Page 133 of The Delta's Rogue
Worried gray eyes stare at me. Sebastian props himself on a forearm, his hair tousled from sleep.
“Sarina.”
He sits up straighter but keeps his distance, giving me the space to come back to him on my own terms. His voice is soft and heavy, like a heated blanket to protect against the chill of winter. It wraps around me like armor and a promise, and I want to lose myself in it forever. I want to wear his voice like a shield against the vision flashing in my mind.
It’s there one second and gone the next, so I can’t tell what is reality and what is in my mind.
Is this real? Is he real? Did he really save me? Or did I dream all of that? Did I dream it and now it’s leaking into my reality? Did I imagine him saving me and taking me away from that horrid place and those awful people so I wouldn’t have to face the cruel truth of my fate?
“Sebastián?”I narrow my eyes at him, wondering if it’s really him.“¿De verdad eres tú?”
I repeat my question from last night. A question from a dream? From a hallucination? How can I be sure?
“Sí. Soy yo.”
He gave me the same answer last night, that it really is him. He responded to each of my questions with his own answers in Spanish.
He learned Spanishfor me.He would do anything for me.
“Yo haría lo que fuera por ti, cariño,”he said.
But how do I know it wasn’t all in my head? How do I know that, in my panic and agony, I didn’t create a scenario in my mind? How can I be certain I didn’t dream up this promise-keeping, Spanish-speaking version of Sebastian to protect me from the pain of being with anyone who isn’t him?
It would be so like my brain to create that very specific illusion.
“How can I be certain you’re not a dream?” I flinch away from him as the eyes, faces, and hands flicker in my mind again.
A brief flash of pain flares in his eyes at my avoidance of him, and for a moment, Ifeelit. How his sorrow entwines with mine. How his pain morphs and meshes with mine.
And his love. I feel his love shooting through my soul like a comet spiraling across the night sky. I feel him sending it to me, feel him reaching out for me with a soothing, all-encompassing adoration.
The sensation is brief. I reach for it, grasping at the wisps of his affection, but they slip away from me, fading into obscurity.
It was real, though. It had to be real. Even if I conjured a vision of him into existence, how could I possibly conjure such a specific set of emotions? How could I conjure the momentary yet tangible glimpse of him sending strength and love to me through our mate bond?
“You can’t be certain”—his hands curl into fists as he resists his urge to reach out for me—“but I promise I am not a dream.Te lo prometo.”
Te lo prometo.I promise. Words that are more than just their surface value. Words that bind us together, like the bond between our souls.
I inch my hand towards his, sliding it along the smooth blush-pink sheets. He uncurls his fist, reaching for me but waiting for me to make the first contact.
The tips of my fingers brush his, and stars burst to life beneath my skin. They ripple up my arm and dance around my heart, embedding their sparkling dust into my soul. Then they fade, twinkling with less and less intensity until all that’s left is a shadow of their existence.
They were there. I felt them. I felt our bond.
Maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe my hallucination isn’t visual but sensory too.
But Goddess, why would it feel so right if it was just a dream? How could my mind create this exact, picture-perfect combination of sensations and visions?
Does it matter if it’s real or not?
I inhale with a choked, gasping sound and dive forward. Sebastian catches me and wraps his arms around me, and I bury my face into his chest. The whimsical, overwhelming, joyous stars of our mate bond wink in and out of existence at the spots where our skinmeets. Each time they reappear, I cling harder to them. Each time they fade, I cling harder tohim, hoping to bring them back to life.
His fingers weave into the hair at the base of my neck, and his other arm winds around my waist to rest on my hip. Beneath my ear, his heart thunders in his chest, matching the uneasy, panicked pace of mine. Tears flood my eyes and overflow onto my cheeks, landing on his warm skin.
Another sob shakes my body. Another shuddering inhale rattles my chest as I try to fill my lungs with his scent. Like the bond connecting our emotions and the sensations when we touch, his scent is almost imperceptible. The precise combination of lemon, cedar, and mint isn’t as pronounced as before. But it’s there. It’s him.
My mate.
