For now.
What in the hell does that mean?
He slides into the chair opposite me. “What do you want with me? Are you selling me to the Blackthroats?”
A frown creases between his brows. “No.” He taps his index and middle finger down on his thumb around his fork in what must be the sign for no. The syllable is decisive, and his distaste with my question is clear. He cuts into his steak.
I don’t smell a lie. I cut into mine and take a bite. I’m ravenous. I gulp down two more bites, hardly chewing before I notice Noah glowering at me.
“You were starving.”
Is it me, or does he seem angry about this?
I swallow down a hunk of meat and draw myself up straighter. I don’t want him thinking I’m weak. Especially not if I’m his prisoner. “Fasting aids in the Sight.”
He studies me without comment. I don’t think he buys it. He reaches across and cuts a corner of my meat into small squares, as if I were a child. “Smaller bites. I don’t want you choking.”
I glare at the smaller bites and then decide I’m too hungry to quibble. I stab one and swallow it down. “What do you want with me?” I repeat.
He shrugs. “It’s not you I want. But fate delivered you to me, and I know better than to argue with fate.”
Fate delivered me to him? A shock of surprise ripples through me as my mind quickly catalogs the events.
Grandmothers, is it true?
Maybe he’s right. Maybe fate was at work in sending me straight into his arms. I still don’t know how I got out of my locked and guarded cell, nor how I found my way to the tunnel entry. The visions were coming too fast for me to interpret, and then suddenly I was out, and Noah was there waiting for me.
Noah continues to stare at me as he eats, as if he’s listening intently, not with his ears but with his other senses. His aura is powerful, a serene but intense blue that radiates from him. I can almost taste his alpha magic.
“You’ve been in my dreams,” he says.
I choke on my steak. He lunges forward like he’s somehow going to save me from asphyxiating. When I hold up my hand, he slowly sinks back into his chair, gaze still intent on my face.
I pound on my sternum with my fist and swallow, then pick up my glass and guzzle down half the water. “You saw my dreams?” I rasp out, my eyes still watering from choking.
That golden sheen rolls over his irises again. It sends a shiver down my spine. He’s so beautiful it makes my chest ache.
“You saw my dreams.” He points at me, then uses a flat hand on his chest. I enjoy seeing him talk with his hands. Something in me yearns to see him sign. The way his hands move is beautiful.
A hint of a smile plays around his lips, and I realize he might be teasing me. The sight of it sends butterflies fluttering through me. He has beautiful dark blue eyes. Kind eyes.
He feels familiar, even though we’re total strangers. I know he was the man who helped me in the elevator. I keep imagining it, wishing I'd been able to see him or had been more aware to understand what was happening.
The smile vanishes as quickly as it came.
“When? Which dreams?” I demand.
“Most of them I don’t remember, but I know I’ve been dreaming about you. There was one in your bedroom. You sat up in bed and were looking at me. It was like we were in two places at once.”
I gasp. That’s the same vision I remember. “What did I tell you?” I ask, testing him.
Something in his face closes as if he doesn’t want to have this conversation. Does that mean he didn’t have the same vision? Or doesn’t remember it?
“You said I would have to choose sides for a war coming.” His expression is dark.
Ice sluices through my veins, and I shiver.
He remembers. And he understands the warning.
