Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Iwas cowering in an office in another building falling under the onslaught of zombies.
Pounding on the door. Hissing. Groaning. Baying for my blood and my flesh.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Curled up, trying to make myself small, hands over my ears, my jeans warm with urine brought on by the terror on the other side of the door. Begging for a miracle.
Too many of them.
Too many to take.
I wept for my life in a moment of weakness, giving up on the fight within me. I couldn’t do it, couldn’t spend day after day covered in blood and gore, enduring the stink of death, the grim sights, any of it.
No more.
No more.
Please, no more.
The air vent saved my life. I escaped to freedom with seconds to spare, the banging fading behind me as I crawled through the shafts.
The banging haunted me for days after.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
My heavy eyelids opened to morning light and pounding in my head.
I released a groan to compete with the dead, trying to move my heavy limbs. Everything ached, from my fingertips to my toes, my mouth a sewer.
“Stars…” I blinked at the haze and light, desperate to see anything non-blurry.
“Feeling awful?”
I winced at the husky baritone of the alpha wolf. “Where…where am I?”
“My flat.”
Another groan. “Why?”
“You paid me a visit last night.”
“Sorry?”
“You don’t remember?”
I managed to sit up, eyes adjusting to the light, registering the beige sofa under me, a blanket tangled with my legs. “I’m…”
The memories of me stumbling up here came flooding back, including a declaration of me being dangerous in bed.
“Oh no…”
“There’s a bucket right there if you need to puke.”
Amazingly, I didn’t. As groggy and achy as I was, nausea remained absent.
Small mercy.
“Can I get you anything?” Miko asked, his voice far too deep for my delicate ears. “Coffee? Herbal tea? I have a honey and ginger one that used to help me back in the day.”
He didn’t sound particularly emotive, though much warmer than before. Like a campfire in the heart of winter.
“That would be nice.” I rubbed at my eyes, palms hurting. “Crap.”
“Stay there.”
“As if I’m going anywhere,” I mumbled, moving to sit upright, bare feet making contact with carpet.
Curse gin and curse me for drinking it.
Miko returned with supplies, including fresh bandages and painkillers. “Paige asked me to change your bandages.”
“Oh.”
“Do you mind?”
“Can I have some tea first?”
“It’s still too hot. Have some water.” He handed me a small, open bottle.
I drank half the bottle greedily, the liquid heaven to my poor throat.
“Better?”
“Not yet.”
I took some painkillers while he undid my bandages on my hands. So close, so delicate as he cleaned the wounds with alcohol wipes, the sting not too bad.
“Thanks,” I said, watching him.
“You’re welcome. Take off your sweatpants.”
I recoiled, a tingle in my balls. “Sorry?”
“So I can check your knees.”
“Oh.” I swallowed a thorny lump.
“Thought that might be easier than rolling up the legs.”
“Y-yes. Of course.” I wiggled, blushing once again, dragging the pants past my knees. Feeling exposed in my underwear, though not as exposed as he’d been yesterday.
He’s so close to my crotch… I shook the thought away, thankful for no morning wood in my boxer shorts.
Miko cleaned the cuts, changing the plasters, and got to his feet. “There.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” I dragged the pants back up.
“You’re welcome. Here.” He handed me the tea, putting a processed croissant beside me, then sat on the armchair opposite.
Strong ginger hit my tongue. “Wow!”
“It has a kick to it.”
“I’ll say.”
“A better cure than a greasy breakfast. I’ve never understood that.”
“You mean like a Full English type thing?”
“Yeah. James always swore by them for hangovers, but not this body.” He patted his stomach, the whole tone and action robotic yet kind of amusing.
“I agree with you,” I said, resisting a grin.
Sipping the tea, I inspected my surroundings, taken aback by the décor. I expected clean lines, lots of sterile coldness, all very modern and sharp.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his baritone sending shivers racing up my spine.
“Y-yes.”
The furniture was a mish-mash of styles—pine, mahogany, leather sofas, the armchair covered in green-and-blue upholstery. He even possessed a collection of perfume bottles, housed inside a glass cabinet.
“They’re pretty,” I said, pointing at them.
His eyes followed my finger.
“Are they yours?”
“They are,” he said, not elaborating.
I couldn’t help smiling.
“What?” he questioned.
“I’m surprised.”
“Why?”
“I just am.” I sipped more tea.
“I can be surprising.” There was no fun behind his declaration.
“Can you? Care to show me another surprise?”
His silence told me a firm no.
The sofa felt as if it were swallowing me deeper into it, making me even smaller. Shuffling and fussing, I settled on the edge, legs closed rather regally.
Was this seating arrangement a dominance thing for him to stay taller than me?
My boss at the bar I sang at back home always sat in bigger furniture during meetings with her staff to remind us of her superiority.
“That doesn’t look like a comfortable position,” he said.
But your lap does… “I’m okay.”
“Are you ready to talk?”
Oh. Yes. I was supposed to be mad at him and getting ready to leave.
But I couldn’t get my anger up. “I’m ready to listen.”
He nodded. “Firstly, I really am sorry for yesterday. I never meant for you to get hurt. I went about things the wrong way, failed to listen to advice. I’m an idiot.”
Rather than respond, I sipped tea.
His forehead creased. “Do you accept my apology?”
“I forgive you.”
“Just like that?”
“Why not?”
“You wanted to leave Haven.”
“I don’t. For now.”
He rubbed at his chiseled cheek. There were flickers of pain in his gaze. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. You bring a nice energy to the tower.”
“After less than two days?”
“Yeah.”
Well, he’d said he could be surprising, hadn’t he?
“Thanks.”
He regarded me for a moment, everything about him becoming steely and foreboding. His posture never once faltered, no hint of a slump in his shoulders.
“Let me just come out with it,” he said. “I’ve been having some weird dreams about you. I think.”
I choked on my tea, liquid shooting up my nostrils, spraying out of my mouth. Right at him.
“Pixie balls!” I squeaked before another coughing fit. “I’m so… I’m so sorry!”
He glanced at the spatters of liquid on his cargo pants. “No bother.”
“You threw me off.”
“Surprise.”
I didn’t expect so many surprises to be stacked up like this. “Did you really just say that?”
“I did.”
“You’ve been dreaming of me?”
An awkward beat as he leaned forward. “There is no clear face, only words. I’ll quote them: ‘He comes, this scarlet-haired man, bearing a golden gift in his hand. For you. It is for you. It is for hope. He is hope.’ Do they mean anything to you?”
“No. What…” My head did a hazy spin, jerking me out to the side of my hangover.
Who needed food and ginger tea?
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“You’re a scarlet-haired man.”
“Okay. But that doesn’t mean I’m carrying hopeful sparks with me.”
He sat back, folding his arms. Silent.
“This is so strange,” I added. “I really don’t know what to say.” My hangover pawed at me again.
Dreams of possibly me? Was he being serious?
I slid back into the sofa, backside swallowed into softness. “I’m so confused.”
It took him ages to speak again. “I can see that. Me too.”
“Does this have anything to do with the oracle?”
“I’m not sure. I believed you might be the oracle or connected to them.”
“Them?”
“About seven months after Dawn, I came across a human who’d managed to survive.”
Some humans did go months without being infected. But Dawn always found them eventually.
I wiggled back to the edge of the sofa again.
“He told me that to find the end of Dawn, I must take the oracle’s test,” Miko continued. “According to the human, the oracle is a living being somewhere in London, leaving blue marks to be found. Find the right mark, you pass the test and get the reward.”
“Was this human a witch or something?”
“Touched by magic, I think,” he said. “Making him slightly prophetic. Dawn got him the next day.”
“Oh no.”
Miko sat forward, gaze more intense than before. “I’ve combed this city day after day. Found four marks so far, none of them showing me a thing.”
I swallowed again, wondering if I should say something despite the struggle for words.
“And now there’s you and my dreams.”
“I—”
“You could be the oracle without knowing it. Maybe your power or whatever has to be coaxed out of you by finding the right mark. Woken up.”
“A mark I painted?”
“Maybe your memories are suppressed.”
“Do you think…” I clutched my throat. “Do you really think that’s possible?”
“I have no idea. You’re not here by coincidence, though.”
“I could be.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Do you believe in coincidences?”
“I… I don’t know. It depends.”
Miko shook his head. “Come on, you know this means something. The dreams, you showing up here.”
“Dreams… Dreams can carry a lot of weight.”
“Exactly.”
This was too much. “But why would you dream of me? I’m not anything special.”
There was a long pause and a hefty dose of staring before he said, “Don’t take this badly, but if you’re keeping anything from me, now is the time to say it.”
“I’m not hiding anything,” I answered quickly.
“You have no information?” A threat of pain practically dripped from his lips.
“Nothing. This is just as weird for me as it is for you.”
“Last chance.”
I jumped to my feet, everything lurching. “Stop. Who do you think you are? Dragging me up here and accusing me of keeping secrets about stuff that’s, quite frankly, making my brain hurt?”
“I didn’t drag or accuse you.”
Oooo I so wished for a Vodka Flower to throw in his face. “I don’t know anything about an oracle or why I’m in your dreams.”
He stood, a tower of muscle. “Calm down.”
“Oh, so sorry for strolling into your subconscious.”
“Another thread of your fae magic?”
“What?”