Page 6 of Shadow Weaver
He smiled as I approached. “Hello, killer,” he said. “Fancy a bite?”
I shook my head. “No. Go. Leave now. I don’t want to hurt you.”
He looked perplexed. “Of course you do. You’re toxic, remember? Unlovable. Unwanted by everyone …” His face morphed into something sly. “Everyone except me. You know I want you. I want you to bite me. To drink me dry. To be who you are. A killer.”
But I wasn’t. And instead of guilt this time there was only anger. “Fuck you. Fuck you, dream human.”
He stood and walked toward me, his body growing, face changing until it wasn’t the dark-haired human looking down on me any longer but Hyde.
“I’m sorry, Indigo. But I can’t love you. You’re toxic. A killer.” He shook his head. “Accept it and move on.”
His words were a sledgehammer to my chest, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe, and then a wave of heat brought tears.
“Why? Why can’t you love me? Why? Why can’t anyone love me?”
The words came from that deep, dark place. The one kept under lock and key. The place of whispers that I studiously ignored but seeped into my psyche regardless.
“Justice?”
“Why, why can’t you … Why…”
“Justice, wake the fuck up.”
“Love me …” The dream rushed away, and Brady’s stern face materialized through my tears.
“Get up,” Brady said, his voice low. “Lounge. Now.”
He walked away, leaving me reeling from the dream—chest wound tight and sobs trapped in my throat. I dashed away the tears and glanced about. Thank God, everyone was still asleep. Thank God, they were all heavy sleepers. But not Brady, it seemed.
Shit.
I took a deep breath and swung my legs out of bed. Time to apologize for my sleep fit.
I found him in the kitchenette area, his back to me. He was in his joggers and vest, his feet bare.
His tight curls rarely looked mussed, and the short back and sides meant minimal style time, but he’d gone to bed before me, so I must have woken him with my wailing. My neck heated with embarrassment.
I hugged myself and gnawed on my bottom lip for a moment. “Look, I’m sorry I woke you. I must have eaten some bad cheese or something.”
He turned and offered me a mug.
“What?”
“Cocoa. It’ll help.” His voice was rough from sleep.
I looked from the mug back up to his face. “For me.”
His nostrils flared slightly. “No, I woke myself up, made cocoa, and now I’m holding the mug out to you because I thought it would be fun to tease. Take the damn thing.”
There was a lump in my throat and fucking tears blurring my vision as I took the mug.
“Th-thank you.” My voice cracked.
“Shit, Justice, it’s just cocoa. You’re acting like no one’s ever made you cocoa after a bad dream before.”
I blinked away the tears and met his gaze. “That’s exactly right.”
He puffed out his cheeks. “Fuck.”
