Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Love, I scoff at my silly thoughts. What would the hellhound want with me? I don’t know him. I lean against him anyway, and we sit quietly. There is no give in Owen. No softness in his body. It is all hard muscle and bones, wrapped in a harsh, predatory strength. I have never felt so safe.
Tuesday, he is an unattainable dream.
How can I expect anybody else to love me when the people who should love me unconditionally don’t?
They don’t even like me. I am an embarrassment.
I don’t even make a good friend. All I want to do is stay at home, play games on my computer, watch TV, and read.
I’m boring. My tummy flips and I move away from Owen’s heat.
I’m a throwaway person.
I’ve been picked up and put down so many times that I now expect it; I expect to be thrown away. So, when I see this powerful, handsome man, my life experience up to now tells me he is so far out of my league that there is no point in even trying.
Yet, each moment I’m with him, he cradles my fears in his gigantic hands and he smothers me with genuine kindness. I’ve never met anyone like him. He is special. That is why I know when he gets a full look at the person I am… he’ll be appalled. He will no doubt walk away like everyone else.
What would he want with me?
I have come a long way from the little girl who used to steal spells.
Sure, I have days when I wobble, when my heart hurts so much it’s hard to get out of bed.
The days when I’m starved for affection, and even when I am surrounded by people—I am alone.
It’s always been easier to hold myself back, to keep part of myself tightly wrapped, hidden away, so when the time comes, there will always be a small part of me left that will pick up the pieces and be there to stick the broken bits back together.
The only person who is going to be with me day in, day out, is me. So, I will temporarily borrow his strength, and when he leaves, which he will, I will be okay.
I will keep plodding on.
I roll my eyes. Bloody hell, I am annoying myself now.
Boohoo, no one loves me. Other people have it way worse.
I peek up at him through my loose hair. The silence has become awkward.
I need to say something. “The datapad,” I blurt out.
My hand points to the tablet still on the desk above us.
“It said if I stay here, I will be immortal.”
“Oh. Well, you shouldn’t believe everything you read.”
“I know. It just freaked me out. This whole situation is scary. When I got here, this was a rundown hotel.” I wave my hands wildly. “Does it look like that to you? Rundown?”
“No.”
“I did this, Owen. I changed the pocket dimension somehow and now I don’t know what to do. I’m a freak, a powerful freak, and perhaps immortal. Will I have to watch everyone die?” I bite my tongue to stop any more frantic words from spilling out of my mouth.
“Tuesday, everyone dies. There is no such thing as true immortality.” I wince and blink at him through my scratchy and undoubtedly red eyes. That means a lot coming from a shifter.
Everyone dies. I guess being immortal is a subject he is aware of. Shifters are one of the so-called immortal races. But everyone knows shifters are a predominantly violent race.
“You are ancient, aren’t you?”
The hellhound smiles down at me and shrugs. “I wouldn’t say ancient. I’ve not hit a thousand yet, but I’m close.”
“Wow.” It’s hard to get your head around that. I am so out of my depth with this guy, it’s not even funny. Young shifters struggle to survive adolescence. To live to a hundred is an achievement, to be almost a thousand… Well, that means Owen is a very dangerous man.
I scramble up. I suddenly feel uncomfortable and a little silly to be sitting on the floor. I grab my phone and without discussing it, we both move away from the reception area and into the lounge. I sink into one of the comfortable chairs.
I watch as the hellhound circles the room, peeking through windows and checking behind doors for threats.
If I relax my eyes to the point of my peripheral vision being hazy, I can see the hellhound’s power as it wafts about the room.
A shiver runs down my spine. I’ve never been able to do that before.
Finally, Owen chooses the vacated chair that the vampire sat in. I guess it gives him a perfect view of the room and all the doors.
“If you need help and I’m not around”—he takes the phone still clutched in my hand and inputs a number—“ring Forrest. She’s the only one I trust to keep you safe. Even though she comes across as…” Owen sighs and rubs his eyebrow. “She’s an amazing person and she’ll die to keep you safe.”
My eyes drift to the ceiling as I picture the just in case arsenal of knives next to the bed.
The ones she packed in my bugout luggage along with the toy gun.
Calling scary Forrest would be a last resort; I hope I’m never in such a dire situation to need her help.
“Thank you. I’m sure I will be fine. I’m already feeling better.
I am so sorry you had to see me like this.
I don’t normally…” I fake smile and shrug. “It’s a lot to deal with.”
Owen nods with understanding. He sits forward in the chair and his kind grey eyes trace the glowing tattoos on my face. “Are you going to explain?”
I nod and wiggle in the chair. My mouth is dry as a bone, probably more from nerves rather than the bacon. I don’t know where to start.
Will he believe me?
There’s a clack and a cup of tea and a mug almost overflowing with whipped cream and little marshmallows appear on the table in front of us. I frown at the unusual choice.
Owen picks up the froufrou drink. A pink marshmallow escapes the mountain of cream and rolls off the edge of the mug.
His hand whips out and he snaps it from the air and pops it into his mouth.
He grins at me and my insides twist. I have never had such a visceral response to another person.
It is terrifying. He settles back in the chair, and as the hellhound takes in my incredulous expression, he sheepishly smiles.
“Thank you. That is one handy trick. Hot chocolate is my favourite drink.” I blink at him. “Forrest’s fault,” he mumbles in explanation.
With the steam drifting from the cup warming my face, I animatedly tell him about what has happened so far. I finish with a flop of my hand. It’s not even ten in the morning and I’m exhausted.
“The book you signed was the one you turned into a datapad?” Owen asks as he runs his hand through his short hair.
“Yes.”
He nods. “I don’t like this. But sometimes magic can’t be explained logically, as you know.
” The hellhound leans towards me. “I don’t need to tell you to be cautious.
” His warm breath breezes over my face and I am enveloped in his scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and the taste of chocolate on his breath.
He smells like the best cinnamon bun ever. Weirdly, my tummy rumbles and—clack. Mortified, I stare at the plate that appears. A huge, square cinnamon bun with lashings of white icing and a sprinkle of chocolate sits on the table between us. I have no doubt my face is bright red.
I shove the pastry into my mouth with a mumbled “thank you” to the magic. Yeah, thanks soooo much.
The hellhound watches in amusement. “Do you want one?” I ask after I swallow the mouthful. He shakes his head and laughs as he leans forward to pluck a piece of bun from my top.
Oh wow, did he just do that?
I huff out a small, mortified laugh. I can't believe I missed my mouth. With a whoosh, my entire face glows with an embarrassed heat. I wiggle and surreptitiously scan my top for any other surprises.
“You are adorable.”
While I finish the pastry as quickly as possible, more cat than wolf, the hellhound slumps back in his chair. Each muscle is deceptively relaxed. Owen rubs his bottom lip with his thumb as he thinks. I avert my eyes as my stomach does a weird flip flop. Gosh, he is sexy.
And now I’m blushing again. My entire face is on fire. He is only here to keep me sane and to deal with this nightmare. It’s not an opportunity to pant after him. I need to drag my mind out of the gutter. Be professional. I take a deep breath and ignore the fact that all I can smell is him.
I’m annoying myself.
I plant my elbow on the chair’s arm and rest my warm cheek in my palm as I wrangle through the magic problem.
First, it’s bloody day one of this freakfest. I need to stop being so hard on myself.
I’ve always been an overachiever. I ignore the nasty voice in the back of my head that wants to point out that my so-called overachieving attitude never helped me with magic.
I mentally give it the middle finger. The voice that still sounds distinctly like my mother can bog off.
Now, I know for sure, I never was a normal witch.
No matter how much I tried, I’d have never been able to achieve anything in the real world.
This whole thing is like starting a new job. I don’t know anything, so I can’t be cocky. I slump back in my chair, mirroring Owen’s relaxed pose. Instead of looking at what I don’t know, I need to change my thought process and focus on the things I do.
I nibble my lip. I don’t feel trapped—it’s like I’m at home in this pocket realm. My eyes drift to the phone in my lap. “It’s cowboy time,” I mutter. I narrow my eyes with a stray thought that makes my heart race. “Was the time the same when you left?”
“Ten to ten. Cowboy time.” Owen barks out a laugh, and his grey eyes sparkle as he puts his empty mug onto the table. “I haven’t heard that in years,” he adds with a grin that would melt the knickers off a nun. I feel my cheeks heat again. “Yes, the time here is the same as home.”
I give him a thankful nod. Phew. “Okay, so no time changes.” That is a good thing. I’ve heard of some pocket dimensions where time is faster or slower and no one wants that.
What else? Okay, I also know my magic here is as easy as breathing.
I can practically do whatever I want. I mean, I made a portal door out of nothing just to get Owen here.
Not that it was easy—I thought I was going to die.
Portals are supposed to be attached to ley lines, but I produced one out of thin air and stabilised it with my magic.
That is unheard of crazy, and sort of ticks the box on omnipotent power.
Now that I’ve opened a portal, something tells me it will be easier to open one again.
I tap my thigh. I guess I’ll have to practise these new freaky powers.
Yay. Great. Something to look forward to.
Without warning, Owen’s nostrils flare and his hand shoots out towards my face. The empty cup in my hand slips from my grip, but before it hits the floor, it disappears. I let out an eep sound in terror and, wide-eyed, I jerk away from his massive limb.
“What the heck?” Did I say something wrong?