Oracle: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Series (A Diana Hawthorne Supernatural Mystery Book 1), Carissa Andrews [read my book .txt] 📗

“Why’s that?” I ask, taking another sip of coffee. My senses and wits are returning to me after the idiotic booze haze.

“His facial recognition system caught something in Greece. One or more of the men are there and it looks as though they’re getting comfortable. They must have bailed on the U.S. girls to move a different group here. I suppose it makes sense if they were worried about being apprehended. If we’re careful, we might be able to move in on them where they feel safe.”

“That’s—that’s great news,” I say, my eyes widening slightly.

Greece.

A knock at the door makes me jump.

“Room service,” the voice says on the other side.

“Ah—drat. Must be your clothes,” Blake says with a mock frown, then winking. He walks to the door and opens it just wide enough for his body to block the doorway.

“Thank you. Much appreciated,” he says, handing the woman on the other side some money before he closes the door.

He turns around, smiling triumphantly.

“Just in the nick of time,” he grins, clutching my clothes to his body.

“Wonderful,” I say, holding my left arm out for them.

“Uh uh,” he says, quirking an eyebrow.

“Blake,” I warn, “don’t be a creeper. Give me my clothes.”

“Oh, I will. But first—I have some questions.”

I roll my eyes.

Leave it to a man to blackmail a woman with her own clothing.

14

BLAKE STANDS FEET from me, holding my clothes just outside of lunging distance.

I consider reaching for them anyway. It’s not like he hasn’t seen the goods already. And honestly—after all these years, the last thing I have is an over-abundance of pride for human nakedness.

“What questions?” I say, letting curiosity get the better of me.

Blake narrows his eyes and chews gently on the side of his lip.

I cock an eyebrow and sigh loudly as I place my coffee down on the nightstand.

“Okay, okay. I’m trying to—I don’t know. I need to trust you and I just—I waffle back and forth.”

“You sound like a breakfast food. Would you just spit out what you want to say?”

“Fine,” he says, nodding. “Truth—how did you really know about my relationship with Aiden. He told you, right?”

I shake my head. Until I have the chance to really show him what I can do—he’s not going to believe me.

Why would he, I suppose? I wouldn’t either.

“Look Blake, I get this doesn’t fit in your world view, but I am exactly who I say I am. I pick things up—I always have and probably always will. Don’t ask me why I don’t get a read off you because I don’t know. You are literally the first person this has ever happened with. The first. The only. In my whole life. At first, I thought it was nice—a breath of fresh air after having to constantly ward myself. But now, hell, I wish I did pick up on your shit because it’s driving me a little bit nuts.”

Blake’s eyes widen, then narrow.

“Can you—I dunno how this stuff works, but can you shut if off when you want?” he asks.

“Did you hear me when I said the warding bit?” I say. “I know we talked about that when we first met, so don’t tell me you don’t remember.”

“What happens when you’re around a ton of people? Like the airplane. Would you have normally been flooded with their bullshit? Or can you focus in on what you really need to—or not, I guess?”

The tone in his voice tells me this line of questioning is still all hypothetical to him—but he’s playing along for the sake of it.

I sigh again, trying to decide if I should quit while I’m ahead, or keep going until I feel like bashing my head in.

“Depends,” I shrug. “Most of the time, it’s like turning down the volume—but it’s technically always there. Things stream in and out all the time. But when I’m not focused on it, it’s like being in a crowded room. You can hear all the chatter, but unless you stop to totally listen, only bits and pieces of it sticks.”

Blake considers for a moment, then nods.

“So, you’re saying most of the time, if you really wanted, you can’t shut it down.”

“Are you asking me to try not to pick stuff up about you? We’re alone and I can’t read you. What more do you want? What do you have to hide, Blake?” I ask, letting frustration get the better of me.

“Nothing—it’s not like that. But I don’t know—I don’t like the idea of all my stuff just out there. You know? Would you like it if someone could tap into all that you are or have ever been without your permission?”

I hold his gaze for a moment, trying simultaneously to choose an answer—and figure him out. Is it the military in him that makes him so secretive? Or is there something more? Maybe he’s just a knowledge hoarder. Who the hell knows? I know I sure don’t.

“I’ve had a long time to think about that,” I say, biting my lip before I say something I’ll regret.

Blake chuckles, “I can imagine the twenty-some odd years has been rough.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” I say, casting my gaze to his feet. “Honestly, at this point, I don’t think I’d mind if someone could tap into my shit. But that’s just me. It would be a helluva lot easier than trying to explain my life at this point.”

If I could pass on this curse of mine or share it with someone else so they can see all I’ve seen—I’d do it in a heartbeat.

I actually envy Demetri a little—even though I know I shouldn’t. He’d tell me I was a damned fool.

Kicking off my blanket, I stand up. I’ve had enough of this cat and mouse game. The only way for Blake to understand would be to walk in my shoes—and that’s never gonna happen. Even if I tried to explain or walk him through what my life has been