Verum (The Nocte Trilogy 2)

Dare lunges beneath the roof for shelter, soaked from head to toe. Unlike me, he’s fully clothed, but exactly like me, he’s completely wet.

“It’s not doing you a lot of good,” I point out. “You’re soaked through.”

He shrugs as he leans against a column, barely out of the downpour, shaking the water from his hair. He’s long and slim, and something about him reminds me of a deadly cobra, coiled to strike.

“It’s ok. I won’t melt, trust me.”

He examines me, his eyes as black as night. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, anyway?”

I think I see amusement in his eyes, amusement laced with concern, but I look away before I can be sure. This situation unsettles me, puts me on edge...wakes up every nerve ending.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

I don’t see the need to tell him that I was sleeping, but that a bad dream starring him woke me. No one needs to know that.

“You should go see Sabine tomorrow,” he tells me, his words helpful but his tone bored. “She’s a master at herbs. She’s got a tea that will put you down for the count.”

Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. Sabine, with her tiny twisted body and her dark mysterious eyes… it seems right that she would dabble in herbs.

“Ok. Maybe I will.”

Dare studies me, his eyes sweeping me from head to toe, watching my teeth chatter for a couple of minutes.

“If I had a jacket, I’d offer it to you.”

His words are quiet in the night, and offering a jacket is such a gentlemanly thing to do.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he chuckles. “I may not be as nice as you, but I have manners.” He straightens his body out, opening his arms. “Come here, Calla.”

To his warmth.

To his strength.

I want to.

I want to.

But I shake my head, determined.

Dare’s eyes cloud, and his arms drop back to his sides.

He pushes away from the column and approaches me, his long body lithe and slender. I gulp hard as he steps toward me, closer, then closer.

For a brief moment, I feel like prey and he’s the hunter, until reality hits me and I know that he would never want to hunt me. I’m night and he’s day. He’s whole and I’m broken.

“You’re going to catch your death out here,” he tells me, his voice gentle now, and this whole ‘I need space’ thing is killing me, killing me, killing me.

I wonder if it’s killing him, too?

“Come on, follow me,” he tells me, pushing ahead. For some reason, I do as he asks and I allow him to lead me through the gardens, up the paths, into the house and to a huge laundry room. He opens a cabinet and pulls out a large soft towel. As he turns to me, he pulls it around my shoulders.

“You’re not used to the rain here,” he tells me as he rubs my arms briskly. “Don’t go out at night again. You don’t know what’s out there.”

I don’t bother to remind him that Oregon rain is just as bad, that both places are wet and gray and dreary, and that I’m used to it. I don’t ask him what’s out there, because I don’t want to know. Not yet.

“I… um.” I fall silent. “Why are you being so nice?” I blurt. “I’m not being very nice to you.”

“You’re doing what you have to do,” he tells me, a strange look in his dark eyes. “Things aren’t what they seem here, Calla. Don’t forget that and you’ll be fine.”