Phantom Game (GhostWalkers 18)

“Stop, Jonas. You’re broadcasting very loud. I’ve never had anyone think those things about me.”

“I think a lot of things about you. Look at this place. The courage and the amount of work it took to build it.” There was admiration and respect in his voice and mind. He didn’t hide it. She deserved both. “But I would like an answer to my question. I can feel a mutual physical attraction between us. I believe it would be there, Whitney or no Whitney. But I definitely feel a much deeper connection to you in a short space of time—an emotional one. I need to know if you’re feeling the same way at all. It’s okay if you crush me.”

He did his best to go for humor. He wasn’t speaking telepathically. He wasn’t using what she referred to as the “network.” He spoke aloud deliberately so she wouldn’t feel how much it would hurt when she said no. He expected her to say no.

Weirdly, the branches of several of the plants of the Middlemist Red shifted position as though reaching out to him. They brushed against him gently, as if consoling him. He could have sworn he heard murmurs, a peculiar humming melody, a song of sorts. Strangely, he did feel better. More grounded. The adrenaline rush slowed. His breathing went back to his normal rate, and his heartbeat steadied. It felt as if the plants had wrapped their arms around him and spoke to him.

The night wasn’t silent by any means. He heard the wind whispering through the leaves in the trees. Night insects droned on incessantly. Lizards skittered in the vegetation on the forest floor. He could hear the rustling of mice, voles, and other creatures racing around, looking for food and doing their best to avoid the sharp eyes of the owls hunting for a meal. The night was always alive just as the day was.

Jonas kept his gaze fixed on Camellia’s face. She touched her teeth to the side of her full bottom lip and bit down for a moment. Sighed. Thought about not answering him. He knew the exact moment she capitulated, and his gut clenched hard. Waiting.

“Yes.” Her admission was low.

Camellia glanced at the blossoms, the way they were surrounding Jonas protectively. There was no other word for it, and he had no explanation for the plant behavior, but he had the feeling that she did. He set the chair facing out toward the garden but also angling it toward the other chair so they could easily see one another as they talked. He wanted to watch the expressions on her face, not just to see what she was thinking but also because he enjoyed looking at her. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of that.

“What’s it like living with so many people around you, Jonas?” Camellia sank into the rocker, curling up like a cat. Her palm curled around her ankle where the tattoo was.

Jonas could tell it was an automatic gesture. She did that often. Her thumb slid over the petals of the flower, a little sweep. Heat rushed through his veins and settled in the pads of his fingers, his mind mapping out the delicate bone structure of her face, wishing he could commit her to memory by braille. He knew she would already be forever etched into his mind, but he ached for the right for skin-to-skin contact.

One of the branches of the Middlemist Red dipped lower, a blossom sliding along Camellia’s high cheekbone right where he imagined tracing the pads of his fingers. As the petals of the flower slipped over her face, he physically felt her soft skin and the small, fine bones under the pads of his own fingers as if he were the one touching her. The sensation was strong and very real.

His breath caught in his throat. His heart jerked, on the verge of a discovery that made no sense at all. Deliberately, his gaze dropped to her lips. That perfect bow of a generous mouth, with her lips the exact color of the Middlemist Red Camellia. The exact color. He wanted to rub the pads of his fingers over her lips to feel how soft they were.

Immediately, the branch dipped again, a blossom moving against Camellia’s mouth, the petals stroking her lips. Instantly, the sensation of velvet soft was transferred to the pads of his fingers. His gaze collided with hers.

“What the hell is going on, Camellia?”

She tilted her chin. “I don’t know you. That’s what we’re doing, right? Talking. Getting to know one another. I’m not going to just trust you because you say Whitney didn’t send you.”

“You know he didn’t.”

She shrugged. “Okay, maybe I do know that much. But I don’t know why you’re here. I’ve been here for a long time. It’s obvious that you’ve been down below for a long while, yet all of a sudden, you decide something is wrong and you come here to my little tiny piece of the woods that no one else has ever discovered. It isn’t like they haven’t come this way. Other GhostWalkers have come close.”