Page 21 of Wicked Bite
I shot to my feet and ran to the shelf where we kept a cast iron bowl for just such an occasion. It always surprised me how rough and heavy the metal was in my hands. I made a fake throwing motion with it. “Catch.”
She flinched. “Don’t be an ass. That thing could kill someone. Which isn’t funny considering you almost died . . . from a fall.”
I walked over and handed it to her. “I didn’t almost die. Like you said, a little bump on the head.”
She took it from my hands and carefully placed it on the table in front of us. She made a fake gagging sound. “So. Much. Blood.”
“Shut up.” I plopped back down into my chair and grabbed my plate of goodies. I popped a tot in my mouth and then another. I spoke around the warm crispy goodness. “Go on, do it.”
“Is there anything I’m looking for particularly? Anything you want to know about?” She began shaking the stones in her hands like she was standing at a craps table.
“Whatever the universe wants to tell me.” Tell me about love. I didn’t know why I was holding out hope for anything, but Grayson’s beautiful face flashed through my mind.
She threw the stones into the bowl and we both leaned forward, watching them bounce around until they settled at the bottom with two different sides up.
I didn’t dare take a breath. I knew she needed to concentrate on them. When her eyes when heavy-lidded, I knew she was locked in. Silence surrounded us and I found myself holding my breath.
“He’s coming.” Her voice was calm and matter of fact.
My heart leapt into my throat. “Who’s coming?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Who do you think?”
I didn’t dare say his name. In my mind I’d written him off and there was no going back now. Kind of. Maybe I was in that I like him, I hate him phase. The kind that went back and forth every other minute of the day. I pressed my lips together. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Grayson. He’s coming back for you.”
Excitement filled my body. Soooo, I’m in the I like him phase.
She shook her head. “But not yet.”
Instant deflation. The I hate him phase took over. “Why not?”
Her brows furrowed in confusion, and she leaned in closer to the dice. She pulled her blanket in tighter around her legs as she tilted her head from side to side, trying to study whatever it was she saw.
“Because he’s in some kind of struggle or fight right now . . . oh, shit!” She jumped back from the dice.
“What? What happened?” I wanted to get closer to see what she saw but I knew it’d never work. Those symbols meant nothing to me.
I’d asked her what it was like to read them, and she told me it was like reading the strongest gut feeling in the world. There were signs, and she just read them. There were no sounds, but the symbols told her a story. No matter how many times I tried to roll the dice, I never learned, never even got an idea. For some reason, they just didn’t stick with me the way they did with her.
Her eyes went wide, and she curled her hands in the blanket. “I-I can’t be sure but it def looked like he was fighting again.”
Fighting someone? “It wouldn’t be the first time. Would it?”
“No.”
Even that was worrying. Was he a brawler, always looking for the next fight? “Is he violent, Dice? Like, is he looking for it?”
“No.” She grabbed the dice and cupped them in her hands. Her face paled, like something had seriously spooked her. “Piper, think twice about this one. Be ready when he comes back. Because he doesn’t go looking for violence . . . but it always finds him.”
“Wha—"
She grabbed my hand, squeezing it and cutting off my words. A chill went down my spine when she met my eye. “It finds him . . . always.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
GRAYSON
