It is him alright and as usual that trademark nonchalance perched on his face like a stamp is enough to irk me further. But at the same time I want to hug him and give thanks for him being alive
My mind adds spitefully... For now.
"Yes. I'm glad you found it". I snort, grabbing the book from him wryly.
"You have never willingly brought yourself to me, My pearl" His voice has toned down two inches.
I look up from the book I'm pretending to skim through even if my eyes cannot register the words etched in it "Is that what your cocky head wants to believe?"
He smiles, and it should not mean anything but why is my traitorous heart dancing madly. Like a fool. "Mercifully, isn't it what it is?"
I shove the book across his face "Funny enough, I came here for this. Books."
"Touche" He steps an inch closer and yes I am struggling to breathe. "Books are the mirrors to the soul. Someone said that. Once."
"And the person was correct " I murmur, distracted by the overfamiliar but still very much enticing scent of him.
"Yes" His hands stay on my shoulders like a second skin and his fingers begin that warm tempting massage "I could be your open book if you want. Right here. " One hand drop down with a jolt to my chest region.
"Tempting" I slap it off "But I got this. " once again I flash the book in his face.
He grabs it in a swift motion "Why don't we drift from the predictable world of Lucio Rimanez and drift to ours, my dear". He puts the book gently on a shelf.
"Why don't you fucking read my mind and know why the fuck I came ". I folded my hand across my chest and stared at him questioningly because yeah he should do that Mindcraft thing and know that he's fucking about to die.
Soon.
Jordan shrugs "It's the first time you are surrendering yourself to be perused and funny enough, my mind cant grab nothing. "
My voice thickens "Is that how it works? What do you mean your mind can't grab anything" . Frustration is making me glare piteously at him.
One hand ruffles his hair "Night, I can read you when you least expect to be be read. Not when you want to be read."
"A pity "
"Now can you talk to me" His eyes draft tender pools of curiosity into me "You have this really Magian gloom etched over you. Who's dying this time? Who are we saving this time?"
His question hangs between us —
Who's dying this time?
I almost laugh. Almost. The sound rises, brittle, but dies somewhere behind my teeth.
"You," I whisper.
He stills. It's the smallest shift — a breath, a muscle tightening near his jaw — but it's enough.
"What did you say?"
I look away, toward the long aisle of silent books, their spines like witnesses holding their breath. "You were in my vision, Jordan. There was blood. ."
He exhales, slow and deliberate, as though my words are a joke "First time you dream about me and it's death. What would I do without you, my Dark Magian".
"It wasn't a dream," I snap.
My pulse flares — I can feel it in my throat, in my palms. "I saw you on the ground. Your eyes… open, but not seeing anything. You weren't even fighting. You were—"
The rest dissolves in the silence between us.
He's closer now. I don't even notice when he moves, but he's right there — his breath against my cheek, steady, reckless.
"Then save me," he murmurs.
"I'm trying."
He smiles again, faint, dangerous. "By coming to the library and glaring at me like an exorcist?"
"By warning you, you idiot."
He studies me, his gaze like fingertips on my skin. "You're shaking," he says quietly. "Are you scared for me or of me?"
"Maybe both." Why on earth are my feet wobbly.
"Then you really are doomed." His voice is a whisper now, close enough that I can feel it along my spine. "Come with me to Don Puerto"
"And where is that"
"An Isle to the East of Tish " His fingers dance downward and halt tantalizingly on the swell of my breasts "Bloodstone 's organizing publicity shots and a meet and greet for me this weekend ".
"Sounds ..." I struggle to find the right words even as my body breaks in heat "Safe".
"The dazzling crowd might not be innocent" His hands have trailed pleasurably painfully to my navel where they fidget with the hem of my shirt "And we both know your visions always carry this unfortunate weight of manifesting swiftly".
I freeze. His words are a blade with no handle — too sharp to hold, too true to drop.
"I am the feeble human here, Jordan. How would my presence change anything?". My throat stay parched because his fingers are now dancing on my naked skin, burning their way to the top.
"I am the stubborn werewolf who rejected a fated mate and so my powers have considerably dwindled. " He has snaked his way into my bra and is now pinching my nipple in a fluid silky motion.
I gasp. From pleasure. From surprise. "Lucky you. " My voice is hoarse.
"Is that a yes to my offer?" Those fingers are waltzing in circle motions on my hardened tit.
"A very tempting offer" My voice is lower than a whisper. I break into a half moan.
He moves in a swift dart to the next breast. My knees buckle "Very tempting indeed. " One hand touches the side of my face, like a cartographer exploring. "Is that a yes?"
I meet his gaze. His frost eyes are beautiful and impossible and maddening. I whisper "It's a maybe. "
He smiles "Sounds like yes in Wolf Lore".
"Don't get your furs in a twist" I snort "I'm doing this only because I'm the haunted prophet who wouldn't want to see you die. " Or is it because his touch holds promises of bliss.
"Whatever helps you sleep, my pearl although we both know the later is the truer bit. The promises of bliss". His hand caress my lips while the one on my breast gives tender strokes that keeps my retorts bubbling in my thirsty throat.
"Damn that stupid Mindcraft" I say anyway, hanging unto a shelf for support because my legs are not mine anymore.
"Damn this stupid urge". He laughs and breaths into my ears "I will pick you up this evening. "
"Wait... What?" I stare at him half dazed with confusion. And electrifying desire in my throat. God. Why did he have to look so flawless.
"It's Friday, Mon Cherie"
I roll my eyes. Don Puerto. If my presence could maybe wade off the stings of death, then so be it. Jordan Files might be an irksome pain in the ass.
But he was also something more.
A sweet boy.
My sweet boy.