by Lori Adams
I cross my arms and raise a questioning eyebrow.
“Nine o’clock.” Another hammer strike and my smirk falls off.
I lower my arms. “Oh.” The stupid astronomy assignment.
“Unless you’re too busy?” It’s not a question but an invitation for me to lie, which I am about to do when Dad breezes by heading for the living room.
“Of course she’s not too busy, Michael. You kids can have the kitchen if you like. I’ll stay out of the way.” Dad is strangely cheerful, as though meeting Michael has made his day.
I open my mouth to protest but Michael is faster. “Actually, sir, we’ll be studying outside. It’s an astronomy assignment.”
“Okay then,” Dad calls out, as he settles into his chair and clicks on the TV. He is not the least bit concerned that it’s nine o’clock on a school night and I might possibly be lured out by a serial killer.
“I’ll wait,” Michael says in a challenging tone. He crosses his arms and lounges against the doorjamb; the Leaning Tower of Pissed-off. It seems my evening has been planned without my consent so I stomp up the stairs, each step an exclamation point to my anger.
I slide into jeans and a long-sleeved pink V-neck. I braid my damp hair, letting it rest over my shoulder. Astronomy book and packet in hand, I’m ready.
Michael’s manners are impeccable. He says good night to Dad and holds the door open for me. Sure, be polite now when Dad’s around. I roll my eyes and walk onto the porch. “Are we going somewhere?”
Michael marches to his truck, yanks open the door, and flicks his wrist impatiently. Apparently this is a sign for me to get in. I huff and climb into the cab.
His truck smells soothing like an aromatherapy candle, not the gym locker I expected. I settle back and wait for him to explain the plan. He doesn’t. He drives.
I left my patience at home so I launch into it. “What happened back at your house?” No reply, no surprise. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
Michael is tense, focusing on the road, on anything but me. We follow Heartstone Street past the courthouse. Near the school, he turns right and we leave the glowing streetlamps of Haven Hurst behind. We take a gravel road for about thirty yards, and then it turns to dirt as we pass through a scrappy gate barely hanging on to its hinges. The black night swallows us. We turn left onto a narrow path with bushes that claw the truck. We bounce and toss, and the truck does all the talking. The headlights rock side to side as we overtake a steep ravine. I think about grabbing the door handle for support but stubbornly refuse to show helplessness. If he would just slow down!
The truck slows at once, and we creep along unaffected. I look at Michael in surprise. He is unreadable.
We continue in silence. No conversation. No music. Just a lot of screaming in my head. Where is he taking us? Is this really the best way to get there? We stop abruptly at the foot of a hill. Michael cuts the engine and grabs a blanket from the back. He slams the door, which feels like a slap in the face. Headlights fade to black.
My door is thrown open and a flashlight clicks on. “You don’t need your book,” he states, emotionless. I grab the astronomy packet and climb down, following the light beam. Michael easily maneuvers up the grassy hill and shines the light down on me. I squint up at his dark silhouette.
“Is this really necessary?” I whine. “What are we doing?”
“Climb the hill, Sophia,” demands the voice behind the light, like Charlton Heston bellowing an eleventh commandment. Then softly he adds, “Do you need help?”
“No!” I snap indignantly. I don’t need anyone’s help. I cram the packet into my back pocket and claw my way up the stupid hill. “I thought we were going to the library or something,” I pant as I reach the top of the hill.
Michael spreads the blanket and reclines on it. When I don’t move, he flashes the light on me. “Lay down, Sophia.” The twelfth commandment. I bristle, consider my options, and find none. Throwing the packet on the ground, I sit on the edge of the blanket—as far away from him as possible—and lay back. The light dies and a million stars pop alive, a glowing canopy clear and bright. I’m in awe.
You never see stars like this in LA, maybe inland in the dessert, but certainly not in the places I’ve lived. It’s surreal.
And quiet. Night noises dissipate as if warned not to disturb us. Tension fades like an echo in the air, and I am heavy on the earth, intoxicated with peace and just being. I can feel Michael’s presence three feet away and I imagine we are the only two people left on earth, and the grassy hill is lifting us up like an offering to the stars, pristine pinpricks in Heaven’s floor.
God is spying on us.
Michael’s breathing is gentle, and the throbbing in my chest matches the slow cadence. The strange pulling sensation I felt at the mud pit returns but it’s faint, like a fish tugging a line. I relax into the body that no longer seems mine and take the rich, earthy aroma into me in deep breaths. It fills me up, leaving almost no room for the questions flying around inside my head.
Almost.
“Relax your mind,” Michael murmurs as though he knows I am working overtime. I look at him. His eyes are lost in the stars and his perfect profile cuts a negative shadow against the midnight sky. Soft blond curls fall away from his forehead, and shade darkens the plane of his cheek. Delicate beauty that lies. Michael is not fragile but strong, demanding, and full of secrets; his temper is the edge of a knife.
He turns his head and looks at me, and my breath freezes in place. His eyes are liquid blue and heavy, with black lashes weighing them down. He blinks slowly like he’s sedated, and it is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. My stomach clenches and I tingle deep inside. My blood suddenly throbs in strange, unfamiliar places, and I feel my face grow hot. I am blushing.
Holy crap, this is unexpected.
We stare and I realize I am panting, again. I can’t look away but force myself to focus on the business at hand. Anything but the way my body is trembling.
Michael’s brow twitches with curiosity and his eyes narrow. He watches me closely, analyzing and searching. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to recognize his effect on me. His eyes are full of questions about … what? What can Michael possibly want to know from me?
He has all the answers.
I swallow and clear my throat. “Why won’t you explain?”
“We should get started,” he commands in a harsh tone. He looks away and holds up the packet and flashlight.
“You like to play games, don’t you?” I push, and he reacts like I’ve hit his panic button. His head snaps back around.
“Is this a game to you?” His eyes fill with suspicion, and I feel accused of something.
“I just mean you’ve avoided every question I’ve asked since I met you and—”
“And you have a lot of questions, don’t you, Sophia? Every time I turn around, there you are, watching.” The weight of his accusation is staggering and embarrassing, like I’m a stalker or something. I scoff.
“No I’m not.” I look up at the sky wishing I could sink into the ground. I calm my breathing and look back at Michael.
He is upset, and I don’t know if it’s with me or with himself. He rustles the paper in his hand and begins reading in an instructional tone. “ ‘We’re beginning with Celestial Navigation, the technique used to help sailors cross the oceans …’ ”
I’m not listening because my mind is cataloging every occasion I’ve seen Michael and the peculiar events that keep me wondering if I’ve really witnessed what I think I have, or if I’m losing what little common sense I’ve acquired. Soon enough though, those peculiar events lead me to the way Michael swung me into his arms at the mud pit. I remember how he threatened to take off more than my shoes. Mostly, I remember how my body had quivered at his touch and how I tried to ignore it. Just like now when he looked at me with a strange sense of peace.
I smile dreamily until I realize it has become quiet again. Michael is waiting for me to answer an unhea
rd question. “Uh.”
“Weren’t you listening?” he demands.
“No, Michael!” I explode on reflex. I’m not listening! Not until you give me some answers!”
My reaction was so quick and violent that I practically scared myself. Maybe anger will keep me on track and stop my body from reacting to his.
Michael slams the paper down and leans over me, bracing his hands on each side of my head. He stares down, his eyes blazing. “What are you looking for, Sophia?” he asks coldly. I flinch and press myself deeper into the ground. It’s not fear of Michael but the closeness of him that’s disturbing. His face is inches above mine and his warm breath is fanning my cheeks. I feel a shivering sensation ripple through me, making my legs tremble.
“I … just want to know what’s been happening around here, that’s all. I’ve seen some strange things—”
“Like what?”
“Are you kidding?” My mouth stops working because words won’t form fast enough. I have to look away since I can’t think with him so close, staring so intently.
“You … you know exactly what I’m talking about, Michael. You can start with that grungy guy,”
“Who?”
“That guy who ran into your fist three times at the accident. The one who showed up tonight and set you off. Who is he? Why do you hate him?”
Michael has a predatory look that conveys his feelings for the guy. “Okay, Sophia. Let’s make a deal. You like to make deals, don’t you?”
I don’t know what he means by that but I say, “Well, okay. Like what?”
“I answer all your questions and you answer just one of mine. Deal?”
Michael has a feral look in his eyes, the hunter baiting the trap. I should be intimidated but, honestly, it’s sexy as hell and I wish I could—
No, no, no. Stay focused. Concentrate.
My thoughts scatter and I’m at a disadvantage. Again, I wonder what he can possibly want to know from me.
“Well?” he pushes, and I take the bait.
“Okay, you answer first.”
“My question first,” he corrects with a challenge.
I grit my teeth. “Fine! I answer one question and you answer all of mine! Go!”
Michael leans closer, pressing his chest against my side. He looks deep into my eyes and whispers in a seductive voice that sends shivers down to my toes.
“Where is your scar, Sophia?”
Uh-oh. I flounder in panic. It’s the one question I can’t answer.
“That’s not fair. I can’t answer that.” My voice is shaking, a residual effect from the shivers he created.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Either … both! I don’t have an answer.”
“Well then, neither do I.” Michael reclines onto his back, tucking an arm under his head. He is smug and satisfied.
I lay quietly for a moment, trying to catch my breath. Both heartbeats are raging with … well, I don’t know what. Anger? Frustration? Arousal?
Arousal? Holy shit! Where did that come from?
I close my eyes as though considering this in darkness will make it less true. This is so unfair! Not only is Michael Patronus the most complicated and stubborn guy around, he is also the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.
And oh how he makes my blood boil; anger or arousal, it hardly seems to matter, now does it?
I sit up and take my turn to stare and make demands. “Well, why don’t you tell me what happened to my scar, Mr. Knowitall? I am open to any and all theories. Since you seem to know so … much … about …”
Michael is slowly rising up like a smoldering volcano. His eyes lock with mine and I am forced down by the heat of his glare. Flat on my back again, Michael is hovering and infuriated. I imagine he evokes fear in others but I am dissolving under intense blue eyes, chocolate in the melting pot. The intimacy of his gaze, his hard body pressed next to mine, lay my emotions bare. I feel exposed, my chest pumping up and down as both heartbeats thunder with hypnotic rhythm. I stare in wonder as delicious sensations ripple through me. And then it happens; the tightness around Michael’s eyes fades and his anger slowly ebbs like a tide. He lowers himself to his elbows, bringing his chest against mine. His eyes are hands caressing my face, provoking tingles along my skin. A warm blanket unfurls inside me, and I am safe. Unfamiliar ideas sprinkle like thoughts of rain in my mind: There are questions I should not ask, answers I should not hear, things I should not know.
There is uncertainty in Michael’s pale blue eyes and it guides his finger to gently caress the scar that isn’t. He contemplates, letting his finger trail along my cheek and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. Black lashes hide his eyes as he stares at my mouth. His lips part in anticipation. My breathing retracts, and I want to cup his cheek and draw him closer but I’m afraid to move, afraid to spoil the moment.
“What do you want most, Sophia?” Michael whispers, bringing sweet, warm breath to play with my lips. My eyes droop, and a spark of awareness ignites in my head. He asks the same question I begged of Mom. The same question I beg of myself. I am falling too far into him to let the spark grow into suspicion.
“I don’t know, Michael.” I sigh. “I think I want so much, it’s not fair to ask.” His fingers trace my jaw, tenderly, like he is afraid I’ll break. He is full of curiosity, as though he’s never touched anyone like this before. The tugging in my chest grows stronger, and the second heartbeat swells until I’m sure he can hear it.
“Tell me.” His voice is a feather across my skin. His fingers slide cautiously through my hair, unaccustomed to the intimacy. With his warm body pressed against mine, I’d like nothing more than to snuggle into the safety of his shadow.
“I want … freedom.” I grab the first word drifting by.
Michael hesitates with concern. “Freedom? Are you bound by something?” His voice is soft but with an edge of lingering suspicion. He is still searching for his answer. His eyes take mine like we’re holding hands, and I am no longer me but joined with him. I open myself, giving up my secrets like a gift.
“I want freedom from the guilt in my dad’s eyes. I want freedom from the sadness of my mom’s memory. I want light in darkness. I want truth without wings, to stay put. I want to know love by his smile … I want …” I want to know how your lips feel on mine.
Michael’s breathing is labored, and his hand trembles on my cheek. His eyes are heavy and focused on my mouth. I feel his curiosity. He is wondering what it’s like to kiss me. His thumb traces my bottom lip and his eyes follow the path. When he looks at me again, I gasp. His eyes are a watercolor of pale blue churning darker. They are cobalt.
“Michael!” I whisper, and cup his cheek. “Your eyes are … getting darker!”
Rage flashes in Michael’s eyes and he jerks away, leaving me with an airless, empty feeling. He pushes to his knees, his body rigid, coiled for attack. I search his face, but he averts his eyes.
“What’s happening?” I demand. “Michael, please!”
He spins around and grabs my arms in a fit of rage. The slightest pressure and he could snap them like twigs. He yanks me to my knees, and I grimace in pain. His eyes are blazing cobalt and his face is a mask of fury.
“Who sent you?” he yells, and I stare in disbelief as his eyes churn into translucent marbles full of anger and energy. He shakes me when I don’t answer. “Tell me!”
“What?” I cry out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Fear claws at my insides. Michael is wild and frantic for something I can’t give. He could break me without a second thought, and I steel myself against his rage. He won’t hurt me. He is misunderstanding something. I am misunderstanding something!
I glare at him. “Michael, stop! What’s the matter? What’s happening?”
He shoves me aside and stands up, yelling down. “No more questions, Sophia! Stay away from me!”
I gape at the untamed rage in him. Rage born out of something beyond tonight. “What’s the matter with you?” I d
emand, struggling to my feet.
“I said stay away! Do you understand me?” he yells.
I am struck by a bizarre feeling that I am losing something I’m meant to have, and the unfairness lights me like a fuse. I stand toe to toe with him. Despite his obvious physical advantage, we are equal in anger and determination.
“You listen to me, Michael Patronus!” My finger is a weapon in his face. “I’ll stay away from you and you stay away from me!”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
Chapter 15
Michael
Michael was pacing and muttering and working to control the energy swelling up inside him. His eyes were iridescent and a faint cerulean light surrounded his entire body. He was emitting more power than he’d used on his last soul-saving mission, when he’d saved a ten-year-old boy from drowning.
That girl! He just left Sophia and couldn’t calm down.
Michael slammed a closet door, shattering it on its hinges. “Damnit!” He picked up a baseball bat and resumed pacing, hands choking the bat. He had already sent his brothers away, demanding time to think alone. Think? Ha, what a joke. He was trying to power down before they saw that his energy level was at DEFCON 1. If only he would sense the call and put his energy to work.
Why couldn’t he calm down? What was it about Sophia that triggered his temper, his desire to wring her pretty neck?
His hands clenched and snapped the bat in half. Okay, no more wood.
He tossed it aside and replayed the night, poring over everything Sophia did and said. Honestly, it was his reaction that bothered him the most, that second heartbeat whenever she was near, and the insane need—need!—to touch her. He slid a hand through his hair as though it could hold back the next thought, the truth he had suspected from the moment he first saw Sophia. She had awakened a human emotion that no guardian should ever possess, and it was strong enough to alter his physical composition, strong enough to change his eyes to an unnatural color.
Whenever Michael received the call for help, his spiritual energy accumulated instantaneously like a nitro charge. It helped propel him to the souls in jeopardy. The power literally sucked the color from his eyes, turning them translucent but allowing his vision to penetrate solids, liquids, and darkness. Never had his eyes reversed and grown darker. Never had he come close to kissing a human. Never had he even entertained the idea.