Page 20 of Reflections of Peonies
The figure should go away soon. It always did.
But this time, it didn’t.
Instead, it came closer to me, and the smoke-like figure spoke.
“—wish for me to leave him alone?” It sounded female, speaking with an aloof and almost mocking tone, and I realized that I missed some of the conversation. “What are you willing to give me in return?”
Words jumbled together, hers and mine, but everything remained stubbornly out of reach. I knew what happened next. Fear washed over me, and the only sound I could focus on was that of my own heart.
She was pleased. Her golden eyes watched mine, and she reached a limb-like appendage toward me. “You agree?”
I was that child again, and I’d been petrified. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was to touch this thing. I knew it was a memory, but everything felt so real.
I wanted to run away. I wanted to say no.
But Finn would die.
I had no choice. “Y-y-yes.”
And then there was the pain—the fire that spread through my every nerve. I was being burned alive.
I jerkedawake for the second time in two days. Even though it hadn’t been real and I wasn’t there, the memory of that day still caused me pain.
“Bianca?” Damen’s voice, thick with sleep, pulled my attention from the remnants of my dream. The fire vanished as my attention shot toward the corner of the room.
Damen was pushy and annoying, and he made my heart race. I should have been happy to see him, but seeing him as he lay out between two chairs caused a surge of annoyance to shoot through me.
Out ofeveryone, why did it have to be him?
The surge of emotion faded quickly, and guilt immediately replaced it. This was a good thing, right?
Goosebumps broke out over my skin. “D-D-Damen?”
He rubbed his eyes as he shook his head. An instant later, the sleep wiped from his face, and he was on his feet, rushing to me.
“Bianca,” he said as he sat on the bed, facing me. Close, but not touching. When he said my name this time, his voice was strange. “Did you have a bad dream?”
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I’m studying here for a bit,” he explained, pointing to himself. His face beamed with pride. “I convinced Gregory that I need it for my dissertation.”
Oh, Lord.
Why did he look as though he’d just solved world hunger? What even was this plan? There were so many issues that I couldn’t even begin. Most glaring was: “Didn’t you repeatedly state that you have no interest in clinical psychology? You’re in forensics. They aren’t the same thing.”
How had these boys made it so far in life without my wisdom?
“I know that.” Damen jutted out his bottom lip. “But the undergraduate degree is the same.”
I rubbed my temples as a migraine began to form. “This isn’t discreet at all,” I muttered.
He wasn’t even dressed for the part!
“You’re not wearing scrubs,” I pointed out, noting his rumpled shirt and jeans. Everyone wore scrubs—even Julian. “You’re not even trying.”
“You’re not happy to see me?” Damen leaned closer. We were close, but the intensity between us seemed different. But I couldn’t put my finger on how. “Am I making you uncomfortable? Do you want me to leave?”
The room was getting too hot, and it was harder to breathe. “N-no.”
