by Tamar Sloan
His lips part—lush in a way no guy’s should be—but he doesn’t say anything. He blinks back, strangely still.
It’s him.
Ignoring the voice that just whispered through her mind, Arielle jerks herself out of whatever weird trance she just got sucked into.
She jabs her finger into the guy’s chest. “You’re the idiot who almost cleaned me up!”
His black eyebrows jam down. “Look, I’m sorry about that—”
“You’re sorry?” Arielle has to modulate her tone, suddenly remembering that she’s standing in the middle of the street. “You could’ve killed me!”
He shifts uncomfortably. “I know. I took the corner too fast. It was stupid.”
But for some reason, the apology doesn’t make a difference to her simmering anger. The nightmare she’s currently living started when he came barreling toward her.
“You’re damn right it was stupid!”
His lips thin as something shifts in the jungle depths of his green eyes, but he doesn’t say anything.
Which just makes Arielle madder.
“Sorry isn’t going to cut it!”
His gaze slips away, focusing on his worn sneakers. “It never does,” he mutters quietly.
Arielle’s heart is thundering. He ruined her boots. Her mother disappeared. The association isn’t logical, but then again, nothing is making sense in her world right now. And this drop-kick doesn’t seem to understand exactly how much everything is falling apart around her.
Well, she’s going to educate him.
“You, you ruined my shoes!” Frustration has Arielle’s voice spiking again. “There are stains everywhere!”
The guy blinks as the words hit him. His gaze travels to her feet and up her calves. “But…” he looks back up, confused. “There are marks all over them.”
Arielle flushes, annoyed that it’s the truth. Just like her mother wanted, Arielle’s boots have become the witness to all the moments in her life. The pivotal ones. The funny ones. The ones she didn’t want to forget.
Each time, she took a felt tip pen and scrawled a word or two in a random spot. Over time, the cream canvas has been decorated with a multitude of scribbles.
And now with red, splotchy stains.
“That’s beside the point! They’ll never be the same again.”
His eyes narrow so slightly, if Arielle wasn’t so hyper-aware of the black-lashed green, she wouldn’t have noticed it. “I’ll buy a new pair and replace them, okay?”
“No, it’s really not! You could never replace them!”
“Look, I said I’m sorry, okay? I did everything I could to miss you. What else do you want from me?”
Arielle clenches her hands as heat flushes through her. Some small, sane part of her brain knows she’s overreacting. She needs to get herself under control.
He jams his hands in his pockets. “I mean, you weren’t hurt. And they’re just a pair of shoes.”
And the anger is back, hotter and more virulent. Arielle steps in close, glad when she sees his beautiful eyes widen. “What’s your name?”
“There’s no way I’m giving you my name.”
Practically shoving her face in his, she repeats the question through gritted teeth. “What’s your name? You asked what else I wanted from you—I want your name.”
“No.”
“Right now, it’s Asshole.”
“That’ll do,” he snaps back. “It’s familiar enough.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
When the guy shoves his face back, bringing them only inches apart, Arielle’s own eyes widen.
“Because you’re a judgy, self-righteous, beauty-is-apparently-only-skin-deep girl who’s already made her mind up about me!”
They stand there, faces close, breaths mingling. Arielle doesn’t think she’s ever felt so wired in her whole life. She wants to shake this guy. To kick him with the very same boots he’s forever marked.
For some reason, she needs to know his name.
“Lovers’ tiff,” someone mutters as they walk past.
The two words are enough to snap them out of their strange state of suspended animation. Arielle steps back at the same time he does. People she hadn’t been aware of rush past, the bustling noise of cars and city return.
Unsure why she’s breathing as if she just jogged around the block a few times, Arielle opens her mouth to demand his name again, but before she can, he retreats a step.
“Some things you can’t change, no matter how much you want to.”
Spinning on his heel he strides away, only to hesitate. He glances around, seeming to focus on something down the street. His hands ball into fists as he takes a sharp left and jogs up the stairs of the library. A moment later, his lithe, tall body is gone.
For a long second, Arielle has to resist stomping her foot, no matter how childish the urge is. Of course he would go into the one place she came to visit. But there’s no way she’s going in there now. Not after the most infuriating encounter she’s ever had.
“What a jerk!” She takes a step toward the library. “And what a jerk apology!” Another one, and her foot hits the first stair. “And I was supposed to do some research!”
She’d told Gabby all about her dream when she woke up. For some reason, the visions didn’t dissolve once morning arrived like every other dream she’s ever had. The looming obelisk. The winged forms. The evil that had torn it all apart. I had felt so real that the words had tumbled out of her before she could stop them.
Aunt Shell hadn’t had a chance to respond because her cell rang. It was Detective Kane, essentially saying they didn’t have any leads. Forensics hadn’t found any fingerprints or fibers or any shred of evidence. The witness who saw the abduction didn’t get the number plate. No one else had heard or seen anything. He said they were going to widen their search, whatever that meant.
Afterward, Arielle had crossed her arms, looking at her aunt with raised brows.
Gabby had frowned. “Why don’t you go to the library and see if you can find out anything about your dream?”
Arielle’s arms had fallen to her sides. “What? I don’t—”
“Call it a hunch,” Gabby had said, her frown still in place.
Aunt Shell had glanced at her cell as if it were withholding information. “I really don’t think that’s a great idea.”
But Gabby had pulled up a smile. “While you do that, Ari, Mom can go get us some bagels.”
“I’m not hungry—”
But Aunt Shell had interrupted Arielle again. “Actually, maybe that’s a good idea. Bagels are just what we need.”
Gabby had nodded. “And I’ll be here if anyone comes by.” She’d clasped Arielle’s shoulders, speaking under her breath. “Imagine how tickled your mom will be when she gets back to hear you’ve been researching.”
Arielle’s mouth had snapped shut. In a crisis, the first thing her mom did was hit the books. She always said that’s where she’d find the answer.
Arielle had decided to humor Gabby. Her dream was a product of the heart-tearing situation she’s found herself in, and no raisin cinnamon bagel is going to fix it. But the thought of telling her mother that she’d done exactly what she’d do in such a situation had given Arielle something to cling to. Something to do.
But as she stands outside the library—the very same building that the unnecessarily hot asshole just disappeared into—Arielle knows she won’t be going in there. In fact, she now has something else she intends on doing.
She may not have his name, but she knows exactly where he is. In fact, Detective Kane may focus on her mother’s case more if she hands over the information she’s now holding.
In the backpack she never leaves home without, Arielle fishes out her cell phone out of the side pocket and the detective’s card out of her purse. She quickly dials the number, throwing heated glares at the library door every few digits.
It’s him.
Arielle jolts a
s the words flash through her mind, this time with far more urgency. She ignores it as she presses the final number with force.
It’s him!
Gritting her teeth, Arielle’s finger hovers over the small green phone icon. “Shut up,” she mutters. “I don’t care who he is.”
No! You can’t do this!
“Shut up, Trinity!”
Arielle doesn’t realize she’s shouted the words until several people stop and glance. One elderly man side-steps around her as he continues on, taking a wide berth. She spins and looks around, even though she knows there’s no one beside her, saying those words.
Cheeks hot with embarrassment, she tries to tell herself she’s used to the weird glances. In fact, they’d stopped bothering her long ago. Arielle no longer cares what people think of her talking to herself.
Except she just shouted. Like, really loud.
And at Trinity.
Jamming her cell phone into her pocket, Arielle hunches her shoulders as she turns so abruptly she almost crashes into someone. Muttering an apology, she ducks her head to hide her flaming face as she quickly walks away.
She’s going home to wait for her mother. And pretend that none of this—the dream and the guy and that moment—just happened.
Her eyes sting as she covers her mouth with her hand. Trinity used to be a comfort. A companion. A friend to fill the empty spaces of her only-child existence.
But that’s when Trinity had been left behind in her childhood. Imaginary friends were acceptable then.
Now, hearing voices just makes her crazy.
7
Reign
What the hell does he do now?
Reign watches the girl pull out her phone and start dialing. She’s calling the cops on him.
Of course, she is. That’s what girls like her do.
She was so righteous. So indignant. Completely unwilling to consider that there are reasons people make stupid choices. In fact, she was more worked up about her darned boots than anything. Sure they were cute, maybe even a little sexy, but that just makes her shallow.
He doesn’t care that he’s never seen a face like that—flawless, timeless, faultless. Or eyes that defy the word blue. They’re deep as oceans, clear as skies, and as mesmerizing as the hottest part of a flame.
None of that matters. She’s calling him in. He doesn’t know why, but that feels like a betrayal.
“Excuse me, can I help you?”
Reign spins around, almost knocking over the rotating bookstand he was tucked behind as he spied through the library window. A primly dressed woman is standing a few feet away, hands clasped in front of her brown knit top.
Reign smiles, his gaze catching hers as he notes the way her cheeks flush a little. “Hello”—he glances at her name badge—“Dorothy. I was just reflecting that there are so many books in this world, and yet so little time.”
She stiffens, arching a brow. “Is there anything in particular you were looking for?”
How to get snarky blondes off your back. “I’m fine, but thank you for checking,” he says warmly.
Her gaze flickers to the doors. “A library is a place for learning and quiet contemplation. Maybe it’s not the right place for you right now?”
Reign keeps his smile in place even though his gut contracts. Another person who’s just made a whole bunch of judgments based on how he’s dressed. But this time, Reign can’t afford to get her offside.
Unlike Dorothy’s suggestion, the library is just where he needs to be right now. The cops will assume he’ll run. They’ll probably scan the whole block—which means Candy is going to hightail it, taking Reign’s fix with him. All Reign needs to do is blend in, in the one place no adult is going to assume he’ll stay in.
And if his good looks aren’t going to sway Dorothy the Judgy Librarian, then it’s time to take a different tact.
He glances down at his worn shoes, scuffing one against the other. “I need to research some...stuff. I was going to book a computer, but I wasn’t sure how.”
“Oh.” The librarian’s posture softens. “We did just introduce an online system.”
Reign rubs the back of his head. “Yeah. It’s kinda complicated.”
Dorothy jolts into action, going full maternal-librarian on him. “Come this way. It’s really quite simple.” She smiles. “We designed it to be as user friendly as possible.”
He smiles gratefully. “Much appreciated, ma’am.”
She leads him to the bank of computers Reign has already made a note of, and talks him through the booking system. Reign nods, keeping his interested face on, but his focus is on his surroundings. There are at least thirty computers stretched out over two rows. Most of them are taken, which is just what he needs—people to blend in with.
“See? It’s simple,” Dorothy says warmly. “We just choose an available computer and click this blue button here.”
“Can I have the one down the end there?” Reign drops his gaze. “I’d just like a little privacy. We don’t have computers at my place.”
The woman’s face melts with compassion, just as he suspected it would. Reign learned long ago that the poor kid angle can open doors and hearts. Despite that, he hates using it. Pity always leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Of course. This is why libraries exist. Knowledge should always be free and easily accessible.”
“Thank you, Dorothy,” says Reign, injecting some honesty into his words.
She means well, and that counts for something.
Flushing, she bustles away. Reign makes his way to the end of the row and takes a seat. He hunches a little, glad to see a large guy is at the computer on his left. If cops do a quick sweep of the library, looking for a dark-haired delinquent, they won’t expect the half-obscured guy tapping away at a computer to be him.
Flicking the mouse, he brings the screen to life, then blinks. What exactly is he going to research? He glances over his shoulder to find Dorothy back at her desk, watching him. She smiles encouragingly.
With a sigh, Reign turns back to the computer. He’s pretty sure Dorothy has a program that will send this place into lockdown if he types in anything drug related, which means the whole reason he’s ended up here is going to remain unresolved for a little longer. He rests his fingers on the keyboard, wondering what to type. What to do when you’re exited out of the foster care system at eighteen? How to get a job when you’ve dropped out of high school? Where to get a free mattress that doesn’t smell?
Reign’s fingers start to type of their own volition.
All your wickedness will return upon you.
He startles when he realizes he just typed what the man in the cave shouted to the others in his dream. Frowning, Reign deletes it. There’s no need to Google his life story. But then he’s typing again.
The Son of God whom you hanged upon the cross, will deliver me out of your hands.
Reign grits his teeth. Avril’s warnings of fire and brimstone have finally gotten to him. Just what he needs.
The big guy next to him jerks with silent laughter as he stares at his screen and Reign instinctively ducks, his hovering fingers pressing the enter key. In a split second, he watches with wide eyes as the first hit finds an exact match.
An uncomfortable feeling tightens around Reign’s spine. He clicks on the blue headline, quickly scanning the information as words jump out at him.
Gospel of Nicodemus. Joseph of Arimathea. Holy Grail.
Avril tends to stick to words like sin and repent and eternal damnation. He’s never heard her mention any of these.
Then how the hell did they end up in his dream?
Suddenly not okay with the thick walls surrounding him, Reign shoots to his feet. The guy next to him doesn’t even notice as Reign strides past, desperate to get out. Dorothy opens her mouth as he shoots past, but he doesn’t hear what she says. It’s probably a good thing. Reign would just point out that sometimes knowledge isn’t the panacea she believes it is.
> He doesn’t need the realization that his too-real dream was already written about in some ancient text. A text he didn’t even know existed.
In fact, Reign has wished a thousand times he was never told his father dumped him at children’s services.
And he sure as hell would love to wipe the knowledge that he was the one who killed his Lance.
Outside, he draws in great gulps of air. Bright sunshine pierces his eyes, snapping him out of his panic. Crap. He’s supposed to be lying low in case Ms. Boots called the cops.
Turning sharply on his heel, Reign tucks his shoulders up and pulls his hood over his head. He strides away from the library, his gaze focused on the edge of the building. There’s an alleyway on the left. He’ll duck down there and find a short cut. Then, he’s going back to the hangout. If Darnell and Rico haven’t picked up some reality-numbing goodness, then he’s going to sleep.
For about a month.
Relieved to find the alley deserted, Reign walks halfway down before leaning against the brick wall. He lets his head flop back, welcoming the sharp pain that ricochets through his skull. A quick glance from side to side reveals no law enforcement on his tail. If the girl called them, surely they’d be here by now.
Maybe she had better things to do. Like brush all that glossy blonde hair of hers. Or eat a meal her equally-beautiful mother made her. Or clean those freaking boots, wiping away the stains of his existence in her world.
The first shred of relief is contemplating taking hold when Reign glances down. He frowns. Smoke is creeping over the ground in the alley, tendrils coiling through milk crates and around trash cans. A quick glance around shows he’s alone. With no clear origin for the smoke.
“Mac, if this is your idea of funny, then you’re way off,” he calls out into the empty alley. “As in, I doubt this would be humorous in the next several thousand galaxies or so.”