Chapter 2 Echoes of the Mind

Seraphina's POV

I take it, savoring the comforting warmth as I wonder what he is apologizing for.

"About your friends," he adds, lifting his own mug to his thin lips.

Friends? Right. I was asking about Marisol and the pilot. Well, they are not exactly my friends. Marisol is new, so I have not had the chance to know her, and the pilot is a stranger.

"Wait. Did you say they are gone?"

"I am afraid so." He walks toward the window and looks out. "You are the only one who was still breathing when I found the plane, or what is left of it."

I set the mug down on the counter, clasping a hand over my gaping mouth as I let out a silent wail. No. My knees buckle and I fall on the floor.

"Come on." He sets his mug down on the windowsill and walks over to me, offering me his hand. "You should be back on the couch."

"No." I straighten myself up, leaning on the counter. "I should tell someone about what happened. Do you have a phone?"

"Does this place look like it has signal to you?"

"Internet?" No answer. My fist clenches. "Shit."

"You really should go back on the couch. You are still injured."

"I am fine." I am not really, but I am not about to tell him that. Whatever injuries I have I am still not noticing. But the ache, the uncertainty of finding I am the lone survivor of a plane crash in the Icelandic wilderness has left me badly shaken. I do not even know the people who have died and I am fighting the urge to cry.

I leave the kitchen, walking down the corridor as my mind sputters, scrambling to put together my next course of action. What should I do?

"Go back on the couch and rest," the man behind me says, his voice firmer than before. "Or, damn it, I will carry you back there myself. I did it before. I can do it again."

I turn to face him, angry at his bossy tone, placing my hands on my hips. "Are you threatening me?" I am usually the one who gives the orders. And this filthy creature thinks he can tell me what to do?

He takes a step forward, towering over me. "And if I am?" The hard gleam in his eyes sends me a step back, a lump gliding down my throat. Still, I take a deep breath before lifting a finger. "You know what? I will forgive you because I know you are just concerned and all. Also, I will pretend that did not happen."

He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold my finger higher. "I have rested enough. What I need is to find a way to let someone know what has happened."

He sighs.

"The next time you rescue someone, Damon, make sure she is a damsel in distress, not a pain in the ass." I turn around. No one is there. And I could swear I had not seen his lips move. I look at him, eyes narrowing. "Did you just call me a pain in the ass?"

"Fuck. She heard me."

"Yes." I nod. "I heard you. I..." I step back, my hands over my mouth. I do not want to believe what I am thinking. Holy shit. I can hear the man's thoughts. My head injury did not give me superpowers, did it?

Damon crosses his arms over his chest. "I doubt that."

My arms fall to my sides. "Shit. You can hear my thoughts, too?" He does not answer, but that silence just confirms my suspicion.

"This is insane." I pace the living room as I chew a fingernail. Damon follows me, but keeps a careful distance. "Will you please stop pacing the room?"

I stop walking only because I am tired of pacing. I fold my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes at him. "How long have you been able to hear my thoughts?"

He leans on the side of the shelf. "That is how I found you. I heard you calling."

I raise my hands in automatic protest. "But I did not..." Wait a sec. I did call for help. Well, I begged for help. I did not think anyone would answer, but now that I think back on it. Was it his voice I heard just before I fell unconscious?

Damon's eyebrows furrow. "What?" It was his voice. I remember, which means I did hear him back then. Or maybe I was just getting disoriented.

"Think something." His eyebrows go up. "Excuse me?"

"Think something so I can say for sure if I can really read your mind, or I am just going crazy. Tell me your favorite color."

"No."

"Alright, no is not really a color. Let me try something else." What do you prefer? Dog or cat?

"Dog."

I grin, pointing a finger at him. "Gotcha." The corners of his lips curve down into a scowl.

I wipe the grin off my face as I sit on the edge of the couch.

"Oh, shit. I cannot believe this is happening." I glance at Damon. "Have you always been able to read minds?" He does not answer. "Well, not me. If I had, I would have had a few promotions by now, maybe won the lottery, bought my own house, got married..."

I stop, realizing I am babbling. "Sorry. I tend to babble when I am nervous." I take a deep breath. "You are Damon, right?"

"And you are Seraphina Grey."

I snort. "Of course, you would know since you have been reading my mind this whole time, which I must say I find a bit rude."

"Actually, it is from your ID." He grabs my ID, which is hanging from its strap off a peg on the wall, on his way to the couch. Of course. I had the badge shoved in my pocket when the plane went down. I give him a sheepish grin. He tosses it to me. "You work for a research laboratory?"

"Yes." I nod.

"What kind of research?"

"Mostly biology." I stare at the plastic card in my fingers, frowning at the photo where unruly strands of my honey brown hair stick out from the sides, one of my eyes appear slightly smaller than the other, and my lipstick looks unevenly applied. "Why do I always end up looking horrible in these ID pictures?"