Read Online Locked in Silence: Grimm's Circle, Book 5 by Shiloh Walker - Free Book Online
Authors: Shiloh Walker
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face—succubae, incubae, orin…others. How they traveled from a place called the netherplains to their world—most of them had to take over a human body in order to do much of anything.
Basically, she played student to his teacher—if there was a theme song for her new life, maybe it could be “Hot for Teacher”.
He made her heart race just looking at him.
He also made her belly clench, made her palms go damp, her knees go weak.
He made her ache.
In the worst possible way, in the sweetest way.
And now he wanted to talk about her gifts.
Hell. This was too damn personal.
What if he was like her?
She’d gotten pretty damn good at hiding how she felt over the past few years, but if he was anything like her…
Vanya blushed even thinking about it. Blushed furiously as she sat there with her chest tight, her palms sweaty, her breath lodged in her throat.
“You’ve got gifts, don’t you?” she blurted out.
Silence narrowed his eyes. We’re supposed to be talking about your gifts , he signed. He added emphasis by jabbing a finger at her after he’d finished. Yours .
“I know. I just…well, this is weird. I haven’t talked to anybody about what I can do. It’s…”
The hard line of his mouth softened and the aggravated look in his blue eyes faded. Not easy to talk about, is it ? he signed.
“No.” She hitched a shoulder up, wondered how she could explain that she barely even needed him to sign when he was talking to her because she often heard his voice—low and deep—in the back of her mind. And if he was thinking about her, she heard him too.
How did she tell him that?
He sat down next to her. She had to check the impulse to scoot away—the long, hard length of his thigh against hers made her uneasy—made her want to climb into his lap, see if she couldn’t crack the polite, friendly mask he wore around her.
He held out a hand. Startled, she looked at it—stared at his broad, scarred palm. His hands were a mess—ridged with scars that looked like knife cuts, burns, other old injuries she couldn’t even indentify. So at odds with his perfect, angelic face. Looking from that scarred hand into ice-blue eyes, she said, “What?”
He grinned. And again she heard his thoughts. “ You want to know about my gifts. I’ll show you.”
Nervously, she laid her hand in his. “You’re not a psychic, are you?”
He shook his head, and then with his free hand, gestured to the room.
Vanya looked around. “I don’t know what I’m looking for…”
He took his hand away.
The room fell into darkness. Darkness so complete, she couldn’t even see him, although he sat right next to her. She couldn’t feel him, and she’d gotten pretty damn good at that.
Then his hand was in hers again, and the darkness was gone.
“Oh—”
Once more he pulled his hand away.
The darkness returned.
“—shit.”
This time, the darkness didn’t disappear. It gradually bled away, like the night bled into day. Her heart banged hard against her ribs as she looked at him.
“What in the hell was that?”
He smiled and signed. She didn’t recognize it, though.
When he spoke into her mind, she stiffened. “ It’s illusion. I can make you think you see darkness when there is none.”
She blinked. “You mean, it wasn’t really dark?” Scowling, she remembered the night at the warehouse—the night she died. “That night. At the warehouse.”
Absently, she reached up and touched her throat. She couldn’t remember much of anything beyond that first pain, the shock of it. But she remembered everything right up to that point…the fear, the terror. The helplessness—knowing she’d been alone.
But she hadn’t been.
He’d been there.
Waiting.
Part of her wanted to rebel at the thought—wanted to demand to know why he hadn’t done something—even though she already knew the answer. He’d done exactly what he’d been sent to do.
She couldn’t very well become one of them if she hadn’t died,
Basically, she played student to his teacher—if there was a theme song for her new life, maybe it could be “Hot for Teacher”.
He made her heart race just looking at him.
He also made her belly clench, made her palms go damp, her knees go weak.
He made her ache.
In the worst possible way, in the sweetest way.
And now he wanted to talk about her gifts.
Hell. This was too damn personal.
What if he was like her?
She’d gotten pretty damn good at hiding how she felt over the past few years, but if he was anything like her…
Vanya blushed even thinking about it. Blushed furiously as she sat there with her chest tight, her palms sweaty, her breath lodged in her throat.
“You’ve got gifts, don’t you?” she blurted out.
Silence narrowed his eyes. We’re supposed to be talking about your gifts , he signed. He added emphasis by jabbing a finger at her after he’d finished. Yours .
“I know. I just…well, this is weird. I haven’t talked to anybody about what I can do. It’s…”
The hard line of his mouth softened and the aggravated look in his blue eyes faded. Not easy to talk about, is it ? he signed.
“No.” She hitched a shoulder up, wondered how she could explain that she barely even needed him to sign when he was talking to her because she often heard his voice—low and deep—in the back of her mind. And if he was thinking about her, she heard him too.
How did she tell him that?
He sat down next to her. She had to check the impulse to scoot away—the long, hard length of his thigh against hers made her uneasy—made her want to climb into his lap, see if she couldn’t crack the polite, friendly mask he wore around her.
He held out a hand. Startled, she looked at it—stared at his broad, scarred palm. His hands were a mess—ridged with scars that looked like knife cuts, burns, other old injuries she couldn’t even indentify. So at odds with his perfect, angelic face. Looking from that scarred hand into ice-blue eyes, she said, “What?”
He grinned. And again she heard his thoughts. “ You want to know about my gifts. I’ll show you.”
Nervously, she laid her hand in his. “You’re not a psychic, are you?”
He shook his head, and then with his free hand, gestured to the room.
Vanya looked around. “I don’t know what I’m looking for…”
He took his hand away.
The room fell into darkness. Darkness so complete, she couldn’t even see him, although he sat right next to her. She couldn’t feel him, and she’d gotten pretty damn good at that.
Then his hand was in hers again, and the darkness was gone.
“Oh—”
Once more he pulled his hand away.
The darkness returned.
“—shit.”
This time, the darkness didn’t disappear. It gradually bled away, like the night bled into day. Her heart banged hard against her ribs as she looked at him.
“What in the hell was that?”
He smiled and signed. She didn’t recognize it, though.
When he spoke into her mind, she stiffened. “ It’s illusion. I can make you think you see darkness when there is none.”
She blinked. “You mean, it wasn’t really dark?” Scowling, she remembered the night at the warehouse—the night she died. “That night. At the warehouse.”
Absently, she reached up and touched her throat. She couldn’t remember much of anything beyond that first pain, the shock of it. But she remembered everything right up to that point…the fear, the terror. The helplessness—knowing she’d been alone.
But she hadn’t been.
He’d been there.
Waiting.
Part of her wanted to rebel at the thought—wanted to demand to know why he hadn’t done something—even though she already knew the answer. He’d done exactly what he’d been sent to do.
She couldn’t very well become one of them if she hadn’t died,
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