Death and the Girl Next Door (18 page)

His eyes slid down to my mouth, where they lingered like a caress. He leaned forward, and my breath caught as his scent stirred my senses to life. Just when his mouth was close enough to brush mine, he reached a long arm over my shoulder and pushed the door closed.

“Oh, right,” I said with a nervous giggle. “Guess you’ll want some privacy.”

He flashed another smile as he stepped from the tub.

With barely enough room to maneuver, I whirled and headed for the door. “I’ll get those clothes now.” I almost fell out of the room in my attempt to escape. That boy was just way too gorgeous for my sense of balance. My original assessment had pretty much nailed it.

Absolute supernova.

After I grabbed the clothes, I cracked the door and shoved them through the opening. He thanked me with a soft chuckle. Better that than me making a fool of myself, waiting for him to kiss me, for his mouth on mine. Maybe in an alternate reality.

With a groan, I fell forward onto my bed and buried my face in an overstuffed pillow. A strong mixture of excitement and fear rushed along my nerve endings. I took a deep, calming draught of air and turned over to stare at the ceiling, unable to wipe the grin from my face.

“I feel sixteen.” Jared stepped out of the bathroom in the red T-shirt and black sweats I’d found for him.

“You look sixteen.” A muscular, godlike sixteen, but sixteen nonetheless.

He regarded his clothes with a forlorn expression.

“Here, you’re still wet.” I stepped forward to pull down the dampened shirt, but lifted it farther instead. His side had a huge red gash in it. I raised the shirt more to inspect it. “This looks really bad.”

“Yes. I can’t remember if that was the crowbar or baseball bat.”

“Oh, goodness,” I said, holding up a hand, “you should probably keep stuff like that to yourself.”

“Sorry. Cameron is rather creative that way. I’ve never felt pain on this plane, though I have on others. I forgot how much it hurts.”

I searched his dark fringed eyes. Did he mean the plane I saw in my vision? Could that place have been real?

“I’m amazed at how much I need oxygen,” he said. Testing his lungs, he took a deep breath, then clutched his ribs in agony.

I grabbed his arm like that would help. “Are you okay?”

“I believe so.”

“I think your ribs are cracked.” I inspected them gently with my fingertips. He hissed in a sharp breath and winced. “Yep.”

“I’m okay. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“You need something on that wound.” Lowering his shirt, I straightened. He absolutely towered over me, his dark eyes warm and interested. “How tall are you anyway?”

“By your measurements and in this form, I am six-five.”

“Holy moly. That’s tall.”

He chuckled softly. “How tall are you?” he asked, his deep voice touching every part of me. The shadows that pooled in the contours of his muscles shifted every time he moved. It was mesmerizing.

“You have tattoos,” I said, changing the subject.

He nodded and pushed up his sleeves to give me a better look. “I was able to make them disappear before, but now they’re just … there. I should not let Alan Davis see them.”

“Alan Davis? You mean Principal Davis?” I asked, alarmed.

“Yes. You were right. He’d recognized me that morning, remembered me from when he was a boy, when I came to take his brother, Elliot Davis. Like many others, he saw me in the crowd as I waited, took note of my tattoos. He approached me, fascinated, and asked what they meant.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth, that they are a testament to the power that was bestowed upon me as well as my station, rank, and mission.”

“Oh.” I looked back in surprise at the bands just visible under the sleeve edges. They were beautiful, fluid. Crisp black curves sprang into sharp points that wrapped around his arms, forming symbol after symbol like a line of ancient text. “And you think Mr. Davis recognized them?”

“He caught a glimpse before I thought to conceal them. If he sought my image in that yearbook, I know he did.”

“Well, then, we’ll just have to keep them hidden in the future.”

I took the ointment Brooklyn had been using and began spreading it onto his side as he held up the shirt. The gash was horrible and grotesquely deep. And his back was covered in scrapes and bruises. I shook my head again in wonder. Boys.

“May I ask you something?”

“I welcome it.”

The way he talked sometimes threw me. Well, that and the fact that he welcomed my questions. No one alive welcomed my questions. I could be very obnoxious.

“You said that you’ve never felt pain on this plane. But you have on others?” I went further with the ointment, quickly covering the worst of the scratches while I had the chance, just to be on the safe side.

“I have.”

That realization made me cringe inside. The fact that he ever felt pain for any reason saddened me. “In my vision, you were fighting something. A huge dark monster.” I looked up at him to gauge his reaction. “Was that real? Did it really happen?”

He hesitated as though unsure if he should be honest. His mouth thinned and he answered. “It did happen, most likely. I’ve fought many.”

“But you don’t have scars on your chest. It had ripped through you like paper.”

He placed a hand above his heart in thought. “Ah, yes, what you saw happened. I was charged with bringing down a rebel demon who had escaped from Hell and made it into another dimension, but that was many centuries ago.”

Sputtering, I stepped back. “A demon? Like, a real one?”

His head tilted in curiosity. “I believe they are all real.”

I sank onto the edge of my bed and stared at the carpet a long time. “That was a demon. Are they all that … monstrous?”

The bed dipped as he sat beside me. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Wait, why don’t you have scars?” I glanced at his chest.

With a glint of understanding, he placed his hand under my chin and lifted my face to his, commanding my full attention. “Despite our appearance,” he said, his tone purposeful, “make no mistake, Lorelei McAlister, we are nowhere near human. Our origin and existence differ vastly from your own. We are powerful and dutiful and execute our orders without empathy or the slightest hint of remorse.”

His statement sounded more like a warning than a friendly tip. In spite of everything, the warning he was obviously offering for my benefit, my attention wandered. I noticed the fatigue that had fallen over him like a veil, his heavy lids, his body drained of energy.

“Do you want to try another sandwich?” I asked. “Or maybe some soup?”

When he shook his head, I stood and pulled his shirt back down over the cut. I felt so guilty. What he did for me had obviously cost him a great deal. And there I sat, offering a supreme being a grilled cheese sandwich. A stab of regret shot through my heart. He was there because of me. And he clearly didn’t want to be.

“I’m so sorry, Jared. You’ve lost everything because of me.”

He grabbed my hands as they fitted his shirt around him. “Is that what you think?” he asked, his tone full of surprise. “Do you think I don’t want to be here because I’ve lost something?”

The warmth of his hands seeped into my skin. “Of course. You’re stuck here because of me. You’ve lost everything.”

“Lorelei, I am stuck here because of me. Because I changed history, remember? Locking on to this plane is the least of my worries.” He squeezed, then let go.

“I don’t understand. You said you didn’t know why it happened.”

“And I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be here because of it.”

I wound a loose string on my shirt around my fingers. “Then why don’t you want to be here?”

He took hold of the string and pulled me closer. “My presence, my reasons and intent, they all risk your soul, Lorelei, your salvation.”

“In what way?”

“A seraphim, even an archangel, cannot be with a human. It is forbidden.” He stood also and looked down at me. “I don’t want to be here, because my presence risks everything I care for. And yet, the thought of being anywhere else in the universe floods me with unbearable pain.”

While he said many things, I heard only one. “So, you do want to be here?”

I held my breath as he thought about his answer.

“More than anything,” he said. Then his brows inched together. “I have never been tempted. Since the earth was being formed beneath my feet, I have never longed to taste the nectar of humans, the forbidden fruit of seraphim. And then I saw you. My mouth waters every time you are near.” He squared his shoulders and confessed, “I can only hope that when you know all there is to know, you can forgive me my trespasses.”

I stood utterly mesmerized, lost in his words. How was this even possible, that I was the forbidden fruit of a god? Holy freaking cow. With a mental shake, I tamped down the elation shooting through me and focused on the brunt of the situation. Feeling somewhat like an impetuous child, I asked, “But what about Jophiel? The archangel who visited Cameron’s mom? Wasn’t that forbidden?”

“His sacrifice was in the service of humankind. My desires are a bit more … self-serving,” he said with a wry gleam. “So, no, Lorelei, I should not be here. In a thousand different ways, I shouldn’t be here.”

“Well, that makes two of us, remember?” I said, my brain straining for a solution, some loophole we could jump through. “I’m supposed to be dead. So either join the club or start one of your own.” I grabbed the ointment and put the lid back on before looking up at him again.

After a moment, he said, “Did you know your mouth tilts sideways when you’re being sarcastic?”

“Oh, yeah, you’re trashed.” I pulled him around the bed and eased him onto it. He needed to rest. “You can have my bed. I’ll sleep with Brooke.”

“No.” Without another word, he carefully lowered himself onto the floor beside the bed, halting when a jolt of pain shot through him.

“Jared, you can’t sleep on the floor,” I said, appalled. “You need to rest, not toss and turn all night.”

With an evil grin, he reached up and stole one of two pillows off the bed. “I’ll be fine.” He crossed his arms behind his head and lay back. I chuckled and dragged my comforter off, tossing it over him. “Thank you,” he said, his voice soft as though he were almost asleep already.

I watched as his eyes drifted shut, his presence powerful even at rest.

“And if Cameron of Jophiel takes a baseball bat to me in my sleep, I’ll snap his neck.”

Sobering instantly, I crawled onto the bed, shoes and all. “I’ll pass along the warning,” I said, surrendering to weariness.

“I should not be here, Lorelei McAlister,” he said, his speech slurring with fatigue, “and yet, I have never felt so at peace.”

My eyes flew open and I looked over the side of the bed. “You’re at peace?” I asked, but he was asleep before I finished the question.

I rested my head so I could examine him, shivering as every nerve ending I possessed tingled. I liked the feel of him close by, the rhythmic sound of his breathing, the clean smell of his breath and hair. But the niggling in the back of my mind grew stronger the more I looked at him. He was utterly magnificent. A higher being. A supreme entity. What would he want with a pixie stick like me? He could have anyone in the universe, literally, and he was stuck on Earth. I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out reality. Despite the fact that having a real relationship with Jared was supposedly forbidden, and I certainly didn’t want to get him into any more trouble than he was already in, I prayed he would still be there in the morning.

VISIONS OF SUGARPLUMS

“Can’t you sleep?”

I raised my head and tried to open my lead-filled lids. I was sleeping just fine, thank you very much.

“I can sleep,” Brooklyn said. “I just prefer listening to music.”

“Really?”

Ah, Cameron. They must have come in after I passed out. I pried my lids open the best I could and looked at them through my mussed hair. Cameron was sitting on the window seat, back straight, alert as always. Did that guy ever rest?

“I have bad dreams,” Brooklyn said, “when it’s too quiet.” She was on her own twin bed that was tucked into the corner by the window seat. Grandma and Grandpa had bought it for her, since she practically lived with us anyway. “Can’t you sleep?”

“Not with him here.” He indicated Jared with a nod of his head.

I couldn’t help but peek over the side of my bed to study the boy sleeping so soundly beside me. He looked almost totally healed already. He had light bruises and scratches where deep cuts and swollen golf balls had been before. I glanced back at Cameron. The same. Healing quickly was definitely part of who they were. It would have taken a normal person days, even weeks to reach that point.

Trying not to be noticed, I raised up and peeked over at Glitch. He was on the floor in a sleeping bag. Pretty much every available inch of floor space had been confiscated.

“Have you slept at all lately?” Brooklyn asked. She had on her favorite pajamas, the ones with tiny turtles all over them, the ones that
disturbed
Glitch.

“Do you care?” Cameron volleyed.

She sighed and hugged a pillow to her. “Cameron, I know what you were doing, why you were following Lorelei. You saw him, didn’t you? You knew what he was.”

He rested back against the window and looked out of it. “I only felt it at first. Then, about a week ago, I saw it following her.”

“You saw Jared? He’s been here for a week?”

“No. At first, there was simply a fine dark mist. It was so unlike Lorelei, I knew something else was there.”

“What do you mean, so unlike her?”

He rubbed the back of his fingers on the cold glass. “Lorelei’s aura is bright, like fire. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You can see her aura?” Brooklyn asked, propping her elbows on the pillow.

“I can see everyone’s auras, ever since I was a kid.”

“Wow.” She pondered on that briefly before asking, “So, when you first saw them, when you were a kid, did you know what they were?”

“Not even,” he said, shaking his head. “I used to ask my dad why people didn’t glow in their pictures like they did in real life. That’s when it hit me. Not everyone could see them. My dad made me promise not to tell anyone.”