Page 176 of Lost in the Dark
“I am pleased to be wherever you will have me,” I reply honestly, and the look she turns on me is one of surprise and the smallest hint of pleasure. It makes the warmth in my chest grow, and I eagerly chase that feeling, wanting more of it.
Naomi gives a nervous laugh and shakes her head. “I suppose that’s a good thing, considering something of the crappy things you’ve been dropped into during my dreams as of late. I swear that I don’t normally dream like that. I don’t understand what has gotten into me.”
“As I understand, it is natural,” I assure her, not wanting her to fret needlessly. Not yet—and not at all if I can avoid it. “This room, however, is exceedingly acceptable.”
A genuine smile of surprise flashes across her face, and she glances around with pleasure. “You think so?” She pauses, her brow furrowing uncertainly. “That was a compliment, right?”
I incline my head, and immediately she is all smiles again, her body visibly relaxing with my admiration of our surroundings.
“These colors make me happy, though my roommate, Trish, doesn’t quite agree. You haven’t seen her around because she’s traveling all this month with a performance group to the capital to take part in the Halloween festivities going on there, but she is very much into a warm palette.” She chuckles. “But when the landlord gave us permission to repaint, I couldn’t think of anything better and wore her down. The pale lavender is just so restful, don’t you think? And not mortuary restful like I’m told,” she says with an exasperated roll of her eyes. “The darker plum with the lavender definitely does not look like dead things.”
I smile at her insistent observation, keeping my mouth closed so not to remind her just how different I am. I love that she is so animated in this moment as if she has forgotten what I am in her current passion for colors, and I want to keep it that way for as long as possible even if I am tempted to point out that the relationship between rest and sleep is close to that of death and decay. Instead, I encourage her to speak of her passions. In short order, the conversation drifts to the topic of books, which sparks my interest as books have often been my only outlet from my duties in the past.
To my delight, her love of books seems endless. So much that my fingers practically itch with the desire to explore her favorite stories. I am fascinated with human fiction. We do not have such stories in my realm. Just volumes of history and various texts and treaties to educate. That has always been enough to satisfy me until now. Literature for the sake of pleasure—to imagine things beyond one’s own reality—is a new concept for me, one that I cannot get enough of. It makes me envious of her ability to manipulate the objects in her home to a degree that a being such as myself cannot. I would love nothing more than to explore the pages of the books beside her bed that she touches fondly in an almost absent manner. So, I drink in her words, relishing them as much as her own company.
Even the lulls in conversation are precious, as those moments are filled with a warmth and comfort as my energy skates over hers. She doesn’t rebuff it but sits with it, seeming to enjoy the bypass of our power reacting to each other as much as I do. I long for these moments to carry on forever and so I am disappointed when she falls into a deep, dreamless sleep. Yet the peacefulness on her face is so sweet that it burrows into my heart, making that moment just as cherished as the ones before. Standing, I reach out and brush her hair back from her face with one hand, admiring the contrast of her deep golden complexion against my pallor, before slipping out the door to leave her to her peace and rest.
If her dream calls me, I will come. In the meantime, I will give her this courtesy in hopes that if I go to her door, she will not hesitate to welcome my return. Because one thing is for certain: I crave more.
Naomi
Igave him, a strange entity, my name, and this doesn’t bother me.
The thought drifts through my mind as I wake, squinting against the sunlight drifting in through the parted curtains. Then confusion.
Why am I in the living room?Right. Gralius.
Warmth floods my cheeks as I recall the admiration in his inhuman silvery eyes. He had enjoyed my work around here… and books. I did not know any of the books he mentioned, but he had been able to keep up his side of the conversation. It was hard to not admire a man—or demon, I suppose—with an obvious love for literature even if the concept had seemed unfamiliar to him. That interest alone was a rare quality among guys I’ve dated… especially in romances, which intrigued Gralius as much as, if not more than, the other genres we discussed.
And I fell asleep!
I groan and push myself up into a seated position on the loveseat. Fuck, he’s going to think my manners are awful.
Rubbing sleep out of my eye, I look around curiously. There is no sign of anyone else in the room except Wilox, who, upon returning home from his nightly prowl, decided to relocate into the living room with me sometime within the early hours of the morning.
“Gralius?” I call out just to be sure, and I am strangely disappointed when there is no answer.
Stretching as I stand, I wrinkle my nose at the foul odor that wafts toward me and gag. What in the world is that coming from? I slap a hand over my mouth and nose to mute the scent, but it doesn’t help.
“Crap, did something die somewhere?”
All I need is a dead mouse or something in the walls. The last time that happened, it took days to air this place out. Throwing open the windows, I start in the kitchen where the odor was the worst and proceed to spray every room in the house. Hopefully that will do until I can get someone out there. I am really shocked how bad it smells so fast. Shit, is that what drove Gralius out? Dead and decomposing animals are not exactly conducive to having visitors.
A smaller part of me whispers that it is a shame that I didn’t know about that before when I thought he was terrorizing me, but I promptly shushed it. He was incredibly nice, and the weirdness was not his fault.
Wilox opens an eye to peer over at me from the large floor lamp he’s hanging from and gives me a doubtful look, the familiar’s natural telepathy easily reading my mind.
“I know I’m a bit too trusting, preferring to see the better nature in others, but I prefer that to being miserably suspicious of everyone,” I retort. “Besides, nothing he actually did or said was threatening. Instead, it all makes sense for what he says he is. He can’t help where he was or the fact that his grim appearance made an already frightening experience terrifying as fuck.”
That makes me feel a little bad about blasting him with the banishing ritual, but I can’t be completely sorry for protecting myself in what appeared to be a hostile situation.
My familiar sighs but doesn’t disagree. There is a faint sense of disapproval coming from him, but that is not surprising. He rarely likes anyone but me. Considering that bats live in huge communities, he is a bit of an oddball, but perhaps that’s what makes him a good witch’s familiar. Regardless, I love him anyway.
Puckering up in a playful kissy face at him as I walk by, I head down to my room. I don’t get far when the hall suddenly flashes, the space darkening and twisting on end as the floor tilts at an angle, the walls down the hallway bursting inward in slow explosions of large fragments sailing through the air. With a screech, I slide into a wall that explodes just as I careen into it, dragging me into its hidden recesses. My fingers scrabble for purchase against the edges of the crevice sucking me into its emptiness.
The wall is trying to swallow me alive, but this time Gralius is nowhere in sight. I laugh through my tears hysterically, uncertain of whether I should be furious at his absence or happy that this officially clears any doubt of his involvement with my delusions. But I’m too terrified to settle on one emotion beyond fear as my fingernails claw and scrape at the wall frame in a desperate attempt to save myself.
I nearly wet myself at the terrible growl that whips through the space, but the next moment I’m grabbed and yanked forward, the walls reconnecting around me as I am pulled free from the vision. My fingers immediately sink into the dark robe covering the demon as I cling to him. I feel him stiffen beneath my embrace, but I can’t bring myself to let him go as I tremble against him. Feathered wings, softer than anything I’ve ever felt before, enclose around me as strong arms draw me closer. A broken croon fills my ears, and I sink into him, drawing in that additional familiarity as an anchor.