I feel Vincent’s hands on my shoulders, and he turns me slowly to face him. “Having you here, it’s so surreal.”
I touch his weary face. “I have missed you. Though, my mind feels like it’s only been four months.”
“You can’t imagine the pain I went through when I came back only to find you gone,” he says, tears welling in his eyes. “I tried so many times to come for you, but they told me I couldn’t risk it, so they sent others to find you.”
“Risk it? Didn’t they know I’d been kidnapped?”
“Yes. We all thought you had been taken back to Belle Palais.”
Belle Palais is where our enemies live. I had known that my whole life. I have never been there, but I wonder why the Elf didn’t take me back there himself. “Why didn’t he take me back?”
Vincent shrugs. “I’m not sure.”
“Will they come back for me?” I tense.
“I killed the man who took you. We are at war with them, so we have extra security here.”
“War?” Tears pool in my eyes. I know that can only mean one thing: Vincent is sure to leave again.
“It won’t come close to here. You are safe. We are fighting with them at sea. Please do not worry, mon trésor.” He draws me closer to his chest.
But I’m not worried about being safe. I worry about him leaving. I meet his eyes. He tucks a few strands of hair behind my ear. I reach behind his neck pulling him to me until our lips meet. He gives me no vision this time, but I want him like never before. I feel his arms around me, pulling me closer. I love the feel of his soft lips on mine, almost possessive yet tender. But something feels wrong and I don’t know what it is.
That night after I blow out the candle next to my bed, I think of the blond color again. It drifts through my mind in an endless stream like water smoothing over stones. The color leaves me with something—the feeling that I loved something more than life itself. I can’t understand the intensity of it, but it weighs in my stomach like a brick.
Something wedges its way into my mind but vanishes. It’s frustrating trying to remember, only to have it stripped from me. The flashes of a man with a gun enter my mind again. I close my eyes and the gunman saunters closer. I hurriedly crawl backward, away from him, but he only takes his time.
“Megan!”
My eyes bolt open and my heart pounds. Someone else is there with the man, calling my name.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Mom comes to check on me when she comes home from work and makes me some soup again. Savannah jumps on the bed and curls up against me. It’s nice having company.
“Cherry stopped by after school,” Mom says as she helps me into a sitting position. “She gave me a list of your homework. So, when you’re feeling up to it, let me know.” She sets the soup down onto a pillow and shoos Savannah away from it. “I’ve called the school, so they know you’re going to be out for a while. Hopefully not too long though.”
I nod. I want to take a shower and get the sickness off me, but I can’t move.
Mom stays with me while I eat and talks about her day at work. I feel bad for her because her boss is a jerk, but somehow, she manages to suck it up so she can have a paycheck. I’ve told her several times she can easily find a better job elsewhere. We don’t talk like this. It’s kind of new territory for me. But I like it.
Mom gives me more antibiotics and leaves for the night. I reach for my phone and my heart picks up its pace when I see a text from Casper. This isn’t a good sign. And it bothers me that Vincent hasn’t sent another message. Is something wrong? Did something happen with his mom?
I open Casper’s message.
How are u? I know ur probably sleeping, but I hope u get well. I miss u. In my dreams and out. There’s something I need to tell you.
My stomach ties in knots. What’s he going to tell me? I hope he isn’t going to confess anything. Not like he hasn’t already. Only one way to find out.
Hi Casper. I’m ok, very tired. How are you?
I only have to wait a few seconds before he responds.
I’m ok. Im so glad to hear from u. Can u talk?
Sure.
A few seconds later, my phone flashes with his name and I answer.
“Hey.”
“Is it weird that we talk so often?”
“No, I don’t think so,” he says. “How are you?”
“I’ve been better.”
“Has your back healed?”
“Yeah. I’ve taken the bandages off. Have the police found anything new about your accident?”
“No. How are your dreams?”
I clear my throat, which feels like gravel raking across it. “More and more bizarre. I feel so out of place since a lot of people think I betrayed them.”
We talk about the events of our dreams, but after a while I want something else to talk about. They’re getting too involved, and I don’t want to pretend they’re real anymore. “What did you want to tell me?”
“Oh, that. I don’t know how you’re going to react to this.”
I tense, but secretly want to hear what he feels for me.
“My mom was reading the newspaper to me, to give me company on her break.”
This isn’t what I expected.
“She scanned through it and made a comment about some kid who died from a gunshot.”
My heart picks up its pace. Why I think
