Willing (The Un 1)

It’s been more than five years since Isaac and I have been able to see each other in the flesh.

“I just wanted to ask him a question, but it’s really not important now,” I say dismissively, trying to downplay the whole thing so he doesn’t feel insulted.

“What was the question? Maybe I can help?”

I thought he could help when I made the call, it’s why I called him in the first place. But now that I actually have him on the line, I can’t figure out a way to explain the nightmare I had in a way that doesn’t make me look like a total freak.

Would Isaac judge me if I told him the truth? Or at least what I remember of it?

Probably.

He’s just as devout as I am, if not more.

“I… it’s nothing important,” I say. “I’ll just wait for Father McCall to call me back.”

Isaac makes a small sound like he’s snorting through his nose in annoyance. “Well, you could be waiting awhile. McCall got called out for an emergency, and you know how those go.”

A chill suddenly creeps down my spine.

An emergency usually only means one thing—one of the other cursed girls is in danger.

“Oh yeah?” I ask, trying to keep my sudden apprehension out of my voice.

“Yeah. You know I can’t give you any specific details, but the situation isn’t good.”

Damn it. That’s not what I want to hear right now. Not when my own monster could be right on my heels.

“You sure you don’t want to ask me your question?”

I open my mouth, ready to tell him I’ll just wait on Father McCall.

But he adds, “You know I’ve been studying the mark for years, and you can trust me. I would never judge you. No matter what it is, it stays between us.”

My finger aches to hit the disconnect button, to avoid telling him what’s starting to feel more and more like a dirty secret.

But if I hang up, I know I’ll spend all day worrying.

And I could be worrying over nothing.

I need to make a decision, an informed decision about whether I should start packing or not. Especially if the Order is already helping a girl who is in danger. I don’t want to pull resources away from her.

Not if I don’t need them.

I close my eyes, gathering courage, then cringe when I say, “I had a dream last night.”

“A dream?” Isaac repeats like it’s the last thing he expected me to say.

“Yeah, a dream,” I sigh, already feeling embarrassed.

This was a mistake. I knew it.

“What kind of dream?” Isaac presses.

I groan, not even sure where to begin.

“Chloe,” Isaac practically growls. “What kind of dream?”

“I don’t know,” I say and throw one hand up in the air in frustration.

I do know, I just don’t want to say it.

“If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t be trying to call Father McCall about it, so stop fibbing. Something about it is obviously worrying you. Just tell me,” Isaac says angrily.

The way Isaac says those last two words…

It’s almost the way he said it.

I can feel him above me.

The weight of his will pressing down on me…

I can hear his words in my head again. “Chloe, tell me where you are.”

“Chloe?” Isaac says, then repeats it more forcibly when I don’t respond immediately. “Chloe.”

Shaking my head, I snap out of my trance.

“Are you still there?” Isaac asks.

As quick as it came, the memory disappears.

Taking a deep breath, I try to regain my composure. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

Isaac makes a sound of relief. “It’s okay. It’s no problem at all.”

When I don’t respond to that, he clears his throat. “So, you had a dream… What was the dream about?”

I take a moment, trying to find the right word, but the only word that comes to me is, “Him.”

That’s all he is to me… a him. A thing that’s been hunting me. A thing that’s stolen my life from me. He might have a name but I don’t know it, and I have absolutely no desire to name him or humanize him.

“Oh,” Isaac says, catching on quickly and saving me from having to explain exactly who I’m referring to.

His next words are strained, like he doesn’t even want to say them. “What happened in the dream… with him?”

There’s no tactful way to explain it. What he did. What I felt.

My voice drops to a shame-filled whisper, hoping God won’t hear me as I admit, “He was in my bed with me.”

I hear Isaac suck in a sharp breath.

And the shame I feel only increases.

He must think the worst of me.

I’m fully expecting him to lecture me, to call me a dirty whore, or hang up on me.

But he doesn’t.

After a couple of heartbeats, he simply asks, “Did you feel anything coming from your mark?”

“No,” I answer.