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“You haven’t said anything,” Priel growled at me.
I silently flipped him my middle finger.
A low chuckle rumbled his chest. I wished I was pressed up against him, so I could feel that rumble, and then cursed myself silently for wishing that.
“Wake me up when you get hungry.”
He stalked away, and I heard the rustle of blankets somewhere off to my right.
I’d never dreamed about us being together in this cave before, obviously. But based on the home I had imagined us together in, I wasn’t at all surprised by how sparsely-furnished Priel’s place was.
All of the walls were covered in paintings, but otherwise all he had was a huge bed, a shelf and table that were loaded with their world’s version of art supplies, a bathroom, and a small kitchen.
I heard Priel’s breathing even out a minute later.
My stomach clenched unpleasantly.
Clearly, he was nowhere near as attracted to me as I was to him. I didn’t think there was a chance in hell that I’d be able to fall asleep in the same room as him.
Since I had nothing else to do, I slowly walked the perimeter of the room, checking out the paintings. I noticed a smallish hellhound in every one, and figured Priel had just painted himself a little smaller than he really was to make the landscape shine.
I wandered over to the art table after I’d studied all of the paintings.
There was an assload of paint, and something within me was settled by that. None of the tubes of paint seemed to have been opened recently, and they were all extremely clean and well-taken-care-of. The first fact was probably my fault, considering the bastard had been fighting off other fae to keep them from trying to hook up with me. But the second one made me curious.
Priel definitely wasn’t a slob, if his living space was any kind of evidence. I… sort of was. It wasn’t that I tried to make messes, or enjoyed having a messy living space. When it started to feel cluttered, I would move things.
I just wasn’t a fan of the typical organization method that involved throwing everything into bins or lining it up on shelves. Leaving things exactly where I would use them next was far more logical to me.
My eyes moved over a massive stack of what sort of resembled sketch pads. The papers were all connected by some type of vine, which I found kind of fascinating. I’d never been great at sketching, preferring to figure shit out while I was painting it and just throw a little black or white on there if I needed a reset button.
Paint worked with my hands and mind; pens and paper usually did not.
That was the real factor, I supposed.
My eyes landed on a set of strange equipment next, and my forehead wrinkled.
It looked just like the strange, magical tattoo gun I had dreamed about Priel using on both of us at different times. Notallof my dreams of us together were sex dreams; just most of them.
There was a sharp bit at the end, and a bunch of small jars of paint around it. I picked it up carefully, studying it.
Though I’d seen Priel hold it to my skin in my dreams, I had no idea how it was supposed to work, or even how my subconscious had invented something that actually existed.
The needle would need to go up and down, wouldn’t it? To break the skin?
Hmm.
I unscrewed the lid on a jar of silver paint and then rolled one of my sleeves up just enough to expose one of the bruise-like burns that covered much of my skin. When I came to Vevol, I’d had an assload of scars. And when my magic settled a few weeks after I’d arrived, I’d woken up on fire one day.
The flames hadn’t hurt, but my clothes had been roasted, and all of my many scars had morphed into terrible-looking purplish-black patches that looked like a mix between bruises and burns.
I kept them covered so I wouldn’t scare any of the other women… and maybe just in case a fae guy came to the door for me.
Preferably a blond, inked-up fae guy.
It hadn’t happened since the beginning of my time in Vevol, which was my fault. I knew it was my fault.
But I still kind of wished the men would come.
