Warm fur-lined boots, soft leggings, and cable-knit sweaters, I don't think I've ever owned a wardrobe quite like this. It's hard to turn my nose up at such beautiful clothes, even if they came from the bane of my existence. I pull out an over-sized gray sweater that matches my slouchy socks and stuff my arms inside.
For the past three days, I've locked myself in my room, only opening the door for Ruth when she brings up my meals. Loneliness and sadness got the better of me yesterday and I asked her to stay while I ate. She remained quiet while I complained about her boss, appeasing me with agreeable hums and nods. By the time my plate was clean, I felt guilty for talking the entire time and I asked her to return today to keep me company.
Her light knock comes from my door, and I practically run to answer it.
Ruth flashes me a toothy grin that deepens the wrinkles around her mouth. Strands of her blonde/gray hair have fallen loose from the bun high upon her head, the ends brushing her round, rosy cheeks. I'm surprised that the beast roaming downstairs doesn't make her dress in an apron but allows her to wear pullovers with cartoons on the front and trendy sneakers.
"Come in," I say, swinging the door wide open for her.
She continues to smile as she steps through with a wooden platter adorned with vegetables, cheeses, and cute little finger sandwiches. "I hope you don't mind; I thought I would actually eat with you today."
The idea of not being alone actually makes me smile and I shake my head. "Of course not. Please, sit over here." I lead her to the small table in front of the fireplace and take the tray from her, pulling out the chair opposite the one I'd been sitting in earlier.
The chairs that surround this table are soft and comfortable, and just the right height for me to sit and eat my meals like a real adult, rather than perched in my bed with my plate in my lap, as I often did in my dorm back in college. I have to admit; this room is nice, even if it's starting to feel a little like a prison cell.
Ruth waves her hand over the platter and says, "Go ahead, take what you like."
We both busy ourselves making our plates and eat in amicable silence until I finally speak. "Ruth, can I ask you something?"
"Of course, elskan mín," she says, and my heart squeezes in my chest.
"Wait, you speak Icelandic?" I ask, unexpected tears springing to my eyes.
"Já, everyone in the village does. I speak English here with Mr. Da—Cane," she says as if calling him by his first name is something she still has to put forth a concentrated effort to do. "But back in the village, my people all speak Icelandic."
My heart beats faster and hope springs in my chest. "Is that where we are? Iceland?"
She shakes her head and gives me a sympathetic smile. "Nei, elskan. It's just the language we adopted. It's been that way since the village was first settled, the way I've been told. You are in the supernatural realm."
I dip my chin. "I see. Well, I speak smá Icelandic." I hold up my finger and thumb to illustrate just how little I speak. "But I know more than I thought I did after practicing a bit this summer." My tone has turned wistful as I remember all the things I said to Elias, how he liked when I spoke to him in the language he didn't understand for so many weeks.
Ruth pops a piece of carrot in her mouth. "Well, you can practice all you like with me!"
"Sounds great."
"What was your question?"
I've now forgotten my original question. A new one has popped into my head.
"You said we are in the supernatural realm. What does that even mean? How did I get here?" I'm playing a little bit dumb here, I know. I am aware of what it means to be in the supernatural realm, but I'm hoping by asking these questions, I can work backwards to get some answers from Ruth.
"You are. The beings who live here call it Aevum. I'm not thoroughly educated in these matters, but the way it has been explained to me, our realm runs parallel with yours. This realm was created by whatever greater being to sustain the magic of supes. This encompasses everything from our abilities to immortality. As far as how you got here, I'm guessing Cane brought you through a portal."
I think of how we arrived on Cane's front lawn when we first got here. One second we were at Evermore and the next he was unlocking the wards to his house.
"Is there a portal here?"
She shakes her head, causing her bun to bob from side to side. "The nearest portal is a day's walk to the next village."
I hum while working to make it all make sense. "Can you bypass the portal to get to the human realm?"
"No. It is the only way to slip through the shield that protects our realms."
"But it didn't take a day for Cane and me to get here."
"Of course not. He most likely teleported you from the portal," she says, taking a cube of cheese from her plate.
Teleporting. Cane mentioned that yesterday, but I don't know any other details about it. Can I do it? Or just vampires? But I think I better stop with the questions for now. I like Ruth, and I don't want to get on her nerves. Plus, do I really know how loyal she'll be to me? What if she goes and tells Cane everything we talk about?
I sigh and pop a grape in my mouth. "I just wish there were a way to see my parents. I'm just really lonely."
"You could talk to Mr. Dagon. He's lonely too. He won't admit it, but I know he is. You know, I'm not sure why exactly he's brought you here, but I can tell you this: I've never picked out an entire wardrobe and had it rush shipped for a woman on his behalf before." Her eyes roam up and down my body and she smiles. "I like the outfit you chose. Is there anything else you need? It's all on Mr. Dagon." She winks at me, and the twinkle in her eyes brings a tiny smile to my face.
"You know what?" I think there might be..."
***
The next day, after I've spent a few hundred dollars of hard-earned money that is not mine, I'm waiting on a rather large Amazon order. Or whatever the supernatural realm's version of Amazon is. Might as well get some new stuff if Mr. Dagon is buying. Is that petty? Maybe. But judging by this house, I don't think he'll miss those few hundred dollars too much. And I don't feel bad about it.
Today, I'm feeling very restless in my self-imposed jail cell. This house is big. I may be stuck here, in Cane's home, but I'm not stuck in my room.
I take my hair out of my bun and comb my fingers through it, letting it fall down my back and then make my way down to the kitchen. Something about this weather really has me craving hot cocoa.
I push through the swinging door like I own the place and come to a stop. Cane sits at the breakfast table in the corner with a cluster of papers covering the surface. If it weren't for the slight tilt of his chin, I would think he didn't notice me burst into the room. He continues to study what looks like blueprints as I rifle through the cabinets, refusing to ask for help or to be quiet. For a man who survives off blood, he sure has every inch of this place stocked with food.
I find the cocoa mix above the coffee maker and move on to searching for a mug. Cupboard after cupboard of dishes. Why does a vampire need dishes? Doesn't he just need some fucking crystal goblets for his daily dose of blood? I slam door after door, not finding a coffee mug in sight. And I know they exist; we used them the other night.
I make it halfway around the kitchen before I reach the sink and the cupboards beside it. I fling them open and place my hands on my hips. The mugs sit on the third shelf, just out of my reach.
Ugh. Asshole probably moved things he knew I'd want up high on purpose.
Standing on my tiptoes, I reach for the mugs, but I curse my short legs and my mom for giving them to me. I am more than a couple inches out of reach. I let out a little huff and lean fully against the counter, stretching just a little further.
My breath hitches as warmth radiates against my back. Cane's tattooed arm moves beside mine, but he doesn't touch any part of me. He sets the mug I wanted on the counter and steps back. When I turn, he is leaning against the island with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Is this the way it's always going to be between us?" he asks.
"Whatever do you mean, Cane?" I ask in a saccharine sweet voice.
We remain in a quiet stand-off, locked in some childish staring war. I am miserable, constantly wanting to cry, and I want to spread some of that misery to him. I doubt he'll cry, but I can at least piss him off.
The doorbell rings and we both turn our attention to the door.
"Who could that be," Cane asks, starting toward the foyer.
I push past him and call over my shoulder. "I think it's for me."
His footsteps echo through the house as he follows me to the door. "What? Why would someone be ringing the doorbell for—"
He stops short as I'm thanking the delivery person and accepting the pile of boxes into the house. I turn and give him the fakest smile known to man—one, because it's him and I will give him no smiles of mine, and two, I couldn't give him a real one right now if I wanted to.
I could walk around this house all day acting like Billy Bad Ass, but the fact remains—I'm devastated. But spending Cane's money and lashing out makes me feel a fraction better. So I'm going to do it.
"Ruth said if I needed anything else..." I say innocently with a shrug of my shoulders.
"Anything, Cordelia. Not enough stuff to clothe an entire small nation. Where are you going to put all of this?"
For the first time in days, I feel a spark of joy. If I knew how much my shopping to suppress my sadness would anger him, I would have done it sooner. I'm considering selling some random items around the house too if that gets under his skin.
"If you think there's only clothes in these boxes, then you're even more clueless than I thought," I say, picking up three boxes in my arms and heading toward the stairs.
"What?"
"You heard me. I only need so many sweaters and pairs of leggings when I'm being held hostage. So most of the things in these boxes are in here to keep me entertained while I figure out how the fuck I'm going to get away from you," I call from halfway up the stairs.
"You know, if you're so bored you can always come and talk to me instead of sulking around the house. Or even better yet, you can help Ruth in the kitchen."
Fire blazes in my veins and I drop my boxes to the ground. Stomping toward him, I say, "I can what?! Serve you in the kitchen? Is that what you are implying?"
He narrows his gaze and leans in, eating up more of the distance between us. "There it is: a new emotion. You halfway convinced me that oversized hoodies and black eyeliner were inside those boxes. I was waiting for the sad my-boyfriend-is-a-heart-breaking-asshole music. But this...I like the anger."
I clench my jaw and take the deepest breath I can muster, already feeling the effects of being in this fucking frozen wasteland with its thin ass air. "You. Are. A. Dick," I growl, punctuating every word with a finger to his shoulder, trying to push him backward but he doesn't budge. I don't know why I'm pointing my finger at him like an angry Little League mom would an umpire, but it just felt right in the moment.
"And you have every right to be pissed, but you are directing it at the wrong Dagon. I didn't lie to you. If you want to be hurt, do it! Scream, throw a fit, break my shit if that makes you feel better, but remember it wasn't me who fucked with your emotions, Cordelia."
His chest heaves as he matches my emotion, and I eat it up. This is what I've missed the last few days. I don't care what the interaction is as long as it plays into the explosive mixture of feelings brewing within me.
"You're right. You didn't, but you also didn't give me the option to take out any of these emotions on the person who did. And you didn't let me have the chance to make it right with him either. You took away my choices in the name of...of what? I still don't fucking know, Cane!" I shout, turning away from him and grabbing more boxes.
"You know, you still have another being you are soul bonded to or does only Elias get the honor of exploiting that connection with you? I'm willing to answer your questions and make sure you understand what it means to be a Dreamwalker."
I'm glad I'm facing away from him because I nearly drop the box in my hands, and I know all the color has to have drained from my face.
His words have so much to unpack that I can hardly process them all.
But first and foremost...Cane and I share a soul bond.
I knew that from those moments right before Lorelai killed Jolene. But I only heard them in hysterical fragments from Jolene and then in a bitter little jab from Cane. And I ignored Cane when he said it because I just couldn't process everything at that moment...then he took me and everything just sort of spiraled from there.
Cane is my soul bonded mate. How the fuck did this happen?
I set the box down and slowly turn to face him. I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep my tears at bay. "I need you to explain to me exactly what that means, Cane. I—I don't understand. How can that be? And...how do I know I can even trust you?"
The puffed-up stance he has taken this entire exchange deflates. His gaze softens and his throat bobs before he says, "Let me get you out of the house and take you to the village. It will also relieve my rapidly dwindling bank account. I promise I will explain everything to you. You have no reason to trust me. This is all you and your intuition."
I scoff at that. A lot of good my instincts have done me so far. I've almost met my demise at the hands of a dark fairy, been kidnapped, and had my heart broken in the matter of weeks. Then again, what else do I have to lose?