Page 88 of Whispers of Wisteria
She gripped the front of my shirt as I held her against me. Nothing else felt more perfect.
I closed my eyes, pulling my senses until I could feel only her, and Bianca relaxed against me. We stayed that way as the early morning sunlight finally pierced through the trees.
The sound of the stream rippling over stone lulled my senses until I, too, allowed myself to drift into darkness.
My face was pressedagainst something soft that smelled of oak and wisteria. I curled my fingers around it.
Fabric…
I opened my eyes and sat up. Bianca’s sweater had been balled up under my head, and the afghan fell from my shoulders.
But where was she?
My pulse spiked, and I was already moving to stand before I saw her.
She sat at the edge of the stream. Her hair was swept into a wild mess behind her, and her moss-colored skirt was bunched above her knees. Her stare was on her feet as she touched her toes over the top of the water.
I should have gone to her immediately. I was supposed to be taking care of her. But I didn’t.
I couldn’t look away.
She’d never looked more fae.
My pulse raced and the hair on the back of my neck stood. We’d been like this before, although the memories hadn’t completely caught up yet. Things could maybe be the same again.
I needed it to be. So, so badly.
But then she looked at me and my heart sank.
Not yet.
This world had almost succeeded in breaking her.
I choked as a fury threatened to swallow me whole.
I would kill them. Each and every one.
“Julian?” she said softly, and my resolve steadied. She wasfarfrom okay—from being who she was meant to be.
“Did you get enough sleep?”
“How long was I out?” I asked.
Bianca pulled her phone from her pocket. “Three hours,” she said, looking down. “I told the others you were fine and to leave you alone.”
I scowled. I’d told them to stay away. “They asked?”
“No.” Bianca was still looking at the screen. “But I told them anyway.”
That still didn’t make it any less annoying.
She finally glanced up. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” I replied, studying her.
She still looked exhausted. And it was still there—
The pain she was always hiding.
