She didn’t want to. What would she say? But she had to confide in someone, and right now Dalton was all she had. “I lost time just now.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“When you asked me to pour the wine, I did, then I sat here at the table. I was watching you cook, and next thing I remember I was standing behind you over at the barbecue.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the grill, then back at the wine bottle, then at her. “You don’t remember anything?”
She shook her head.
“That was about ten minutes’ worth of time.”
Damn.
“Is that the first time this has happened?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s the first I’m aware of.” She reached for her wineglass and emptied it in one long swallow. Dalton refilled it.
“You need to eat.”
She nodded, scooped up the tender fish with her fork and forced herself to eat at least half of what was on her plate. Dalton was right. She needed to rebuild her strength. Think. Remember.
They finished eating, cleared the plates, and did the dishes, all in silence, then returned outside to sit on the back porch. It was still balmy, but at least a breeze had started to kick up. She lifted her hair, letting the air blow over the back of her neck.
“You want more wine?” Dalton asked.
She shook her head. She was fuzzy enough without too much alcohol muddling her brain. Why couldn’t she remember? She leaned back in the chair and stared out into the night, into the swamp. “I hate not being in control.”
Dalton lifted his lips. “That’s a shocker.”
She glared at him. “What does that mean? You think I’m a control freak?”
“Yeah. But who isn’t? Who doesn’t want to be in charge of their life, their own destiny?”
“Sorry,” she said, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I didn’t mean to be so defensive.”
“You have a lot of things to be angry at me about, Isabelle. Don’t be sorry.”
“You mean because of my mother’s diary?”
“Yeah.”
She shrugged. “Somehow I think everything would have happened the way it did regardless of you finding the diary or not. In fact, you might have saved my life because you found it.”
“How?”
“The demons would have found me, taken me eventually. If you hadn’t found me when you did, if the Realm and Angie and everyone else hadn’t been there that night …”
“You think the Sons of Darkness would have finished what they started with you.”
“Yes. And we wouldn’t be sitting here right now having this conversation. I wouldn’t still be human.” She’d be wholly demon, one of the Sons of Darkness.
“That’s not what happened. Don’t think about it.”
“How can I not think about it? I was one of them. I am one of them. Their blood runs in me. I …”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He stood and came over to her side of the table, straddling the bench. “Isabelle, if we’re going to make any headway, you have to talk to me. You have to tell me everything. What you’re feeling, what you see, what you experience. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”
She still didn’t understand how he could help her at all. He was just a man. A human. He had no power. “I appreciate the offer, Dalton. But there’s nothing you can do for me.”
He cocked his head to the side and his lips tilted. “You might be surprised what I can do to help.”
Isabelle frowned. “Like what?”
“This and that.”
“Now who’s being vague and uncommunicative?”
“Okay. Let’s just say there are things I can do to help you.”
“What? Do you practice voodoo like Georgie?”
His lips quirked. “Not really my area. But I have other talents.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand how the whole voodoo thing pertains to me and my situation anyway. Blood is blood. It’s in me. I’m a demon. Nothing can change that. No one can take it away.”
“You’ve already changed it. You’re human right now.”
She swung her legs over the bench and stood, feeling cornered, needing space so she could pace back and forth. She wrapped her arms around herself. “For how long, though, Dalton? I don’t feel human.”
He studied her. “How do you feel?”
She didn’t look at him, just kept pacing. “Unsettled. Not myself. I feel like at any time I could revert back to the demon I was. I feel shaky, like I’m barely holding on.”
“Do you have some kind of sensation inside you, some kind of feeling that makes you think that?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know,” she snapped back at him. “It just is. And the dreams.”
“What dreams?”
This time she stopped, looked at him. “Every damn time I try to sleep, even if I drift off for a few seconds … the demons come.”
He stood and came toward her. He reached out, laid his hands on her shoulders. She wanted to pull away. But she also wanted to walk into his arms, wrap herself in the comfort of someone holding her. She needed that. At the same time she feared it, felt if she gave into her emotions, if she let go of the tight string holding herself together, something would snap inside her and the demons would take hold.
“What happens in your dreams, Isabelle?”
His tone wasn’t accusatory. It was gentle. She took a deep breath. “I don’t really know. By the time I’m fully awake I’ve forgotten what happens. I can only grab hold of remnants. I just know they come for me when I fall asleep.”
“They?”
“The demons.”
“Are you having the same dream every time?”
She shrugged. “I think so.”
“But you don’t know in what way.”
She shook her head again. “I wish I could remember all of it. Most times I want to shake it off as soon as I wake up.”
“Maybe it’s time you start to remember.”
She tilted her head back to look at his face. “Why?”
“Because it might help unlock this mystery about the hold they have on you.”
“Do you think they know where I am?”
He shook his head. “Doubtful. If they knew they’d have come for you already. For us. I don’t think they do. I think you’re blocking them.”
Despite the heat of the night, she shivered. “Then why would I want to remember? Isn’t it better if I forget, to keep forgetting?”
“I don’t think so. The more we know about what you’re dreaming, where it’s coming from, the better armed we’ll be when they do show up.”
She backed away from him. “They’ll come for me, won’t they?”
“Eventually, yeah.”
Honesty was supposed to be refreshing. Maybe it would be better if he lied to her. “When will they come? When I remember? When I stop blocking them?”
Dalton inhaled, let it out. “That depends on you. You’re in charge of more than you think, Isabelle.” He slid
