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Ezra was silent, no doubt searching my mind to see if the marbles were still there or if I had finally lost them.
“Still here,” I assured her, tapping the side of my head.
In the quiet of the early morning, as I lay under the covers in this unfamiliar room, I was afraid to fall asleep—to dream. I did not particularly want to slip into that world of prophetic horror and decay, much less strike up a conversation with the dead.
I plucked at my bottom lip.
Had I done that before? Had I spoken to the dead?
Anxiety snaked a hand around my throat.
I hissed at it and turned onto my left side, peering at the blackout drapes, pushing my thoughts along, processing.
For as long as I could remember, my dreams had been riddled with nightmares. Ezra said that some might simply just be dreams, that not all of them were connected to the Dream Curse. Still, some had the potential to be prophetic.
The question was, which ones were real and which ones were not?
All of it felt like shattered glass, the pieces broken apart, waiting for me to reassemble them, but when I touched them, they cut deep. How did one go about assembling shattered glass?
I let out a defeated sigh.
My body was tired. My brain was not.
I should try to sleep. I would have to be up soon, anyway, to meet four of the rebels and figure out a plan to get Kaleb back. My stomach churned as I thought of him, longing and sadness overwhelming me.
What if we failed?
No, I couldn’t think like that.
I sighed for the tenth time, rolled onto my stomach, and shoved my arms under the too-flat pillow. I could hear Ezra’s light snore through the paper-thin walls. Gods, this was going to be a long night.
Von had not returned.
He probably ended up in a brothel somewhere—he looked like the type, not that a male such as him would need to pay for sex. I didn’t doubt that women constantly tossed themselves at him . . . I could only imagine what his body count must be. A number I probably didn’t want to know.
Just to further torment myself, I pictured him lying on his back, those two large arms of his draped around curvaceous little brunettes, their bodies curled up on either side of his—a satisfied grin hanging on his full lips.
Great divine, he had nice lips.
Ugh.I grabbed the pillow and flung it at the wall, hissing at my laughing inner goddess, the traitorous snake.
I flopped onto my back and draped my forearm over my eyes, forcing my eyelids shut, and began the tedious process of counting sheep. By the time number twelve waddled his fluffy butt up to the imaginary fence, I gave up andheaded downstairs.
Just as my foot touched the main floor, the door in the living room creaked open. Von, looking like a big, mischievous cat, peered at me as he strolled inside, his invisible tail flicking from side to side as he closed the distance between us.
It wasn’t just his height; it was in the way he walked—Von didn’t just take up room, he commanded it.
“Having trouble sleeping?” he purred, his body all too close to mine, his masculine scent bombarding my senses. It stirred something feral within me.
I shut it down. “I’m not in the mood.” I turned away from him and fetched myself a glass of water.
“Pity. I do so love to play with you.” He walked over to the counter and poured a glass of amber liquid into a short glass.
I didn’t reply.
“Some things—” He slid the cup towards me, his head tipping to the side, watching, waiting. “—require more than water.”
I eyed him suspiciously before I picked up the cup, brought it to my nose, and took a delicate sniff.
