Page 12 of Endless Terrors
Since the night I’d decapitated Jacob Goldmann and fled Granby, Oliver had been quiet. Painfully, uncharacteristically quiet. At first, I’d thought he was angry at me. That the rift we’d repaired during our adventures was opening again. It had taken me several more nights to wrangle the truth from him.
Oliver was in pain. Relentless pain.
Lucifer had been trying to reach me through my dreams. Like the rest of my nightmares, Oliver was able to hold him at bay. Time and time again, I urged my best friend to let him through. The devil can’t hurt me here, I insisted.
But Oliver was just as stubborn as I was.
Minutes ticked by, filled with the sound of distant tides and flocks of seagulls. Drawing my legs back from the cool spray, I crossed them at the ankles and hugged my knees, gazing at the colors seeping out on either side of the sun. Thin clouds allowed the dying light to break through, like dapples of morning shining through a stained-glass window. I knew the wild beauty was entirely the dreamscape’s own, since Oliver no longer had control over the sky.
“What are you painting tonight?” I asked finally.
I’d expected more silence, or to wait a while for his reply, but Oliver answered readily enough. “I’m not sure yet.”
He almost sounded like his old self again. Relief fluttered in my chest, making me realize how heavy I’d been feeling. How worried. “Are you ever going to let me see one?” I asked, smiling.
Oliver’s eyes met mine, and he smiled back. “I have let you see them,” he said.
I made a sound of disdain. “Liar. You’ve shown me two, maybe, and they don’t even count. Who cares about landscapes?”
“Soon,” he promised, his lips still faintly curved. He added more strokes to the canvas. I watched him for another minute, my thoughts wandering. The concentrated frown Oliver wore reminded me of someone else. Someone I had left behind and missed more than I’d expected.
“Nym likes to draw, have I told you that? I bet you two would hit it off,” I remarked. But Oliver didn’t respond this time. I watched his expression carefully, searching for a wince or the slightest tightening of his lips; I’d learned Oliver’s tells when it came to his battle against Lucifer. I didn’t see any now, and I wondered if he’d gotten better at lying. My voice was soft again as I asked, “How bad is it?”
Oliver kept painting. “He’s eased up, actually.”
“He has?” Unease trickled through me like the dark, freezing waters where we’d first encountered the ceti. I kept my body twisted in Oliver’s direction, but I stopped seeing him. My mind raced through a list of potential reasons Lucifer would relent in his efforts for one night. “That can’t be a good sign.”
“Did something happen?” Oliver sounded distracted.
I hesitated. “You could say that. Laurie and Collith found me.”
Oliver swore. He gave me his full attention, and his eyes were bright with urgency. He set aside his paintbrush and stood. “Way to bury the lead, Fortuna. Why are we sitting here talking about my paintings? You need to wake up. One of them might’ve led him right to you.”
Staying where I was, I turned my head, squinting. The sunlight felt so good. I breathed deeply through my nostrils and leaned back. “I’ll leave in the morning.”
Oliver hovered over me. “You should leave now.”
“Not yet. Can we just … sit here? For a little while?”
He must’ve heard something in my voice, because Oliver only stood there another second or two before he folded his body and settled on the ground next to me. “Fine,” he said.
Guilt pricked at the sense of calm I’d found. All Oliver wanted was to be free, and I was terrified I’d lose him again if he kept feeling the sting of how little power he had.
“You have a choice, you know,” I reminded him.
“I know I do. And I’m choosing to sit here, with you. Just for a little while,” Oliver added, echoing my words. The wind mussed his hair some more, and it shifted into his eyes as they slid over and wrinkled at me in the beginnings of a teasing grin.
Gratitude swelled in my throat. I nudged Oliver’s shoulder with mine like I’d done a thousand times before. “I love you.”
He gave me a pitying look and tipped his hand back and forth like a seesaw. “Eh, I’m lukewarm about you. You snore in your sleep and you can be really annoying sometimes.”
“Hey!” I shoved him, laughing. “Excuse you. I’m a delight.”
He watched me with a soft, crooked smile. “It’s been too long since I’ve heard that sound.”
Slowly, my laughter faded. I gazed back at Oliver, and a familiar sensation spread through my lower stomach, a response to the heat in his eyes. Of its own volition, my mind flashed to the night we’d spent in the tent. Feeling his firm warmth against my back. His hardness between my legs.
Swallowing, I turned and refocused on the darkening sky. We both knew nothing had changed, and starting down this path would only lead to pain. There would probably always be a sense of attraction between us, so we needed to learn how to control it. Or ignore it.
