Page 110 of Nightshade

“Only my enjoyment of it.”

“You won’t hurt me. Because it still baffles you that your dogs trust me so implicitly, and therefore, you have no choice but to do the same.”

“You put an awful lot of stake in whether, or not, I care what the dogs think.”

“You would’ve already gotten rid of me, if you didn’t.”

Brow quirked, he tipped his head. “That option is not entirely off the table.”

I swiped up another stick from the ground and handed it off to him. “Show me again.”

With what I took as reluctance, he reached for the stick, and before I could lower my hand, he gripped my wrist and spun me around so fast, the surroundings were a peripheral blur. My heart pounded inside my ribs, as I stood with my back to his chest, that intoxicating smell of his watering my mouth. Arms came from behind, and he set the stick into my palm, then drew back my arm.

“You’ve only to imagine where it should go,” he said at my ear.

He released my stick-toting hand, and I turned my head to the side, breaths unsteady and fast.

“As far as I want?”

“Yes.”

In the distance, Fenrir sat back on his haunches, as if waiting on me. The distance was well beyond what I knew I was capable of throwing. I drew back slightly farther and tossed the stick. The object rocketed across the meadow, and I watched in awe as Fenrir leapt into the air for it.

Holy shit. Holy shit!

I cupped my face and laughed into my palms. “That was insane!”

Minutes later, Fenrir trotted back with the stick, and after depositing it at my feet, he darted out toward where he’d sat before.

“I have to try this again.” I swiped up the stick and drew back my arm.

Behind me, Jericho stepped back, relieving me of the heat that radiated off his body like a walking furnace. Arousal pulsed through me, and I screwed my eyes shut. I tossed the stick, which only went a couple yards.

Pathetic.

A hand rested on my waist, and I drew in a sharp breath as he gripped me in a way that felt possessive. “I don’t think you’re concentrating on the stick, Miss Ravenshaw.”

In as subtle a movement as I could muster, I directed my stare down to where his hand gripped me, how easily he could bruise, or steer me, if he wanted. Even relaxed, his hands warned of incredible strength. Swallowing a gulp, I shook those thoughts from my mind.

When Fenrir retrieved the stick, I nabbed it up and threw again. The stick sailed over the meadow, just as the first time. On an ungracious squeal, I hopped around and let out the most ridiculous sounding giggle that’d ever passed my lips.

When I turned around, I caught a hint of a smile playing on his lips, one that faded as his gaze turned thoughtful for a moment.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, still staring as if trying to concentrate. “It was just a strange thought. Reminded me of something, but I can’t quite place what.”

“It’s funny, there’s an odd sense of familiarity when I’m around you, Mister Van Croix. In fact, I feel as if I’ve been here before. In the meadow. Before now.”

“It’s common. Many in Nightshade suffer from déjà vu. They’re called es’ra or echoes. They mimic memories of past lives. Some more imperfectly than others.”

“Like Blackwater Cathedral. It reminded me of the old church ruins where I used to play.”

“Perhaps Blackwater is an echo of something which existed in another part of your world.”

“How very strange.” A beautiful melodic sound echoed overhead, a bird’s chirping, so clear and song-like. I turned to see a tiny black bird that reminded me of a puffy little chickadee, perched on a branch behind us. “Speaking of strange, what a lovely sound.”

“They’re Tu’Nazhja. A rather dangerous bird here.”