“My father?” she whispered.
“Jack Chase would’ve been a remarkable warrior if Asa hadn’t stuck his claws into him. You have dominant angel blood in your veins.” He lowered to the lawn, crisscrossing his legs. “My Father has, and is, bequeathing you with inexplicable gifts.”
Experiencing his divine scrutiny, Jordan buried her face in her hands. Angel blood. The turning tables of the doomed prophecy, and the reason why she could do the things she did. She dropped her hands to her lap, and again, perceived raining moonbeams striking Markus’s face.
“So, does this change anything?”
“Not really.”
“Not really?” She continued to dig the toe of her sneaker into the dirt. “Are you leaving me then?”
Their eyes locked.
“No.”
“No?”
Markus ascended to his feet and offered Jordan his hand. She stared at his strong fingers, then without wavering, united her hand into his—feeling the flawless rightness of the fit.
Stimulated beyond her wildest dreams, she rose up to meet him.
Gazing into each other’s eyes, Markus said, “We have future expectations to fulfill.”
Wickedly They Dream Page 26