AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I have to make sure our only lead doesn’t die, don’t I?” I say quietly without turning to look at Seer.
I realize that the sun has finally given up its struggle for dominance, leaving the earth in tentative darkness.
Even the passage of time is a futile struggle that never stops. It makes me feel oddly sentimental.
I turn to Seer with a humorless smile. “It’s strange how she’s right in the middle of it all…yet I feel like she’s Anderson Grey’s biggest victim.”
A tiny part of me wishes the hex never gets lifted.
How would she feel if she discovered everything she’s done, the dirty jobs that Anderson used her to do? I want those bad memories and the disastrous consequences they’re sure to bear to remain hidden forever.
I want to protect her.
* * *
Abby
Iignore the little knot in my stomach the moment Pocus walks into the room. He smells of pine, sunshine, and wind. His hair is ruffled, enhancing the rugged beauty of his face.
Men like him are dangerous. I should be scared of him. I should hate him for putting my life on hold, but I’m intrigued by him. I want to know what he’s really like behind that wall of cynical indifference he’s built around himself. I want to know the reason behind the occasional flash of loneliness in his gorgeous green eyes when he thinks no one is watching. With each day I spend in his captivity, I keep getting pulled to my jailer like a foolish moth to a flame. Thoughts of him haunt me all day, even when I make a conscious effort to keep them away.
I should be livid with anger.
I should be thinking of ways to escape this damn place.
But my thoughts always find their way back to him. Doesn’t that make me the weird one?
Pocus closes the door quietly and stands against the wall just by the door. His arms are over his huge muscular chest, his startling green eyes boring deeply into mine.
“How do you feel?” he asks quietly.
Why do I feel like he’s asking about more than my physical health? With a soft sigh, I dropped the book that Hex brought up to me a few hours ago. The book is about Ancient Greek gods and their unrealistic feats. I can’t help but wonder how people actually believe these cooked-up tales and allow them to influence their way of life. Gods, witches, spirits, and magic – it’s all so laudable, really.
“You actually don’t care how I really feel, do you?” I say to Pocus with a small smirk. “That’d be ridiculous, considering you’re holding me prisoner.”
He remains quiet for a few beats. Then he walks further into the room in unhurried strides until he stops by my bedside.
“Can I sit?” he asks, gesturing at the bed, slightly inclining his head.
“Suit yourself,” I reply curtly, which contradicts the soft fluttering feeling in my chest at his nearness.Does he always smell this good…?
Pocus chuckles quietly and lowers himself onto the bed. “I suppose you’d come up with another witty remark if I asked how you like the new room,” he says, keeping his eyes on mine.
“I don’t have much choice, do I?” I reply, slowly widening the humorless curve of my lips. “A prisoner doesn’t get to choose their cell room.”
The room is actually nice with the subtle yet classy decorations and perfect color blend. Someone was thoughtful enough to place pots of flowers on the windowsills; their beautiful arrangement and soft fragrance gave the room a warm ambiance. But there was no way on earth I was admitting that to him, and he knew it.
“How do you feel, really?” he asks, searching my face.
Is it me, or do I sense a kind of urgency about him? He seems to really want me to talk about how I’m feeling. I suppose I could admit to the weakness in my bone and the persistent ache in my skull. I can’t seem to hold anything down, and there’s a slight burning sensation behind my eyes. But for some weird reason, I don’t want to appear weak in front of him.
So I meet his probing eyes and let my lips stretch into a lazy smile. “Well, if you must know…I feel good. Perfectly dandy. I told the doctor the same thing when he dropped by earlier.”
“I can tell you’re holding back, Abigail,” Pocus says with a disapproving sigh. “We need to talk.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” I ask with a mock gasp, but I can tell from his warning glare that he doesn’t appreciate my attempt at humor. “Spoilsport,” I mutter with a slight roll of my eyes. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
“This isn’t a time to joke, chérie,” he says seriously. “Anderson Grey put a hex on you, Abigail, and it’s feeding on your energy. As it is now, you’re a ticking time bomb.”
