Glimpse: Book One of the Glimpse Quartet, page 23
“There has to be a better way to do this,” I say under my breath, making regrettable eye contact with her. The green in her irises is as vibrant as ever, reminding me I have no good reason to keep this from her—it’s her heritage almost as much as it is mine.
“Let’s start with the big one. You were right before—I’m not human.”
Her eyes grow even wider, and I allow her a few seconds to take it in, listening to the rapid beat of her heart as a real-time measure of her fear.
Outside, a raccoon pokes around the garbage cans. In the distance, the waves lick at the shore in steady rhythm, all of it invading my senses while I wait for her to react.
“I’m bleeding out here, you know.” Her voice is riddled with nerves, the words strained as she struggles to breathe evenly.
Rolling my eyes, I dab her knee with the rag, flinching when she winces at my touch. “Sorry.” The coagulated blood has got to go, but it takes a decent amount of scrubbing to get through. Each pass must feel like sandpaper on the abrasion.
“So you’re not human,” she breathes, struggling to make it sound less insane. “Then what are you?”
Here goes nothing. This is the crucial turning point—the moment I tip the odds toward Vaughn or towards myself, and I’ll have no way of knowing until this all plays out.
Fuck it. Grabbing hold of her ankle with one hand, I meet her gaze. “I’m a fallen angel.”
Her leg jerks as she tries to scramble away from me, but my hand on her ankle keeps the motion from wrenching her knee too much. I have to monitor every vital as her heart speeds to a frightening beat.
“You’re a…an angel?” She struggles to get the words out, confusion turning to disbelief and then outright terror.
“Fallen angel,” I answer, making sure to keep up the distinction. If we’re going to do this, we may as well be specific. I continue dressing her knee, speeding up my process in case she tries to run away again.
I am halfway around her leg with the gauze when she speaks again.
“Are you dangerous?”
My hand freezes over her. “That’s a loaded question.”
Her entire leg tenses, her eyes judging the distance between here and the door. There’s no way in hell I’m letting her leave with that psychopath still on the loose. But what am I supposed to do if she bolts? Tackle her?
“Yes,” I answer honestly. “But not to you.” While she processes, I smooth the antibiotic over her knee and close the gauze, wrapping it several times around the wound. My hands linger on her calf when I’ve finished, ashamed to admit how hot she looks covered in battle scars.
She could be a terrific fighter one day, provided Vaughn doesn’t kill her before she gets a chance to test out her latent abilities.
Her eyes tell me she wants to pull away, but something keeps her locked with me in a silent battle of wills. I can only imagine how insane it must sound to her. She must have had suspicions, but I’ve just blown a hole through her entire concept of reality.
Leaning closer to her, I want to find the words to make her feel safe. I’m just not sure how much I should tell her.
“If you want me to leave, I swear I will. I would never hurt you.” My frantic attempt to console her leaves me frozen.
Of all the stupidity I’ve exemplified since stepping foot into this godforsaken hole of a town, this one takes the cake.
My back goes rigid when I swear the vow, the very courts of Heaven opening up to accept my bond. For her, nothing changes. She weighs my words as the flippant promise of a human, only as good as my promise to keep them.
What have I done? I should never have brought her here tonight. I should have remained impervious to her curiosity and let her stew over it until she hated me.
Fists clenching at my sides, I feel my wings protesting against the skin of my back. Until this vow is fulfilled, I will never shake the invisible chains around my wrists.
I am called back to reality by a deep cut on her hand that trails all the way to her pinkie. It’s too late to take it back now. Taking her hand in mine, I suck in a deep breath through my nose. There’s is little to do now but to keep moving.
“You’re saying Heaven is real.” Her head tips down, her eyes searching mine. Her lineage is in my favor, I realize, as her heartbeat slows gradually. She’s reading my energy as I am hers, her body responding to subconscious cues she has no name for yet.
“This one could use stitches.” Dodging her question, I turn her hand over and back. She shudders when I say it, even though thus far the blood has not seemed an issue for her. “I assume you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?”
She shakes her head. “Absolutely not.”
“I thought not.” I nod, reaching for the superglue from my pile of first aid supplies. A sharp giggle leaves her, stifled shortly after when she clamps one hand over her mouth.
“What?”
“It’s a little funny,” she smiles, suffering from what I can only call mild hysteria. “I’m supposed to believe a fairytale creature is super-gluing my hand back together.”
“It’s not a fairytale,” I correct her immediately, grinning when she cocks her head in a way that asks are you sure?
“But I suppose it is rather funny,” I allow, dabbing at her hand with the cloth, which is now violently red in color.
She takes a few deep breaths, steeling herself against the clash of reality and fiction. “Vaughn’s a…” she can’t make herself say angel again. “He’s one of you, right?”
I simply nod, dreading this part of the conversation. Do I tell her about him? Or do I keep my mouth shut and continue to play behind the scenes? Either way, I’m risking her life, and I’ve never been much of a gambler.
“How long have you two known each other?”
My mouth forms a hard line. “A long time.” With the blood somewhat staunched, I lay a trail of glue over the wound, blowing on it gently to speed the drying. If she were human, I would insist on stitches. But I suspect she’ll heal fast enough to ward off infection.
“How long have you been here?” she presses, and I realize this was the real information she was after.
“My earliest memories start in Ancient Greece,” I answer, my eyes flashing up to hers to catch her response. She does not disappoint: her mouth drops open, thoughts of the museum and our paper rolling through her mind so clearly, I can practically see her memory working this out.
The glue on her hand dries and I release her, sitting back on my heels. The urge to pull her into my arms is so powerful I nearly drag her off the couch, but I imagine she would find that strange.
“How did you get here?” She leans forward, peppering me with questions so fast I don’t have time to answer before the next one is out of her mouth. “And what’s your beef with Vaughn? Did he follow you here? How does the angel thing work, exactly?”
Glancing at the clock, I search for a reasonable way out. “That’s a lot of questions, and it’s very late.”
She twists to see the time, shocked when she sees it’s nearly three in the morning. “Can I ask one more tonight?” When she turns back to me, her eyes searching for something she can cling to, I want to give in.
“One.” I nod my okay, holding up my index finger.
She scoots toward me, just a little. “Can I see them? Your wings?”
My eyes narrow, thinking through every possible reason she might want to see them. Instinct begs me to tell her no, a lifetime of hiding warring with my desire for her. “You’ve already seen them.” More times than I should have allowed.
“That was different,” she shakes her head. “I was in shock.”
It’s not as if I can put this genie back in the bottle. For better or worse, she knows what I am now. But for some reason, I do not want to agree.
My silence only spurs her on. She scoots even closer, the proximity of her body making it harder still for me to resist. “Listen. I’m trying to be cool about this because I really don’t want to have a panic attack. But there’s a high probability I’m losing my mind right now, and it would help me out a lot to feel like any part of this is real.”
Her stubbornness is oddly endearing. She’s holding onto logic by a thread, trying so hard not to let her feelings get the best of her. It’s angelic in nature, and it calls to me on a level I can hardly argue with.
Rising to my feet, I step into the center of the room, judging the distance from wall to wall. Her eyes run the length of my body, eliciting a primal response in her posture that only makes me more eager to acquiesce.
“You know, you could have the decency to look haggard after all that,” she grumbles. When I cock my head in question, she rolls her eyes. “I don’t even want to know what I look like right now.”
“You look fine—alive, which is all that matters.” In truth she looks better than fine. Her raven hair is a mess, but in a wild way that makes her look fierce. The streaks of blood and dirt on what used to be a white shirt give her a warrior-like essence.
If I’m honest, I’ve never wanted her more. Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I let out a slow, deep breath. The sound of crunching bone fills the room, reverberating off the walls until she flinches away from me.
As my wings expand, fear turns to wonder on her face. She stands, moving toward me instinctually, her leg giving her trouble on the way.
Searching her face in case she goes into shock, I watch as she takes me in, staring at ebony feathers that span the entire width of my living room.
She keeps her distance while she circles me, scanning every inch of me in silence.
“This is driving me crazy,” I murmur, anxious at her ogling expression. Will she attempt to flee? “What are you doing?” Turning my head to see her standing behind me, she looks almost…reverent?
“Can I touch them?”
I offer a small nod, willing myself not to move as her hand reaches out. Slowly, like she’s worried I might bolt, she makes contact right where wing meets skin, in the center of my shoulder blades.
She runs her hand over the top of the wing while I watch her reflection in the back window, a million thoughts racing in her eyes. When I twitch at the warmth of her delicate fingers, she pulls her hand away. “Does that hurt?”
“No.” I smile at her, and she continues exploring, as if she’s trying to commit every single inch of my body to memory. Desire radiates off of her, filling the air with a drug so potent it sets my blood pumping.
Spinning to face her, I grab her hand and move it to my chest, ignoring her surprise as I wrap my wings around her, pulling her closer until her body is flush with mine.
Caution be damned. Keeping one hand on the small of her back, I kiss her the way I should have on her doorstep. She gasps against my lips before shock gives way to pleasure and she softens into me, a small sound echoing in the back of her throat that makes me hold her tighter still.
While I fight for control of her bottom lip, her hands move up my chest, leaving a trail of fire on my skin until her fingers twist in my hair, pulling just hard enough to make me groan.
Ecstasy like I haven’t felt in decades courses through me, but as my hands move up her sides, her racing heart goes from excitement to trepidation.
Fighting with my basest instincts, I break the kiss, grabbing both sides of her face as I pull away from her. “They don’t freak you out? ”
She laughs, her lips swollen and her face flushed. “Do girls often freak out when they find out you’re a fairytale creature?”
The way she looks at me is completely disarming, her face so full of wonder and admiration I want to beg her to come away with me tonight.
“In my defense,” I say softly, leaning down to nibble on her earlobe, “humans used to be a great deal more suspicious.” She shivers at my touch, and it's the most gratifying thing I could ask for.
“Most times,” I continue, brushing my lips over her neck, “when someone sees me, they assume I’m some harbinger of death.” And to be honest, they’re not far off.
“I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she answers, her blush deepening as she looks up at me through long, dark lashes.
“Mmm.” Pressing my lips together, I eye her meaningfully. “You should know that we Fallen struggle with vanity. Too many compliments like that and I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.”
Pulling my wings back in, I ignore the searing pain so familiar it hardly registers anymore. She comes willingly when I tug her toward the couch, sitting behind her on one end so I can hold her hands and keep her close.
She’s quiet, which would not be unwelcome except for the fact that it is so unusual for her. “What are you thinking now?” I ask, listening to her heart. I expected it to slow after our kiss, but it speeds along as fast as ever.
“That I’m going to wake up and none of this will be real,” she answers, but there’s a hint of deception in it.
Knowing I don’t have a leg to stand on in the honesty department, I let it go. “That much of a nightmare, huh?” I move our entwined hands to her stomach, content to sit here and listen to her breathing.
“I have so many questions. This feels like a dream.”
Questions, questions. Lucky for me, she’s struggling to stay awake. The longer she lays with me, the more the night catches up with her, her eyelids fluttering every time she blinks until she cannot open them again.
“It’ll take a while for it to sink in, I imagine. Maybe tomorrow you’ll kick me to the curb,” I whisper.
She shakes her head, each rise and fall of her chest moving slower as the adrenaline leaves her system. “Your house doesn’t have any curbs.”
My answering laugh is quiet; I’m afraid to disturb her when she looks so peaceful. She brings one of my hands to her face and kisses it gently, eliciting a rueful smile from me. Not two hours ago she was ready to run for the door, and here she is falling asleep in my arms like we’ve done this a thousand times.
“You’re welcome to stay here,” I offer, knowing she’s already a lost cause.
“No,” she breathes, “I should go home. Just give me a second and I’ll get up.”
I wait too long to move her, kissing the top of her head when I know she’s fully under. Her weight against me is so much more satisfying than I could have imagined after decades of being solitary.
Hours pass while my mind wanders to Vaughn and back again. I have no answers—only the certainty that I will protect her from whatever he has in store. Even if it means putting a permanent end to all this, I will live on the run no longer.
I wonder, as I look at her sleeping face, if she could even comprehend the concept of immortality. Since the fall, I have lived on the promise of tomorrow, which perhaps has been my mistake. The humans act because they know their time is limited. If I want to save her life, I must do the same.
I am tired of running. Let him come. Let him race toward his own ruin.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Blair
I wake in a large, unfamiliar bed, beneath deep blue sheets and a comforter of the same shade. Checking under the covers to ensure I am still clothed, I let out a grateful breath. My fingers move to my lips, which are still somewhat swollen from his kiss, and my skin heats at the memory.
Every inch of me aches, with the most noticeable pain radiating out from my knee. Forcing myself out of the comfort of his bed, I stretch out my limbs and take in my surroundings. He’s not one for knick-knacks, but the furniture is impeccable: dark wood with a strange mix of old-world gravity and modern charm.
The mirror hanging on the far wall assaults me with my reflection, distracting me from my perusal with the only imperfect thing in his vast bedroom. If I’d had any idea how hideous I looked last night, I would never have let him kiss me.
“Good morning.”
I jump at the sound of his voice, turning to find him leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded. His hair is freshly washed, his damp waves flopped to one side of his forehead.
“Morning.” I can’t help my grimace, with him standing there looking like a Grecian god and me looking like garden-variety peasant.
He stalks toward me with the magnetism of a panther stalking its prey, his large frame somehow more menacing now that I know what he is.
“How’s your knee?” he asks, eyeing the bandage that is now soaked through with blood.
“Tender, but I think I’ll live.”
“And your hands?” He takes both of them in his and turns them over, inspecting the larger cut that he superglued last night. “This one should heal fine. The glue is holding.”
His proximity does weird things to my heartbeat, and he smiles as if he can sense it. Oh my god, can he sense it? The thought fills me with dread. How am I ever supposed to have privacy if he can hear my heartbeat?
“Thank you—for saving my life,” I blurt out, feeling the need to fill the dead air. “And for playing doctor.”
He grins, something dark and smoldering in his eyes. “Any time.” Snaking his arm around my waist, he kisses my temple.
The hummingbird takes flight in my chest, and I nearly throw myself at him. But something tells me he’s got a lot more experience in that arena than I do, and I can’t bear the embarrassment right this second.
“We never got around to dinner last night, but I can offer you breakfast.” He’s so calm this morning, as if last night never happened.
My stomach growls in response, but I keep glancing at my reflection beside us. “Can I shower first?”
“Of course. It’s just through there.” He points behind me to the French doors on the wall left of the bed.
Slipping out of his grip before I can jump into his arms, I scurry toward the bathroom with a quick “thank you” called over my shoulder.
Like the rest of his house, the bathroom is understatedly beautiful. Adorned with lush black towels, a judicious vanity, and a large, glass-walled shower, I can only compare it to the spas I’ve seen on TV. Now that I’ve seen his hair in all its glory, I am not surprised by the array of luxury products on his countertop.
