Oracle: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Series (A Diana Hawthorne Supernatural Mystery Book 1) Carissa Andrews (nonfiction book recommendations TXT) 📖

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his words soft.

I don’t know how to tell him I feel fine—that in a couple of days it will be like nothing ever happened at all. It’s not the sorta thing you talk about—especially with the nurse standing by.

“I’ve been better,” I say, my lips curving upward in a slow smirk.

“I bet,” he says, nodding. His thumb continues its siren song on my body—both relaxing me and making me hyper-aware of where his body touches mine.

The nurse sets down her chart and says, “I’ll be back in a minute. Are you hungry for anything, dear?”

I shake my head. “No, not yet. My stomach feels a little queasy.”

The nurse nods, turning on her heel to walk out of the room.

Turning back to Blake, I search his eyes for details.

“How are the girls? They okay?” I ask.

“They’re all fine—safe. Lester’s been apprehended as well.”

“Good, I hope he rots,” I say, fire spitting from my lips. Not only for being the disgusting kind of human that traffics children in multiple countries—which in and of itself is horrifying. But also for shooting me—and aiming for Blake.

Blake’s eyes fall to our hands, his lips curving slightly—but not enough to force his dimples out of hiding.

“What about you?” I say, waiting for him to return eye contact with me.

“What about me?”

“Are you okay?” I say, raising an eyebrow again.

He takes a long, deep inhalation and leans back slightly in his chair. For the longest time, I take in his mannerisms, trying hard not to invade his mind—but his thoughts begin to tumble out at me easily.

He’s been beside himself with worry. With the amount of blood I’d lost, he doesn’t understand how I could even be alive. Much less as healed as I appear and even talking with him now. He has his own questions and he has no idea how to ask any of them.

I watch as he finally licks his lower lip and nods.

“Yeah, I’ve been better, too. I was worried—everything was very touch and go for a while. I was worried you weren’t going to stick around to have that cup of coffee you promised.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily. You should know that by now,” I say, smirking.

“Very true. You can certainly be a stubborn pain in the ass when you want to be,” he says, his dimples finally shining through.

“You’re one to talk.”

I take a moment, deciding how much to say right now. There’s nothing I want more than to blurt it all out—that we’re soul mates, he’s my reincarnated husband and we have to make up for lost time… That I screwed up my memory because I couldn’t stand to be without him. All of it.

I bite my lower lip.

“He was gonna shoot you,” I say.

“Well, yeah. I did actually get that,” he says, his nostrils twitching to the side in deflection.

“No, I mean—you would have died.”

I lift my gaze to his, waiting for the revelation to seep into the creases of his eyes. When his eyes widen, I tip my head in acknowledgement.

“So instead, you took a bullet for me?”

“Yeah, well… I guess I also knew I wouldn’t die,” I say, settling on a partial truth.

He lets go of my hand, pressing his fingertips to his mouth.

Sighing, he leans forward, dropping his head to the place beside my hand. Reaching out, I run my fingertips through his dark strands, playing with the length.

“You shouldn’t worry so much,” I say.

“Easy for you to say. You can see everything,” he says, his voice muffled by the fabric of the bedding. Abruptly his head pops up. “Hey, wait… How did you know I would have died? Did you—see me die? As in, your gifts…”

Blinking back my apprehension, I nod.

“Yes, I did.”

“Hang on, I thought—”

“Think, process. I’ll give you a minute,” I say, rolling my eyes playfully.

“But—how? I thought I was a blind spot to you—?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

“It’s really a long story. And I want to tell you all of it—I do,” I turn my head toward the nurse who reenters the room with a new bag of saline.

Without needing to explain any further, Blake nods. The look in his eyes alone tells me he gets where I’m going with this.

“When you’re feeling better, then,” he says, nodding.

I bow my head in agreement, keeping my gaze trained on him.

“Agreed.”

Casting his eyes to the floor, he leans forward again in his chair—shifting his elbows to his knees.

“Really, there will be time,” I say, reaching out and placing my hand over the top of his forearm.

“I know—there’s just been a lot to contend with these past few weeks,” he says, sighing. “You really are a surprise, you know?”

“Thank you?” I say, quirking an eyebrow.

“No, no—it’s a good thing.”

A gentleman I’ve never seen walks into the room. The air around him exudes authority and you don’t need to be psychic to know he’s an agent of some kind. Though my gifts immediately tell me he’s from Interpol and his name is Bruce Dexter. He’s 50 years old, has a wife he adores and four kids all entering college.

Blake stands up, shaking his hand.

“Good to see you again,” Bruce says, as he releases his grip.

“You as well,” Blake says, nodding.

“So, this must be Diana. Nice to see you on the mend,” he says, walking over to me and extending his hand. “I’m Bruce—”

“Dexter. I know,” I say, unable to help myself. Sometimes it’s just fun to see the look of surprise on someone’s face.

He blinks rapidly, but nods, “Right. Did Mr. Wilson tell you about me?”

“He must have,” I say, smiling sweetly and throwing a sideways glance at Blake, who scratches his forehead.

“What can we do for you, Agent Dexter?” Blake says, returning to his seat.

“After all the commotion, I wanted to check in and make sure you’re all doing well. We sure do appreciate the help on this case. I’m sure it goes without saying, but we’ve been looking for a way