The Three Fates of Ryan Love (5 page)

“I don't know.” She looked away. “I only know that I have to go.”

Ryan let out a heavy breath and stepped forward. Gently, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You know how crazy this sounds.”

It wasn't a question, but she nodded. “Yes. But you know it's the truth.”

He gave a reluctant nod back, though the jury was still out on that one. “So you haven't seen it—what's waiting in the north? Your future peepers don't work in the cold?”

A hint of a smile curled her lips. “No one can see their own future, Ryan. Not even one such as myself.”

Such as herself? That could have a host of meanings, which he intended to pursue, but first Ryan asked, “So you don't already know if I'm going to say yes or no? You're just rolling the dice?”

Sabelle sucked in her bottom lip and gave a short, tight head shake. It made him feel better, her uncertainty. The thought of her seeing his decisions before he'd actually made them defied his beliefs and pissed him off at the same time.

“I know that tomorrow's headlines will read ‘Three a.m. Wake-Up Call,' ” she said. “But I've never known if I'd be here to read them myself.”

The answer made sense—or at least something close to it—but he felt something sift through the air between them. Something she'd left unsaid.

“I still want to know where you escaped from.”

“I can't tell you that, Ryan. It would only put you in more danger if you knew.”

“Do you think they followed you? Is there a chance they know where you are?” These mysterious “theys” that even the police couldn't stop.

“Not yet.”

She looked like a cornered animal, the kind that bared its teeth and fought to the death if it was out of options. The kind that was scared enough to try anything.

They were standing very close, but neither one stepped away. She had secrets, big ones, and everything she'd told him tonight had just been coins tossed in the street. Distractions to keep him from digging at the ugly treasure she had buried somewhere else. But the instincts that had governed Ryan his entire life insisted that she'd told him what she could and it had been the truth. At the end of the day, that was more than most gave.

And Ryan understood secrets. God knew he had enough of those himself and he'd fight to protect them. He couldn't fault her for wanting to do the same. But there was one secret he couldn't let her keep.

“Did they hurt you, snowflake?” he asked carefully. If she answered yes, all bets were off. He'd make her tell him everything. And he'd make them pay.

“Not in the ways you're thinking,” she said. “Not physically.”

He held her face, looked deeply into her eyes.

“Swear it.”

“I swear. No one has ever touched me.”

Something sad twisted through those words. He heard the emotion clearly, but couldn't find a way to decode it. Had she been imprisoned by someone she knew? Someone she trusted? Someone who should have touched her with compassion? Love, even?

Her eyes darkened. He suspected that she'd guessed at his thoughts and it hurt her. The answers to his questions would probe a deep wound she wasn't ready to have exposed.

He got that, too. He exhaled softly and rested his forehead against hers. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I'll help you find ‘north,' but only under one condition.” He pulled back and watched as wariness moved behind her gaze. “If we can't find your . . . friends or whoever it is you're looking for, you let me get the police involved before we go our separate ways. No asking me to go on another wild-goose chase. No disappearing without a word to do it on your own. Do we have a deal?”

She nodded, displeasure in the tight line of her lips and the lowered lashes that hid her eyes.

“Look at me, snowflake.”

She did, her gaze bright with defiance.

“Say it. I want the words.”

“We have deal,” she said. “Your way. If we don't find them, we go to the police.”

He stared at her a moment longer, taking in every nuance of her expression. She wasn't giving anything up, though. As crazy as it sounded, he'd have to take her at her word.

If tonight had just been another night, maybe his answer would have been different. Nothing but ash was left of his old life, though, and a road trip with this intriguing woman held a lot more appeal than dealing with insurance companies and paperwork. Maybe he'd get answers and clear his head at the same time.

“Good enough,” he murmured. “We can leave tomorrow.”

S
abelle was too exhausted to smile. She'd gotten what she wanted. Ryan would take her where she needed to go. He'd let her keep her secrets. For now. She wasn't so naïve that she thought he'd let her keep them forever, though.

He still held her face, his touch so gentle it nearly broke her. How many times had she dreamed of his hands on her? His gaze seemed to see right through her, but he didn't speak, and with relief she watched the tension drain out of him. She wasn't used to such volatile emotions. They were freeing, but they were also frightening. She'd never realized she had so much passion bottled up inside.

At last, he dropped his hands and leaned back against the counter again, all long bones and hard muscle. One leg stretched out in front, the other bent at the knee. White socks covered his feet and soft, worn blue jeans hugged him
everywhere.
Places Sabelle couldn't help but notice. He'd caught her looking several times, but her scalding blushes hadn't been painful enough to keep her from doing it again. She wanted to touch him. She wanted
him
to touch
her
. He'd riled her up with his questions, with his anger, and now she felt like a live wire sparking in a storm, gathering up all of her other confused feelings and electrifying them in the torrent.

The soft rasp of his palms against the shadow of his beard teased her senses. In the Beyond, sensory stimulation was kept to a minimum for oracles. The Sisters didn't want anything distracting them from their visions. Here on earth, everything was stimulating.

“I can't even see straight anymore,” Ryan said in a tired voice. “I can't think. Let's get some sleep. We can talk about everything in the morning.”

He took their cups to the sink and dumped their paper plates in a blue bin beside the trash, glancing out the window before turning out the light. Only the lamp in the front room kept the darkness at bay.

“The sun will be up soon. Come on.”

He clicked his tongue for Brandy, who rolled to her feet with a grunt and lumbered to his side. When Sabelle didn't move, he tacked on: “Unless you want to sleep down here. I can get you some blankets for the couch.”

Sabelle looked around. Deep pockets of darkness seeped into the shadows. Textured and scheming. Devious. The thought of staying there alone propelled her to action. Ryan hadn't waited to see if she'd follow, and she hurried to catch up as he climbed the stairs. The look he gave her over his shoulder glittered with dark amusement. It was better than his anger.

Grimly, she followed to the top and down the hall to the room across from his boyhood bedroom. It took a moment before she understood. He meant for her to sleep there. By herself.

She tried to get a grip on her dread before it took hold and owned her, but it moved too fast, tingling painfully through her limbs. She knew humans slept every night, many of them by themselves. It didn't hurt them. But Sabelle wasn't human and she'd never slept, not like they did. Alone. For hours at a time with their eyes closed, their bodies vulnerable.

He let her use the bathroom first. He even produced a pack of new toothbrushes and gave her one.

“Walmart,” he muttered darkly.

She had no idea what that meant but thanked him. Afterward, she returned reluctantly to the room across the hall from his. As he passed, Ryan paused at the open door and looked in. At his feet, Brandy gave a huge yawn.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, adding a few desperate nods in case he had doubt.

Still, he hesitated, watching her with those beautiful, jaded eyes. What did he see? Did desire burn inside him as it did within her?

“You sure?” he asked.

She was still nodding. “I'm fine,” she said, her voice a little too high. A little too thin. “Unless there are monsters under the bed that I don't know about?”

Her attempt at humor came with sharp teeth that snapped back. She
had
to bring up monsters. Ryan's eyes narrowed.

“I'm just across the hall,” he said.

“I know.”
But please don't leave me alone.

He turned without a word, stripping off his shirt as he entered his room and tossing it on the dresser. One hand ready to sweep his door shut and the other popping the top button of his fly, he glanced back and caught her watching him. She didn't look away. His chest was broad, smooth, and browned by the sun, and all that muscle gleamed in the muted light. He was such a big man, tall, heavy with strength. If the Sisters could still play human, they'd be fighting over a prize like Ryan.

A slow smile crinkled the corners of his eyes as he watched her watch him. Sabelle tried to appear unmoved, but Ryan's smile did things to her head, to her body. After their dangerous conversation, it felt like sunshine in the cold.

He left the door open, his pants on, first button undone, yanked the blankets down, and stretched out on top of the bed. Brandy circled in the corner before curling up and closing her eyes.

“Good night,” Ryan said and turned out the bedside lamp.

Sabelle crossed the hall to his open door. The light from the other bedroom crept in behind her and softened the darkness that caressed him. She could make out his shape, the golden stretch of his bare chest, the shadow of that intriguing trail of hair at his belly, a restless shift in position. She wished she could memorize the way the light played over the planes of his arms and chest, the taut, flat stomach. After a moment, her eyes adjusted and she could see his face.

“What?” he said without opening his eyes.

“Nothing. It's just . . . I've never slept alone before.”

And I'm scared to do it now.

A wave of something close to humiliation closed in on her. The Sisters' oracles had few freedoms and fewer indulgences. Like privacy. Someone had always monitored her sleep.

“There's nothing to it,” Ryan said with a yawn. “Just lie down. Close your eyes.”

“And after that?”

“Sleep, if you're lucky.”

She shifted her feet, fingering the hem of her shirt. “What if you're not lucky?”

His lashes lifted and the smoky green gleamed in the dim light.

Before he could speak, she said, “I know
you
seem to enjoy it. You like to nap.” The corners of her mouth tilted at memories of him stretched out on his couch, Brandy curled up at the end, both oblivious to the TV flashing and blaring. “You can sleep through anything.”

His eyes narrowed. She
felt
it across the room and knew she'd slipped up, revealed something Ryan wouldn't let go.

“How do you know that?” he asked.

She lifted a shoulder and said as casually as she could, “I must have seen you.”

Ryan shifted his weight, coming up on one arm. “Seen me when?”

Her mouth was dry, her throat tight. She didn't know how to backtrack out of it, so she shook her head and plunged on. “It doesn't matter.”

“No way, snowflake. When did you see me? Where?”

“Sleeping,” she mumbled. “I told you. I see.”

Those intelligent eyes watched her, and she knew she hadn't fooled him. She hadn't merely seen him in a vision. She'd watched him, summoned visions of him like a lovesick girl with her first crush. She'd been told that no other oracle could do such a thing, call a vision like humans called their friends, see the world as it was, not as it would be. Peel reality back just to watch the minutiae of day-to-day life.
His
life.

Ryan noted her evasive gaze and busy fingers before she could still them. He was figuring things out—things she'd never intended for him to know.

“You've watched me,” he said. Or asked. She couldn't tell.

“Yes,” she admitted because she knew lying would only make it worse.

“By that you mean you've had . . . it's been in your . . . ?”

“Visions,” she offered helpfully.

Suddenly, a hasty retreat seemed the wisest option. But the room behind her loomed like a nightmare of its own. So big. So empty. So far from Ryan.

“Why would you watch me sleep?”

It was the only time he let down his guard. The only time he looked relaxed. Peaceful. The young man who lived beneath the weight of responsibility emerged then. She could—
had—
watched him sleep for hours.

“I was simply trying to understand,” she bluffed. Convincingly, she thought. “You work half the night, prowl the rest of it. It's only in the early hours of the morning that you go to bed.”

And so many times, not alone.

He tipped his head, as if listening. For a moment, she feared she'd said it out loud. Quickly, she rushed on.

“For someone like me, someone with the sight, sleep is a time for visions. We're monitored and awakened whenever our brains are active.”

“We?”

She bit her tongue. She should stop talking. Now. She had little experience with deception and Ryan was too skilled at seeing it. She was ill equipped on too many levels. She glanced over her shoulder. The empty room behind her seemed cavernous.

“I am one of many seers,” she confessed.

“How many?”

“Thirty-three.”

He whistled softly. “They're prisoners, too?”

She nodded. “It's my hope that whoever is sending me signs will help me free them.”

“What if they don't?”

“That's a bridge to cross when I reach it. I must follow my destiny, my fate. Just as you must follow yours.”

He smiled. “I don't believe in fate.”

She smiled back. “Fate does not require belief.”

Obviously.

He snorted softly. “Fair enough.”

They remained as they were, poised with the room spread out between them, Ryan reclining, his jeans open at the top, the intriguing arrow between hip bones and muscle pulling her gaze down.

“Don't you get tired, not sleeping?” he asked, his voice rough and deep.

Sabelle jerked her gaze up and found him watching her, his eyes filled with male awareness. She could almost taste the tension sparking in the quiet.

“When our bodies require rest, we're sedated,” she answered, the words rendered meaningless by that look in his eye. “But that sleep comes without dreams and so it feels . . . counterproductive.”

He nodded slowly, taking it all in. Probably seeing right through her.

“Even then someone monitors our breathing, making sure we stay dreamless.”

She wished he'd say something, but he only continued to watch her with those knowing eyes. They dared and coaxed, teased and seduced. He was so . . .
manly.
All muscle and bone, hard angles, rough edges.

She glanced around the room with feigned interest, trying to ignore the vulnerable way she felt.

“Sometimes hu—people . . . I mean normal people . . . they sleep together,” she said, as if it had just occurred to her. As if she hadn't fantasized about it many times over.

“Sometimes,” Ryan agreed in that velvet deep voice. It curled in her stomach and spread like a disease until her whole body felt it, that timbre, that soft rasp.

She cleared her throat and went on. “Couples. Mothers with their children. Siblings . . . friends.”

His eyes glittered. “Do you want to sleep with me, Sabelle?” he asked softly.

More than anything.

She shook her head and tried to imitate one of those laughs that said,
Don't be silly
. But the only thing silly in the room was her.

Ryan stilled, his gaze so hot that she felt it against her skin. His voice dark as honey, warm as amber, he said, “Come here.”

Quickly, she took a step forward just in case he changed his mind, but paused when she realized how much that hasty movement had given away.

His brows went up in that way of his. The one that dared her to deny what he already knew. It was a hard look, a dangerous, masculine look that burned like a hunger inside her and pulled her to him like a towing line.

“I don't know . . .” she mumbled, and she didn't know what she didn't know. The bold being who'd dared to escape her chains had deserted her, leaving Sabelle exposed and uncertain.

“Suit yourself.”

He closed his eyes and adjusted his pillows, as if he didn't care what choice she made. But there was tension in his body, in the cadence of his breath. He was waiting for her. Nervously, she perched on the edge of the bed.

Ryan didn't move or give an indication that he'd felt the dip in the mattress or her presence beside him. Tentatively, she swung her legs up and curled on her side, as far from him as she could, trying to cause as little disturbance as possible. But he'd pinned the covers at the bottom with his legs and she was cold.

Ryan let out a weary breath, rolled over, hooked an arm around her, and pulled her back against his chest, fitting her into the curve of his body. His arm went beneath her pillow, his leg between hers and his hand curled over her ribs. He was warmer than any blanket, so big and strong that she felt safe for the first time in maybe . . . ever.