Hey!
Thanks to x_dejavu for that amazing pic over there! -------------------->
~Lissa
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After dinner, things passed by me in a blur.
Next thing I knew, I was flopping and turning around on the bed in the room across from Ryker's. Moonlight streamed in through the two windows, stretching across the dusty floorboards. While the bed was comfortable, I couldn't fall asleep; it was almost as if my body was ready to relax, but my mind was still running. I kicked the blankets off me and sat forward, running my fingers through my hair. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I nearly forgot that I was wearing one of Ryker's shirts, one that he had graciously provided for me. It was a dark blue, ending right above my knees. The shirt was practically a dress on me, very baggy.
I rose to my feet and scratching my forehead, started pacing. My eyes flickered towards the clock, reading that it was a little past midnight. Oh, great, I thought, realizing I didn't have anything to do until I fell asleep. I opened the nightstand drawer in search for a book, but other than a few wrappers and some pencils, there wasn't anything. You've got to be kidding me. Quietly, I stumbled over to my things and started rummaging through my bags. When my fingers connected with my iPod, I pulled it out with a sigh of relief, though when I pushed the round button, I was disappointed that it was dead. Releasing a groan, I shoved it back into the bag.
Believe it or not, but I left a lot of my things back at the house with my brother. I owned a lot of junk that wouldn't have fit in my small, battered sedan, which was crushed now. Sadly, my book collection was left behind, even though reading was one of my favorite things to do. Biting my bottom lip, I faced the door leading out into the hallway, debating whether or not to leave the bedroom. I didn't know the majority of the people here - bumping into somebody would've been extremely awkward. And, what if Ryker became angry that I started venturing throughout his place? Was that considered snooping? To Hell what he thinks.
Hesitantly, I walked to the door and opened it with a small creak! I poked my head out, relieved that the hallway was empty. Ryker's door across from me was closed with strange engravings in the wood; I spotted a howling wolf and some Indian tribe with spears. A chill shot down my spine and I stepped out into the hallway, heading towards my left. Like Ryker's bedroom, everything was dark; there weren't any calm or pastel colors. Everything was either black, red, brown, or a sparkling gold - even his ceilings were a dark grey, nearly black.
I turned down another hallway, not surprised that these walls were black. My eyes lingered on the portraits of wolves and tribes on the walls - and it was surprising when I found Ryker's name in the corner of each. Ryker Volkov. He had painted these portraits himself, which could've belonged in some art museum because they were so detailed and professional. Though, as I continued down the hallway, I noticed that all the paintings consisted of war, pain, and strife. I spotted the familiar appearance of blood in a lot of the paintings and I took a deep breath.
I didn't know how many hallways I stumbled down until I found myself in a large library. Bookshelves towered the walls, stacked with thousands of books - it was like a dream. Gaping, I moved farther into the library, seeing a gold chandelier dangling above, providing light. Candles scattered the place, giving the smell of vanilla. Straight ahead, I noticed a large desk, one with papers stacked high and books flipped open. There was a black, leather chair with him sitting in it, his feet perched up on the wooden desk. In his hands was a red book, nearly hiding his face.
His emerald eyes looked at me. "You're supposed to be in bed."
"So are you," I responded, earning a small grin. Hesitantly, I moved towards one of the bookshelves, intrigued. "You have a lot of books." I glanced over my shoulder at him, not surprised to receive a simple nod in response. I trailed my fingers along the spines of many until stopping on a familiar one; grinning, I pulled one of my favorite books out, To Kill a Mockingbird. The last time I read this one was with my brother, Ethan, during our summer vacation at our cabin on a lake. "Surprisingly, you have good taste."
"You like to read," he said, bluntly. "I guess we have something in common." Next thing I knew, he was closing the book in his hand and rising to his feet. "You know, my brothers have never enjoyed reading - Caine enjoys anything to have his heart racing, such as sword fighting. And, Ethen is smart, though he leans more towards science. Neither of them understand why I enjoy reading - actually, a lot of people find it hard to believe that a man like myself will spend hours with his nose buried in a book." He approached me, stopping at my side where he grabbed a thick book from the shelf. "But, reading is an incredible thing, isn't it?"
"Yeah, I guess."
He shook his head. "A lot of people look at reading as an escape. You're able to travel into a different world with your mind; you're able to imagine yourself with things you don't have." He flipped through the pages of the book, carefully. "But, honestly, I look at it in a different perspective - to me, reading is hope. It allows you to believe that one day the world will be just the way you like it or believe that one day, you'll be as great and powerful as one character . . . I'm not a good person; if I was to describe myself, I'd say I'm unfair and cruel." With a small smirk, he snaps the book closed and shoved it back onto the shelf. "In these books, I'd most definitely be the villain."
"So, reading gives you hope?"
He nodded. "A man without hope will never achieve in life." I frowned at his words and opened my mouth to speak, but he started walking away down the line of bookshelves. Pursing my lips, I followed after him, watching his fingers trail along the spines. "So, why do you enjoy reading?"
"It's just something I do to relax," I answered, shrugging. He stopped and faced me, tilting his head to one side. Awkwardly, I started playing with the corner of To Kill a Mockingjay in my hands. He opened his mouth to say something, but he thought about it for a moment and turned away with a sigh. Clearing my throat, I spoke up. "I noticed the portraits on the walls - you painted those, didn't you?"
"I did," he said, glancing at me. "It's a hobby of mine."
"They aren't bad," I mumbled, truthfully. He froze as the corners of his lips quirked upwards; I braced myself for some rude remark, destroying my attempt to be nice. I was surprised when he walked across the library towards the other bookshelves without a word. "They aren't very happy, though. Uh, there was a lot of blood and violence." He pulled another book out from one of the shelves and hesitantly, I approached him.
"I only paint what I see," he responded, looking at the front cover. "I've lived a long time, Emma. I've seen great violence - I've been in several wars. I've seen people die before me; I've killed people with my bare hands." My heart skidded as he glanced towards me for my reaction. "Violence has been all I've seen living on this Earth for centuries. I haven't seen any good, Emma - that's my reason for my paintings."
"Maybe you haven't seen good because you don't know what it is," I said, not thinking twice about my response. "You've been surrounded by violence your whole life and from what you're telling me, you're a cruel person. So, maybe if you allow yourself to be good, you'll see good." Tapping my fingers on the book in my hands, I looked at him, seeing him staring at me with a blank expression. Though, there was something swarming in his emerald eyes that had my heart leap in my chest. "Yeah, don't listen to me - it's stupid, I know."
"Not stupid," he muttered, shaking his head. My eyebrows knitted together in confusion at his response, but before I was able to speak, he was talking again. "So, why aren't you asleep? Are my men being too loud?"
"No, I just can't sleep," I answered, hugging the book to my chest. "What's your reason?" He shoved the book in his hands back onto the shelf.
"I don't sleep much," he said, exhaling loudly. "As I've gotten older, I've noticed that I don't need as much sleep as I used to. I'm able to go weeks without sleep and not experience exhaustion or tiredness." My eyes widened, before he continued speaking. "It's another reason that I read - to pass the time." He gestured towards his numerous, towering bookshelves that surrounded us. "I've managed to read these books all at least twice."
I shook my head. "That's insane."
"Possibly," he mumbled, turning away from me. "And, I believe I know why you can't sleep, Emma. The mate-pull is becoming stronger - you're already wanting to be near me."
I frowned. "That's not true."
"Oh, but it is," he argued, raising an eyebrow. "Right now, you feel at ease because I'm standing in front of you. Your sharp tongue hasn't gotten the best of you and you complimented my portraits a few minutes ago." He held up his index finger as he started making a point. "I imagine the mate-pull wants you to be next to me as you sleep, probably for security. Whether you admit it or not, you feel safer around me than out by yourself, running from Daniel."
"I don't need you to protect me," I blurted, stepping forward. "I can take care of myself."
"You were doing a very good job the other night," he said, sarcastically. My mind flashed back to the night where Daniel backhanded me across the face, followed by Ryker making an appearance. "Look, I'm not going to argue with you about what you're feeling or going through because of the mate-pull. But, I'm afraid you aren't going to get much sleep unless you're near me - too bad I don't sleep a lot, huh?"
I tossed my hands into the air. "Then, what am I supposed to do?"
He pinched his lips together, before walking past me. Rolling my eyes, I turned around, watching as he walked over to one of the red couches in the middle of the library. Quietly, he grabbed two pillows from one of the couches and placed them at one end of the nearest couch. Next, he grabbed the black blanket dangling on the back of the couch and shook it out, spreading it along the red leather. Gesturing towards the couch, he looked at me with raised eyebrows. "There, you can sleep - don't worry, my couches are from Italy; they're quite comfortable."
"What if I want to sleep in a bed?"
"Then, you won't sleep."
Holding To Kill a Mockingbird against my chest, I approached the couch with a frown. I was supposed to sleep on a couch as I stayed here with him; I couldn't sleep in an actual bed because he didn't sleep, like at all. He watched me with his sparkling, emerald eyes when the idea occurred to me. "Well, can't you move to your bedroom? You can sit in a chair and read while I sleep in your bed - problem solved."
"I like my library."
"But, I like a bed."
"You're the one with the problem here," he responded, shaking his head. "If you want to sleep, you'll have to be where I am, which is my library." I gritted my teeth together and reluctantly, flopped down on the couch in front of him. A small smirk came across his face as he took a seat at the other end of the couch, reaching forward and grabbing the book off the coffee table. He flipped it open and started reading, calmly. This is ridiculous, I thought, laying out on the couch. When my foot bumped against his thigh, sparks shot throughout my body and I released a small moan. Feeling his eyes on me, I pulled my legs closer and wrapped myself with the black blanket. Then, I opened my book, knowing it was going to take a few chapters to get me to go to sleep. "By the way, we have a lot of work to do tomorrow."
"Great," I mumbled, starting the first chapter.