Chapter Twelve

Emma

I awoke to the inescapable feeling of something missing.

Opening my eyes, I tried to figure out just what my brain was trying to tell me, what bit of information it had cataloged but refused to spell out in clear detail.

My first thought was the sound of the surf. The roar of the waves crashing against the rocks was a constant … when I was outside. I'd learned last night that Rhyse's house was soundproofed rather well, and the bedroom even more so.

Rhyse.

I tossed aside the surprisingly plush comforter and somewhat reluctantly got out of the insanely comfortable guest bed. Glancing down at it, I had to admit that I'd done Rhyse a disservice with my expectations of his place.

From the comfort of the couches where we'd sat in silence the night prior, while the flames crackled and popped in the fireplace on the north wall, to the sheets and bed itself, it was all of much higher quality than it seemed. The same with the build of his house.

When I'd first come in, I'd thought it typically male. Spartan and mostly bare. That was until I'd looked a little closer. He still wasn't the type to own a lot or clutter everything up. What he did have, however, was of high quality, and it also meant something to him. It wasn't just there to take up space. It had meaning.

Like the enormous conch shell on a table against the west window wall overlooking the sea. It was one of the biggest I'd ever seen. Rhyse had told me the story about how he'd gone diving for the first time after moving to the coast and found it within minutes. A sure sign that this was where he was meant to be, he'd said.

My brain continued to focus on Rhyse as I shuffled out of the bedroom and toward the kitchen.

I frowned at the empty area. Empty and quiet.

The entire house was quiet. Was that what had awoken me? The absence of noise? Rhyse wasn't a loud individual, and besides, I knew he wasn't here because—

I jerked upright, my search for coffee momentarily forgotten as realization struck like a lightning bolt.

He wasn't here because I couldn't feel him. It was my mind that was quiet. Silent, without a steady stream of emotions emanating from another person.

My fingers rubbed the scale through my shirt as I focused. He was alive, I could feel that much, but otherwise, he was distant. Too far away for much to come through.

Rifling through his cupboards now, I marveled at how fast I'd gotten used to that sensation. Of being linked with him. It was to the point I almost missed it. Almost.

I found some instant coffee and a mug, and after an indeterminable wait, hot water began to pour from the faucet.

After mixing it, I breathed in the aroma. It wasn't great. But it was coffee. I made a mental note to tell Rhyse that if I was staying for any long period of time, better coffee was a must . Nonnegotiable.

Thinking of Rhyse, I again found myself running my fingers over the scale adhered to my shoulder. It was slightly warmer than my skin but not by much. It was even beginning to exhibit some elasticity to it like my skin did. Yesterday, it had simply been pliable.

Was it adapting to my body? I was certainly adapting to it. I could move my entire shoulder freely now in any direction. No impingements, no pain, nothing. In fact, after a good night's rest and a second helping of food last night, I felt better than I'd had in a long time. Stronger. More energetic. Less achy.

A vague sense of distraction caressed my brain as I focused on the scale that had saved my life. I wasn't sure what Rhyse was doing, but he wasn't very focused, whatever it was.

I considered the scale, the link between us, and the implications of it all as I drank my coffee. I didn't like most of what I came up with.

It was around halfway through the second cup, as I sat on the edge of the bed getting dressed, when a wave of eagerness that didn't belong to me swept through my mind.

He was back.

Getting up, I hurried to the plateau. Yanking open the door, I stopped short.

Holy fuck …

Rhyse stood on the edge of the bluffs in nothing but black, form-fitting swim-trunks. Water streamed from his body while the morning sun set his body awash in shimmering beams of light. He was bent slightly forward, his hair dripping down in front of his body.

The washboard abs rippled as he flexed them to stand up straight. His hips pushed forward, presenting me with a full view of the bulge beneath his shorts. It was …

"I can feel all that," he said, flicking his hair back and taking a deep breath, which did wonderful things to his anatomy.

"Uhhh," I stammered, somehow managing to tear my eyes away from his godlike body and its tanned skin and insane definition. Not to mention the thick outline of his—

"All of it," he added. There was significantly less tease in his voice than I expected.

I chopped off the tendril of curiosity that wanted to explore what that meant and why it may be. Now was not the time to get drawn into sexual daydreams.

Rhyse gave himself a bit of a shake. I stared bluntly. If he already knew I thought he was hot as hell, what difference did it make? I might as well enjoy the show. After all, I'd caught him looking at me several times the night before. Fair was fair.

Then he approached, and I frowned, taking in the dark circles under his eyes.

"Did you sleep?" I said. "At all?"

He grunted, giving me that same half-assed shoulder shrug all men gave whenever they didn't want to answer a question. I'd hated it the first time I was on the receiving end of it, and I hated it now.

Green eyes flickered with matching flame as I got in his way, but I wasn't backing down.

"Why not?" I asked. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he said, waving it off. "It's fine. I can handle a day of no sleep."

"You know I can feel you trying to avoid answering the question, right?" I told him, tapping the side of my head. "So, just answer it. There's no need for secrecy. Is there?"

A brief spike of anger was quickly stamped out. I suspected Rhyse had been used to doing things his way for a long time without any interference whatsoever.

Well, tough shit. I was here now.

"I stayed up listening to you breathe," he said awkwardly.

"You listened to me?" He'd been listening to me sleep all night? An icky feeling rose up in me.

"Not like that," he snarled. "See, this is why I didn't want to tell you. It would have been easier if you'd just dropped it. But no, you can't do that. You can't mind your own business, so you have to stick your nose in other people's."

"I think you listening to me breathe like a creep qualifies as my business !" I shouted right back, not letting him get the better of me.

"Of course, you would assume I was doing it to be creepy. You can't seem to fit it into your tiny little human brain that perhaps I was trying to be a good person and make sure nothing bad happened to you."

My fiery retort died on my tongue as I processed the second half of his statement.

"What?"

"Yeah," he said, shaking his head. "Exactly. You hit your head at some point. I don't know when, but before I put those scales on you, you had a large bruise on your head. You can't remember the past year. Even with the effects of the scale, the brain is a fickle thing. I wanted to make sure you slept okay and nothing happened. Or that if you woke up in the middle of the night with your memories back, I was there to help if I could."

I stared at him, feeling the truth of every word impacting me like a bullet through our bond.

"Thank you," I said at last.

"Not everyone is out to do you wrong," he said, irritation still coloring his words and mind.

"Well, if you'd just said that at the start, this all could have been avoided."

"Or you could have just dropped the subject, and the same result would have occurred with less effort." He started to push past me.

I threw up an arm, blocking his way.

"What now?" he grumped darkly.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" I said with all seriousness.

Rhyse smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes. "You don't want anything to do with me, Emma. You made that clear yesterday. So, why would I bother burdening you with my feelings?"

He pushed past me slightly as I reached for his arm, noting the long, ugly scar along his left shoulder blade. What could leave such a mark like that?

All those thoughts were forgotten, however, the instant my fingers wrapped around his bicep. The skin on my arm and the back of my neck stood on end. Electricity surged into my stomach, immediately tying it into knots that could not possibly be explained by making simple contact with another person.

We both sort of stared at where I touched him. Neither acknowledging it but knowing full well the other had felt it, too. Such was the blessing and the curse of our bond.

"I might not want to stay," I said once I could work my jaw again. "But it seems like I don't have much of a choice now, do I?"

"What do you mean?" He was tense. Nervous, even.

"We're stuck together," I said, pulling the collar of my shirt down to expose the blue scale on my shoulder. "Because of this. Aren't we?"

Rhyse froze.