked out an evil laugh. “Finally learning some control, son? It’s about time.”
“I’m waking up now,” Eric informed him.
“That’s too bad. I suppose I’ll have to make a personal visit. It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other. When I get there, you can introduce me to Sorrel Black. She sounds like someone I should meet.”
Eric faltered; his blood ran cold. How did he know about Sorrel? A better question was, why was he interested in her? Though he loathed to, he walked toward the door, in the name of protecting Sorrel. He grabbed the handle and cursed under his breath before opening it. There stood his father. It was as if he were staring into a mirror. Except for their clothing—his father always wore all black, no matter the season—they were almost identical. But Eric liked to think his eyes weren’t as dark and cold as his father’s.
