Chapter 12
Twelve
Hallie
S unlight filters through the blinds, casting stripes of gold across Silas's tranquil face. His face is softened and he looks peaceful, displaying none of the intensity from the night before.
I ease out from under the crisp sheets, my body protesting every movement with delicious soreness—a testament to the night before. My feet touch the cold laminate floor, and I drift across the room, collecting my clothes that bear the evidence of our rough abandon. Each piece is a memory, a fleeting moment where Silas claimed me with a primal urgency that still thrills at the thought. It’s pointless to dress in them, because they’re ripped to shreds.
Instead, I pick up Silas’s soft gray T-shirt and pull it over my head. It’s far too big, but I love the way it feels, despite the feelings of confusion swirling inside me.
I sneak out, careful to close his door with nothing but a quiet click.
The familiar aroma of fresh flowers greets me as I unlock the door to my haven. I sink into the plush cushions of my couch, closing my eyes as the memories of last night cascade over me.
My body burns with the recollection—the way Silas's hands roamed with possessive intent, the growl in his voice as he coaxed cries of pleasure from my lips. It was more than just physical; it was as if he reached inside and stirred something dark and thrilling, something that hungered for danger.
As my heart races with the aftermath of our collision, I can't shake the feeling that we've started something irreversible. The connection between us, it's terrifying and intoxicating, and I'm caught in its relentless pull.
But the dream lingers, a vivid shroud that clings to the edges of my consciousness even as daylight floods the room. I inhale deeply, trying to dispel the images, but they persist—Silas's face superimposed on the man who haunts my sleep.
I’ve dreamed of it again and again, but nothing as palpable and realistic as the first time . . . Until I had a real experience with Silas.
My hands tremble as they clutch the edge of the sofa and my heart hammers against my rib cage. It's the same every time; the mysterious figure who makes love to me like an animal. I couldn’t remember his face, but now all I see is Silas.
And the night before swirls in my mind, combining the two memories in a tempest of desire and fear. The roughness of Silas’s caress, the urgency in our coupling—it was exhilarating, yet something nags at me, something that ties him to the darkness of the dream.
The rosary—I hadn't forgotten it, was tucked away in the pocket of my cardigan. So innocuous and yet filled with sinister implication. Who sent it? And why does it make me question everything, even my own instincts?
A knock shatters the quietude, reverberating through the walls of my sanctuary. Startled, I rise swiftly, my feet padding across the cool wooden floor. My heart races as I approach the door, despite knowing who it must be.
I open the door, and there he stands. Silas. His form cuts an imposing silhouette against the light of the hallway, solid and real and impossibly here. His expression is unreadable, those same green eyes that haunt my dreams now scrutinizing me in the waking world.
“Silas,” I whisper, my voice barely a breath.
“Can I come in?” Silas asks, his tone even, betraying nothing of the storm that must be raging within him—or within me.
I hesitate but then step aside, granting him entry. The door closes with a soft click, sealing us inside my safe haven that suddenly feels far less safe.
Before I can turn myself, Silas grabs my waist and spins me around, pushing me against the door and sealing his lips to mine. I don’t protest. I can’t. Despite all of my confusion, I want this man and everything he has to offer. Don’t I?
Silas grinds his hard erection against me and I moan at the feel of it. His lips move down to my neck, sucking and kissing, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake.
“You left without saying goodbye,” he says as he sinks two fingers inside me without warning.
I cry out at the intrusion.
“Shh, angel. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”
And he does. He lifts me higher and higher with each thrust of his hand, each kiss he leaves all over my skin.
“God, Hallie. You look so fucking good wearing my shirt. I told you last night that you were mine now . . . ”
I can’t respond, other than a whimper.
“And that means you don’t leave me without saying goodbye.”
His pace quickens and I’m so close.
“You understand, angel?”
I moan.
He thrusts his fingers harder, punishing my already-sore pussy.
“Say you understand.”
“Yes,” I whisper, barely able to control my voice. “I . . . I understand.”
He smirks. “Good,” he says, as he presses his thumb against my clit, sending me over the edge into a hazy oblivion.
He holds me as I ride out the orgasm, then pulls me to him and lifts me effortlessly into his arms.
Somehow I end up on the sofa again, but I don’t remember how we got there. Only that I’m half-laying, half-sitting against Silas and he’s stroking my arm with calloused fingers.
My eyes flutter open. “Hi.”
He smiles. “Hey. You doing okay?”
“Oh, more than okay after that.”
His smile turns into a smirk and I shove a pillow at him. But then reality comes crashing down and I have to face it. I can’t exist inside a Silas-infused sex bubble. I sit up and put what little space between us I can, considering his massive frame is taking up most of my tiny sofa.
“Last night,” I begin, my voice steady despite the tremor I feel inside, “it was intense, Silas. But it wasn't just that. It . . . it was like this dream I had.”
He sits there, a statue carved from stone, his green eyes fixed on me. His silence is a canvas against which my fears paint vivid strokes.
“Your dream,” he repeats slowly, the words measured, deliberate. “Hallie, I don't know what you saw when you closed your eyes, but I can assure you it's just that—a dream.”
“Is it, though?” My own skepticism surprises me. “The way you touched me, the force behind your hands—it was as if you knew. As if you'd been there in my mind, making it reality.”
Silas's gaze never wavers, and I search those depths for a flicker of recognition, an admission, anything. But all I find is the calm before the storm.
“I won't lie,” he says finally, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. “There's something between us. An energy I can't explain. But your dreams are your own, Hallie. I have no part in them.”
His denial should reassure me, yet it wraps around my heart like a coil, squeezing tighter. He leans closer, and the air between us crackles with unspoken truths.
“Then why does it feel like you're not telling me everything?” The question hangs between us, a challenge laid bare.
“Because we're standing on the edge of something neither of us understands.” His admission sends a shiver down my spine. “You’re mine now, Hallie. That’s all that matters.”
“I don’t know anything about you. All I know is I feel this . . . pull. This physical connection is intense, but that can’t be all there is.”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“There’s more, angel. There’s everything.”
I don’t know how to respond, so I don’t.
“But you’re right. You don’t know me. So we’ll change that.”
“That’s a start. But it’s so wild. In my dream, you—the man—called me angel too.”
He doesn’t respond, merely gives me a look of doubt.
“Look, I know how it sounds,” I start, my voice trembling with the fear of judgment. “Like I'm losing my grip on reality. It's just . . . when I woke up from that dream and then everything with you, it felt like it wasn’t a dream.”
Silas's eyes soften, the green in them flickering like embers in the dying light. He leans forward, closing the distance between us and placing a soft kiss on my lips. “Hallie,” he says, his tone carrying a firm reassurance I didn't expect, “You're not crazy.”
My shoulders sag with relief, even as a skeptic's whisper curls through my mind. Can I really let myself lean on him? The same man who, just last night, unleashed a passion in me so raw it bordered on savagery?
His presence is a gravitational pull, undeniable, terrifying.
I let myself kiss him again, let myself get lost in him. I feel a thrill anytime he touches me and it’s growing, like a sick addiction.
But there's a wariness too, a caution that tugs at the edges of my consciousness. Who is Silas Thatcher truly? A protector or a predator? Or both?
“Talk to me, Hallie,” Silas prompts, his voice a low command that sends an involuntary shiver coursing down my spine.
“Every part of me wants to trust you,” I admit, the truth of the words scraping against my throat. “But this connection . . . it's intense, Silas. Almost too intense. Like I’m bound to you and it’s out of my control.”
“You think I don't feel it too?” he says. “I don’t ever get like this over a woman. If you only knew . . . ”
Knew what? I wonder. But I’m too scared to ask.
“It scares the hell out of me, baby. But we're in this together now. You’re mine and I’m not letting you go.”
And there it is—the crux of my turmoil. Yes, I am scared. Scared of what lies ahead, scared of the depths of my own desires. But above all, scared of how right it feels to be here with Silas, despite the chaos churning within me. Despite the fact that I don’t even know if I can trust him.
“Okay,” I breathe out, a shaky exhale. “Together.”