All The Pretty Little Lies (Second Sons Duet #1)

20. Vesper

VESPER

The sand squishes between my toes as Zaire and I stroll along the shoreline, the late afternoon sun casts a golden glow over the beach. The salty breeze tousles my hair, and I can’t help but smile as I watch Z's longer locks dance in the wind, framing his chiseled jawline. After sleeping for nearly thirty-six hours, per Zaire and a panicked looking Oscar this morning, I’d ask to go back down to the beach. The waves providing me a sense of calm I never knew could exist in this life. The waves and Zaire.

I walk in silence beside Zaire, letting the rhythmic sound of the waves wash over me. The gentle lapping of water against the shore soothes my frayed nerves, a balm to the tension that's been coiled within me for days. I breathe in deeply, filling my lungs with the briny air, hoping it might cleanse away the lingering tendrils of last night's terror.

Zaire's presence beside me is comforting, a solid warmth that grounds me to reality. His fingers brush against mine as we walk, a subtle reminder that I'm not alone. I steal a glance at him, admiring the way the fading sunlight catches on his dark hair, turning the edges to burnished gold.

"I heard you last night," Zaire says softly, breaking our comfortable silence. "You were having another nightmare."

Heat rises to my cheeks, embarrassment flooding through me. I've tried so hard to keep my nocturnal terrors hidden, to maintain the facade of strength that's expected of me as a Rossi. But of course, Zaire, with his keen perception, would notice.

"You don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to," he adds quickly, his hand brushing against mine in a gesture of comfort.

I take a deep breath, tasting salt on my tongue. The setting sun paints the sky in hues of pink and orange, a stark contrast to the darkness that plagues my dreams. "It's okay," I say, surprised by my own willingness to share. "I want to tell you. I need to. I can’t bottle this up inside and let it consume me. "

We pause our walk, and Zaire turns to face me, his tall frame blocking the wind.

"It's about The Shadow Man," I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. The name alone sends a shiver down my spine, despite the warmth of the evening.

Zaire's brow furrows, but he remains silent, giving me space to continue. I'm grateful for his patience, for the way he seems to understand my need to expel these haunting thoughts. I pause, gathering my thoughts. Zaire's hand finds mine. I flinch. He instantly releases my hand, searching my face.

“Shit, I wasn’t thinking,” he berates himself.

“Touch isn’t easy for me, but…I think I would like to try it again.”

Zaire nods, finding my hand again. His calloused fingers intertwine with my own. His touch sets off my fear response instantly. My eyes focus on our skin to skin connection, the panic ebbing a few moments later. I notice him exhale deeply.

“This is okay?”

“I think so.” It’s weird. Being touched, and not being repulsed by it. I settle into the feeling of his rough skin against mine.

His touch anchors me in a way I cannot explain. We settle back into our walk. The tide splashing on the beach, inches from my bare feet.

“Tell me more about your dream.”

"Last night, the dream was different," I admit, my voice trembling slightly. "The Shadow Man...he had a face. It was blurred, indistinct, but familiar somehow. And he wasn't just watching or chasing. He was..." I trail off, struggling to find the words.

"He was what, Vesper?" Zaire prompts gently, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of my hand.

I meet his gaze, finding comfort in the depths of his eyes. "He was reaching for you, Z. For Oscar, and Talon. Even Alex. He wanted me, but he wanted the four of you more.”

Zaire's brow furrows, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. "What do you mean he wanted us more?" he asks, his voice low and urgent.

I shake my head, frustration bubbling up inside me. "I don't know, Z. It's just...in the dream, he was reaching for you all, trying to drag you into the shadows. I could feel his desperation, his need to possess you." I shudder, the memory of the dream causing goosebumps to rise on my skin despite the warm evening air.

"It's just a nightmare, right?" I ask, hating how small and uncertain my voice sounds.

His expression is thoughtful, almost grave. "Nightmares can sometimes be reality-based, Vesper. Our subconscious has a way of processing trauma and fear, turning them into these vivid dreams."

A chill runs through me, despite the warmth of the evening. "What are you saying, Z?"

He sighs, running his free hand through his long, dark hair. "I'm saying that your experiences, the trauma you've endured. It's possible that your mind is trying to make sense of it all.”

My mind races, piecing together fragments of memories and dreams. "Do you think...could my nightmares help find the people who kidnapped me?" The words tumble out before I can stop them, hope and fear intertwining in my chest.

"They could," he admits. "Your subconscious might be holding onto details that your waking mind hasn't processed yet.”

Zaire's words echo in my mind, stirring up a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Could it really be possible? Are the answers we've been desperately seeking buried somewhere in the recesses of my subconscious? The idea is both thrilling and terrifying.

I close my eyes, trying to delve deeper into my memories. Flashes of shadowy figures and muffled voices dance at the edges of my consciousness, always just out of reach. It's like trying to grasp smoke: the harder I try, the more it slips away.

The frustration builds inside me, a knot of tension in my chest. I want so badly to remember, to piece together the fragments of my ordeal. To know who kidnapped me. Who stole from my body over and over again. Who has my eggs…and what they plan to do with them. My mind races, considering all the possibilities. There has to be a way to access those hidden corners of my mind, to shine a light on the darkness that's been haunting me.

I'm so lost in my thoughts, so focused on the internal labyrinth of my mind, that I don't notice the physical world around me. My foot catches on the edge of a tide pool, hidden beneath the sand and encroaching waves. I feel myself pitching forward, arms flailing as I brace for impact with the wet sand.

But the fall never comes. In an instant, Zaire's strong arms are around me, yanking me back against his chest. The sudden movement knocks the breath from my lungs, and I find myself pressed firmly against him, my back to his front.

Time seems to stand still as I register our position. The solid warmth of his chest against my back, his arms wrapped securely around my waist. I can feel the rapid rise and fall of his breathing, matching my own startled gasps.

"You okay?" Zaire's voice is low and husky in my ear, sending an unexpected shiver down my spine.

I nod, not trusting my voice just yet. The panic I expected to feel at such close contact doesn't come. Instead, I find myself relaxing into his embrace, feeling oddly safe and protected.

Slowly, I turn in his arms to face him, my hands coming to rest on his chest. His eyes search my face, concern clear in their depths. "I'm fine," I finally manage to say. "Just got lost in my head for a moment there."

Zaire's lips quirk into a small smile. "Dangerous place, that head of yours," he teases gently, but I can see the underlying worry in his expression.

I laugh softly, the sound surprising even me. "You have no idea," I reply, realizing that I'm still in his arms and making no move to unlock myself from his embrace.

I find myself studying Zaire's face, my eyes drawn to his unique gaze. While Oscar’s eyes are a piercing blue, Zaire’s are the opposite. So pale they are almost silver with a dark ring of dark blue circling the outside of them. It’s as if his eyes are a battle between darkness and light.

"Your eyes," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. "They're different."

Zaire's lips curl into a soft smile, a hint of self-consciousness flickering across his features.

“It's the only thing that really sets me apart from Oz."

I shake my head, my hands still resting on his chest. I can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palms. "That's not true," I say, surprising myself with the conviction in my voice.

Zaire's brow furrows slightly, a question in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. The salty air fills my lungs, grounding me in this moment. "I mean, your eyes aren't the only thing that sets you apart from Oscar. You're so much more than just a twin with different eyes."

His arms tighten almost imperceptibly around me, and I find myself leaning into his warmth. The morning sun casts a golden glow on his skin, highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the softness in his expression.

“You've been my rock, Z," I continue, the words tumbling out before I can second-guess them. "The way you understand my silences, how you seem to know exactly when to push and when to give me space. The gentleness in your touch, even with all those tattoos and that tough exterior."

I trace my fingers along one of the intricate designs on his forearm, marveling at the contrast between the harsh lines of ink and the softness of his skin. "You're patient, and kind, and fiercely protective. But there's a wildness in you too, something untamed that calls to me."

Zaire's breath catches, and I look up to see his eyes darkening with an emotion I can't quite name. The air between us feels charged, electric with unspoken words and possibilities.

"Vesper," he breathes my name like a prayer, his forehead coming to rest against mine. "I?—"

Zaire's lips hover mere inches from mine, his warm breath mingling with my own. My heart races, a mix of anticipation and fear coursing through my veins. I want this, I realize with startling clarity. I want to feel his lips on mine, to lose myself in the warmth of his embrace.

But as he leans in, closing that final breath of space between us, my body betrays me. I freeze, every muscle locking into place. My breath catches in my throat, and I feel myself trembling in his arms. It's not fear of Zaire, but a deep-seated panic that rises unbidden from the depths of my subconscious.

Zaire immediately senses the change in me. He pulls back, his eyes searching my face with concern. The loss of his warmth is immediate, and I find myself missing it even as relief washes over me.

"I'm sorry," I stammer, heat rising to my cheeks. Embarrassment floods through me, hot and uncomfortable. "I don't know what happened. I thought I was ready, I want to..." I trail off, unable to meet his gaze.

The gentle lapping of waves against the shore fills the silence between us. The sun has dipped lower on the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant streaks of orange and pink. It's beautiful, but I can barely appreciate it through the haze of my mortification.

"Hey," Zaire's voice is soft, coaxing my eyes back to his face. His expression is one of understanding, not disappointment or frustration as I had feared. "You have nothing to apologize for, Vesper. Nothing at all."

His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his touch feather-light and infinitely gentle. "Remember what you just said about me?" he asks, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "That I'm a patient man?"

I nod, leaning into his touch despite myself. His palm is warm against my skin, calloused yet comforting.

"Well, you were right," he continues. "I am patient. Especially when it comes to you." His thumb brushes softly across my cheekbone, wiping away a tear I hadn't even realized had fallen. "We move at your pace, Vesper. Always. There's no rush, no pressure. I'm here, for whatever you need, whenever you're ready."

His words wash over me like a balm, soothing the jagged edges of my anxiety. I take a deep, shuddering breath, filling my lungs with the salty ocean air. "Thank you," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.

Zaire's smile widens, genuine and warm. "No need to thank me. This is what being there for someone looks like. It's what you deserve."

I feel the heat of embarrassment still burning in my cheeks, unable to shake off the lingering shame of my involuntary reaction.

Zaire's words hang in the air between us, his promise of patience and understanding a balm to my frayed nerves. Yet, I can't help but feel a nagging sense of frustration with myself. I know he’s not The Shadow Man or any of the people that hurt me. I am safe with him so why can't I just be normal? Why does my body betray me at every turn? Why can’t I allow myself to give in to the feelings I have inside of me?

"I want you to know this, Vesper," he says, his gaze never wavering from mine. "I will never, ever take more than you're willing to give. Your choices, your autonomy; they're important to me. You've had so much taken from you already. I refuse to be another person who tries to control you or make decisions for you."

The sincerity in his voice, the fierce protectiveness in his eyes is almost overwhelming. A tear escapes, trailing down my cheek, but before I can wipe it away, Zaire's thumb gently brushes it aside.

Zaire's thumb lingers on my cheek, his touch impossibly gentle. "No one will ever make you cry again," he says, his voice low and fierce. "I'll kill the man or woman who causes a single fucking tear to fall from your beautiful, emerald eyes."

There's a promise there, a vow of protection that should frighten me given my history, but instead, it makes me feel safe. Cherished, even. I lean into his touch, allowing myself this moment of vulnerability.

But Zaire, perceptive as ever, must sense the lingering tension in my body. His expression softens, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. "Hey," he says, his tone lighter now. "I've got a serious question for you."

I raise an eyebrow, curious despite myself. "Oh?"

"Is a hotdog a sandwich or a sub?"

The question is so unexpected, so utterly ridiculous given the heaviness of our previous conversation, that I can't help but laugh. It bubbles up from my chest, surprising me with its genuineness.

"What?" I manage to get out between giggles.

Zaire grins, clearly pleased with my reaction. "You heard me. This is a matter of utmost importance, Vesper. The fate of culinary categorization hangs in the balance."

I shake my head, still chuckling. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe," he concedes, "but you're smiling. I would ask you a million ridiculous things just to have one of your smiles.”