 |
| Paperback |
“What is your name?” he asked a few steps behind her.
She turned, surprised, “What’s yours?”
“Wheat,” was his reply.
“Your name is Wheat?” she asked in disbelief. “As in Whole Wheat? Is your last name Grain or Starch?”
“That isn’t particularly funny,” he answered.
She couldn’t take her eyes away from his. The intensity of his vision, his focus on her, was challenging and possessing. His motivations weren’t clear to her. His energy seemed to imply he didn’t need to speak with her, but chose to, and that she would have to endure until he was finished.
D’stherae became defiant of her perceptions.
“Are you waiting for someone? Do you know someone in this house?”
“If you told me your name,” he replied, “I would.”
She didn’t answer.
“What it is?”
D’stherae didn’t understand the question; the order of his words had thrown her. What was he asking?
“Maszrana doesn’t like outsiders?” he probed.
“Why would you ask that?”
“You’re not being very warm to me.”
“You’re not being very warm to me,” she parroted defensively.
“But I can be.”
