Chapter 4 #2
He’s nervous. But why? He’s the one with the upper hand here. In strength, power, stature and ability. It would take only one of his large hands to snap my neck.
Ok, here goes. I take my quill and pad again, surprised to see my previous words have disappeared.
‘I need your help.’
He leans forward, his brown eyes squinting at my book.
“With…”
With my head bowed, I return my quill to the page, once again my previous words have gone. Marvelous.
‘I need—’
“Do you have to write everything? Use your words,” he interrupts, and an urge to swing my hand across his face is strong.
Ignorant bastard. I wish I could say but instead grit my teeth and continue writing. He stands there, leaning into my space.
‘Yes, I must write everything down. And before you ask, it’s none of your business.’
“What a sure-fire way to convince me to help you.” His smug grin is back as he crosses his arms over his chest, the broadness of his posture seems bigger now. Like he fills the room completely, but, oddly, it’s not oppressive.
‘You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m unable to speak. And I’m anxious.’
I hold the book up, deciding to hit him with my truth. Sometimes showing a little vulnerability gains us a little trust. And I need this man to trust me enough to want to help me.
“You and me both,’ he mumbles, scratching the dark scruff on his jaw. His tone so soft and low but I caught his spoken words.
Why would he be anxious?
“So, what is it you need?”
‘Transport.’
“Easy enough,” he shrugs. “Where?” He sits down, his tall leather chair groaning beneath his sturdy weight.
‘To the past.’
A whole species of bird has become extinct in the time it’s taken him to respond. The silence in the room deafening.
“Wrong guy.”
‘Right guy!’
The leather chair grinds against the floor as he lunges up. “Out!” he spits. He says the word using his whole chest whilst pointing to the door, a slight wobble in his finger. My legs do a good job of holding firm, though my knees quiver a little. Oddly, I don’t feel he’s a danger to me.
Scratching the quill over the parchment, I write while holding his dangerous gaze—a gaze filling with unease and rage—and raise the book slowly between us.
One word.
Two letters.
‘NO.’
No, I will not leave. Not without getting what I want. Need.
He doesn’t understand, having something taken from you—no, stolen from you.
Something you spent your days not even thinking about and once it’s gone, you realise its more than just a tongue taken from you.
It’s you’re entire voice. A part of you which helps form your identity.
Stripped from you with just a few slices of a sharp blade.
I give him a moment to respond, but no words come from his mouth. A mouth pressed firmly flat together. Nostrils flaring wide as his broad chest flexes with ragged breaths.
‘I bear the hidden mark too.’ I raise my hand, showing him my palm with my constellation mark in the centre, in case he doesn’t believe me.
He sucks in a breath and raises his arm to reach for my hand, strands of his brown hair falling into his eyes with the movement.
I jerk away and back to my quill before he makes contact.
‘I know who you are, Rafe.’
‘What you are.’
He grips his jaw, snickering behind his hand as he lowers back in his chair.
“If you are the same as me, what do you need me for, huh?”
Blowing out a steady breath, I take the chair in front of his desk, resting my notebook on the wood as I write some more.
At least his agitation has gone from blazing to a simmering ember.
‘I don’t know how to do it. I never had a mentor. It was outlawed before I was born.’
“Fuck sakes.”
He scrubs a hand down his face, tapping his index finger on the wooden desk. Great, another ‘tapper’. Please stop.
“Just talking about it could land us in front of the Chief Enforcer, you know that right?”
Yes, I know that. I’m aware he can’t hear me, so I nod.
“Look at that,” he says, pointing to his fluttering eye. “You’re making my eye twitch. I’m moments away from an aneurism. Find someone else.”
My heart lurches up into my throat and my hand scribbles so fast I’m not sure he’ll be able to read my handwriting.
‘I don’t have time to find anyone else. Who knows how long it’ll be before I find another time traveller! Please!’
“Why can’t you speak?”
The desk vibrates beneath my hand, the sound of my palm that slammed against it echoes off the walls. The motion so instant, so reactive, I even shock myself at the aggressive movement, but I fight reacting to the hot sting tingling my skin.
Our face-off is tense, but neither of us back down. The vein in his neck pulses at the same time my eye twitches.
Perhaps I’m the one about to have an aneurism.
Without breaking my gaze, he opens the drawer to his left, pulling out an object and slides it across his desk to me. I break contact and eye a clear spherical bottle with milky fluid inside.
‘I’m a time traveller, not a mind reader.’
“You’re not a time traveller unless you’ve actually travelled.” He points out, his chuckle light and breathy, and it takes all my strength to not haul myself over his desk to throttle that thick neck of his. It would take both of my hands, but I could do it.
“It’s a linking potion. You take a sip, I take a sip, and we can speak.”
I’ll be able to speak again?
“Mind to mind.”
Impossible.
‘How do you have this? I didn’t even know anything like this existed.’
“Neither did I,” he grumbles under his breath, not quiet enough though. “Prior preparation I guess, for this… unforeseen circumstance.” He shrugs, leaning back into his chair and widening his open legs, taking up more space than necessary.
‘Did you hit your pretty little head?’
Does he honestly think I’m stupid enough to drink a milky substance from a stranger.
Pearly white teeth is exposed, his grin wide and blinding.
“You think I’m pretty?”
Pretty fucking dense.
My stinging palm tingles again when I slam my hand on the desk once more. He’s not reading between the lines, and the frustration is running rampant through my veins. Clearly a man too ignorant and uneducated on how, and why, women have to constantly look over their shoulders.
“A little spikey aren’t you.”
I’ll show you spikey.
The pathetic growl vibrates in my throat before I can stop the sound. His eyes twinkle in my reaction. My lungs expand to near implosion as I tip my head back and close my eyes, giving myself a moment to sedate my frustration before slowly exhaling.
‘Just tell me how I do it, and I’ll be on my way.’