Damian's Oracle by Lizzy Ford Page A

asked you the other day, and you weren’t
at all helpful,” she reminded him. “If you have any ideas, let me
know.”
    Her stomach growled loudly. She ignored Han’s
knowing look.
    “I win again!” Grande exclaimed as Pierre’s
opponent went down. “ Dos dolares, senor .”
    “Enough,” Han said. “No more bets with Ikira.
It’s called cheating in the real world.”
    “You have any other magic tricks for us?”
Pierre called to her.
    “Not today.”
    “Magic tricks,” Han muttered. “In my day,
oracles were the most revered, most feared and celebrated. This
generation has no idea. Including you, Ikira. You’re all fucking
idiots.”
    “You’re no fun today, Han. What gives?” she
said, surprised.
    He grimaced in response. She touched his
arm.
    “You’re leaving me,” she said, saddening.
“Why?”
    “Battle is what we do,” he answered then
looked at her. “What did you see?”
    Damian’s rules for oracles returned to
her.
    “You’ll live,” she said.
    After your leg is broken next week.
    He appeared relieved, and she felt guilty.
And hungry. Always hungry. She chewed her lip and glanced at her
own wrist. Did her blood taste half as good as Damian’s? She made a
face, drooling at the thought of Damian’s blood again.
    “I guess I’m done here,” she said and
rose.
    She placed a checkmark next to the first of
her ideas for learning to use her power. She wandered the mansion
as she often did, restless and starving. She found herself again in
front of Damian’s door. She’d been there twice before today and
only knocked once for fear he’d answer. And then she’d tried to eat
chocolate and ended up in the bathroom even weaker and
hungrier.
    I don’t want this!
    Her stomach growled. Angry, she turned to
leave when Damian’s door opened. He was dressed again all in black,
a color that should have minimized his size but just amplified how
ripped he was beneath the clothing.
    “You need something?” he asked with a
casualness that pissed her off, as if he didn’t know why she was
there.
    “No.”
    “Alrighty then.”
    He closed his door.
    He was messing with her - he knew she was
hungry!
    He promised!
    She sighed and knocked. He answered
again.
    “You need something?”
    “Yes,” she grated. “I do.”
    He pushed the door open. She entered and saw
car keys on the table near the door.
    “Are you going to town?”
    “Yep.”
    Bet he’s got a girl in town.
    “Figures.”
    “Pardon?” he asked, looking up from the
wallet he rifled through.
    “Nothing.”
    “You finish your thoughts out loud pretty
often.”
    “Bad habit.”
    “I think it’s cute.”
    Maybe I do.
    “ That is not cool,” she told him.
    “The girl or the ability to read minds?”
    She gritted her teeth and turned to go,
trying not to think of how jealous the idea of another woman made
her.
    “There’s no girl,” he called. “You can
stay.”
    “I wasn’t -“
    “Yes you were. Sit down.”
    He was amused and she fuming, her emotions
scattered by his mere presence.
    I have no right to be jealous. If he has a
woman, he has a woman.
    “Sofia, stop thinking and sit down.”
    She obeyed, embarrassed.
    “There’s no woman, though I’m flattered,” he
said, sitting beside her on the couch with knife in hand.
    The sight of the knife made her
squeamish.
    “I keep trying to entice you, but you seem
immune to me,” he teased. “No other woman has been able to resist
me. It’s fascinating.”
    “I appreciate you trying to make me feel less
nervous, but you shouldn’t lie to me,” she snapped.
    “I can have any woman I want. I wouldn’t
bother with you if I didn’t want you.”
    The edge of arrogance surprised her. She
looked at him. His look was intent, the gold of his irises
swirling.
    “Let’s get this over with, so you don’t miss
your hot date,” she said coolly.
    He lifted her chin with one finger. His lips
brushed hers, and she felt something within her melt at the simple
touch. Hunger for