by K. Webster
“I hate people. There. You know me,” I smart off as I climb into the not-quite-hot spray of the shower.
He grumbles something in response, but I can’t hear him over the shower. Instead, I begin shampooing my hair. But then the curtain rips open and his black eyes skim my naked body before flashing up to meet my gaze.
“Meet me at my apartment in an hour. I’ll make breakfast.”
Damn him and his bossy ways.
“Fine. Now either get in or get out,” I snap.
After an exaggerated pause, he closes the curtain and gets out.
I ignore the disappointment.
I chew on my lip as I stand in front of his apartment with my hand poised to knock. Something keeps me from actually making the sound though. But when I hear Pedro’s door open, I rap on the door with urgency.
“You must be Lark,” a sultry voice purrs from behind me.
I spin around to see the beautiful woman from the night before. The woman who was riding Omar like a bull while Pedro watched. When I realize she came from his apartment without Omar in tow, I know she’s a ho.
“Yep,” I clip out.
I’m saved from her friendliness when the door swings open. Omar flashes me a smile, but once he sees the woman, his brown eyes darken.
Sorry, buddy. She slept with the disease fest across the hallway.
“Lovenia, have you met Lark?” he asks, his eyes still trained on her.
She slides her hand up my shoulder and swipes my still-damp hair out of the way. “We just met. Om—”
“Omar, can you go check on my bacon?” Al asks, interrupting her, and then gives them each a pointed look.
I turn to look at Lovenia once more, and understanding passes over her features. The way they all spoke without speaking pisses me right the fuck off. I would leave them to their little threesome, but the smell of bacon has already lured me in.
Al steps out into the threshold and takes my hand. “Come on, Twiggy.”
Twiggy?
Lovenia giggles and scoots past us into the apartment. Her tight, red dress hugs her luscious curves, which makes me jealous. I feel like a little girl compared to this woman. Why I care, I don’t know. But when Al’s dark eyes stay trained on mine and his warm hand squeezes mine, I feel a small victory.
“If you want me to keep this breakfast date of ours, I suggest you don’t call me that again,” I warn.
He chuckles and dips down to plant a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll call you Twiggy until you stop being a twig,” he smirks. “Now come inside and let me fatten you up.”
I sigh in frustration but let him lead me into the apartment. Omar has Lovenia pressed against the refrigerator and is kissing the hell out of her. She makes me sick. He seems like a nice enough guy—clearly doesn’t deserve someone who would sleep with Pedro. Pedro is the bottom-of-the-barrel pond scum.
That makes Lovenia a bottom feeder.
“Plates are in that cabinet next to the lovebirds,” Al tells me as he tends to the food on the stove.
I ignore the slurping of the couple that is every bit magazine-cover worthy and pull out four plates. After I set the plates next to the stove, Al turns it off and faces me.
“You look nice today, Lark.”
His simple compliment warms me, but I don’t let it show.
“Looks can be deceiving,” I wink.
He rolls his eyes and begins dishing up food. “Extra eggs for Twiggy.”
I snatch my plate and stalk over to the table. The lovebirds have broken apart and are playing grab-ass now while they fill their plates. Al moves around the kitchen as if he’d been born to be there. At seeing him as he effortlessly steps around the two horsing around and pours glasses of orange juice, something tugs at my heart.
He’s so content. Happy, even. I envy his ease at life. Some of us struggle to be normal enough to eat eggs.
When he saunters over carrying our juice, I grill him.
“So, what do you do for work? You act like following me is your job,” I mouth off. Then I shove a bite of eggs into my mouth.
His eyes widen, and a utensil that Omar drops clatters in the kitchen behind him. “I work—”
Lovenia finishes for him. “They work for the government. It’s classified, sweetie.”
I hate his woman. Al nods, but I don’t believe any of them. It’s all bullshit. The three of them are bizarre as hell.
“And I’m the Queen of Fucking England. It’s okay. I thought we were becoming friends, Just Al. Looks like we’re just acquaintances,” I tell him snootily before I shovel more eggs in.
“Oh, sweetie, I’d say by the way he watches you, he’d love to be more than just friends. I bet you fuck like an animal,” Lovenia says.
“That’s enough, Lovenia,” Al growls.
She has the sense to look embarrassed and innocently bats her eyelashes at him. “Just playing Cupid, Al.”
I scoff at her words. “Save your arrows, Cupid. I don’t fall in love. You’d have to have a heart left for that.”
Her brows fly to her hairline, but then she schools her features. “I’m making you two my special project. I would be willing to bet Al’s top-secret job on my ability that I’ll get that heart of yours beating again for that hunk over there. You can thank me later.”
“Lovenia,” Omar and Al warn in unison.
She smiles sweetly once again, but I am onto her game.
“Can you pass the salt please?” she asks me as if we didn’t just have the weirdest conversation.
I take a deep breath and pass it to her.
Who are these people and why are they suddenly in my life?
I CAN MAKE it two and a half more months.
The first couple of days were rough, but Lark and I have fallen into something that works for us. Each day, she comes over for breakfast. I take her out to lunch. And then, on nights she works, we have a walking dinner. Even though it’s been two weeks of this routine, she remains tightlipped about her past, but at least she hasn’t had any more breakdowns. She and Lovenia keep their claws bared when around each other, but thus far, no blood has been drawn.
“Mustard,” Lark barks, wrenching me from my thoughts.
I hold the plastic cup to her, and she dips her corn dog into the mustard as we walk. When she takes a big bite, I grin. It only took two weeks to put weight on Twiggy, but slowly, she began to fill out her clothes. Her slight frame became sexy and slightly curvaceous.
“Mustard,” she says again, never losing her stride.
We’ve become accustomed to our walking dinners, and I think she secretly looks forward to them. You wouldn’t think so with the annoyed sound that rushes from her as she hands me her now empty stick. But I know the truth and bite back my smile as I take it from her to drop it into the cup.
“Any big clients on the schedule for tonight?” I ask as we near the bar.
She shrugs her shoulders. “Gus didn’t have anything written down, which is really weird. I always work Sundays.”
I sense that something is off, so I escort her up the stairs and into the tattoo shop.
“Lark? I didn’t expect you in tonight,” Gus says in surprise upon seeing us.
She flicks her gaze to me in confusion. Fuck if I know what’s going on. I just shrug my shoulders.
“Gus, why wouldn’t I be in? I always work on Sundays,” she snaps.
“But it’s the eighteenth and you never show up,” he gulps as if his words will damage her.
Fuck.
The eighteenth.
His words do damage her and the gasp that escapes her is the indication that they do.
Her purse falls from her shoulder and hits the tile floor with a clatter. Shit—she’s going down. I drop the cup and slip my arms around her before she meets the same demise as her purse.
“How could I?” she murmurs with so much self-hate that I cringe.
“Lark,” I whisper into her hair.
“Get me out of here,” she hisses.
> Gus shakes his head and sends me a sympathetic look. He’s used to her unstable behavior.
“Can you walk?” I question before I release her from my grasp.
She nods, so I reluctantly let her go and pick her purse up off the floor. I expect her to go sit down, but instead, she turns on her heel and bolts out the door. With a groan, I trot after her. When I reach the landing at the bottom, I get a glimpse of her brown hair flowing wildly behind her as she slides through the door of the bar.
I push the door open and stalk after her, carrying her purse as if it holds a bomb. Several patrons toss amused looks my way, but I ignore them. She’s hopped up onto a barstool and already ordered a drink by the time I take the seat beside her.
“Care to explain the eighteenth?” I question.
The bartender lines up three shots of vodka in front of her. I steal one and toss it back before she can argue. She doesn’t need to get shitfaced. She needs to talk to me.
When she ignores my question, I think about what Pallas said when I went to see him on Wednesday.
“She’s unstable.” His cigar wiggles in his mouth as he says the words.
“Unstable doesn’t mean evil, Pallas.”
His eyes narrow, and for the first time ever, he removes the cigar. “Listen, son. She is a job. Her file dates back to when she was twelve years old and began visiting cemeteries for fun. She has a dark side—a side you haven’t clearly witnessed yet. Lark Miller is not your friend. Lark Miller cannot be saved. There is a destiny to be fulfilled. There is a pair of wings waiting with your name on them.”
I think about the permanent ones on my skin. The ones she gave me. The ones they’ll never be able to take away even when I retire years from now.
“I’ve been careful. I became her friend so that I could keep an eye on her at all times,” I assure him.
He grins and puts his beloved cigar back between his teeth. “You’ll make it to the end of your assignment and you’ll join the Seraph Guardians. I know you can do this, Alpha.”
The pride on his face is evident, and I realize that, besides Omega, Pallas is the closest thing to family I can remember. He’s like a father to me. I won’t let him down.
The problem is that I don’t want to let Lark down either. Something niggles in my brain and whispers, “Something isn’t right.” I can’t put a finger on it, but I’ll find out.
By the time I shake the memory away, she’s already ordered three more shots. I manage to steal one more before she finishes the other two.
“Asshole,” she groans but doesn’t do much else in lieu of arguing.
“Time to go, Twiggy,” I grumble.
Her face turns to regard me, and I see heartache. I also see that her bitchy walls are down and nothing but utter despair remains.
“I miss them. Both of them.”
Big, fat tears roll down her cheeks and she sniffles loudly. I haven’t slept in her bed again since that night she broke down, but tonight, I’m not leaving her side. I may not know what’s going on in that head of hers, but I can’t have her being reckless and hurting herself.
“Come on. I’m taking you home,” I tell her as I slide off the stool. “Climb on.” I turn my back to her and point at my shoulders.
I expect her to laugh at me.
I expect to be told to fuck off.
I don’t expect slender fingers to skim up my shoulders without hesitation.
“Don’t forget your purse,” I instruct.
She slips it on her arm while I bend over. Her arms wrap around my neck, and her legs hook my waist as I return to an upright position. When I turn toward the bartender to pay her tab, he just shakes his head. I nod my thanks and bounce out of the bar with the skinniest, most unusual woman I’ve ever met latched on my back.
As soon as we hit the warm Los Angeles night air, I adjust my grip on her legs so she doesn’t fall off. I’d be a fucking liar if I said I didn’t enjoy the way her lips and nose are pressed into the hair on the back of my head. Awareness skitters through every nerve ending as I realize her legs are spread deliciously around me. I don’t press her to talk but instead remain as her quiet companion the entire fifteen-minute walk back to our apartment building.
She attempts to ease herself off me when the apartment building comes into view, but I grip her tight. I’m not letting go of her until I have her naked in bed.
My dick hardens at the thought of touching her naked, and I force the thoughts from my head. Every now and again, images of her body creep into my head. Those luscious tits. Her cute, round ass. She’ll always be a temptation, but I won’t ever give in. A little over two months from now and I won’t be burdened with worrying about her.
You’ll miss her.
I push the door open and leave that thought outside. As I reach the stairs, I give her thighs a squeeze.
“Hold on, Twiggy, I’m taking you for a ride.”
She lets out a squeal of delight when I bounce her hard as I practically fly upstairs. Loud music is once again pounding behind Pedro’s door. Omega and Lovenia spend a good portion of their time over there when they aren’t fucking like animals in my apartment. He seems like he has it all under control, but I have a feeling Lovenia has something up her sleeve. Just yesterday, I warned him that she was there to rattle us and she was getting to him hardcore. He flipped me off and reminded me that Pedro was still alive. I told him that maybe they shouldn’t sleep together, and he said that he’ll fuck her until the day he earns his SG wings. I’m not sure what’ll happen after that.
When I finally set her down in front of her door, she fishes the keys out of her bag. Then she hands them to me and I unlock the door for her. The alcohol has taken a slight effect because she wobbles as she walks in. For Christmas, I’ll buy her a fucking helmet.
She makes a crooked beeline toward her bedroom and once inside, heads toward the closet. The box.
“Want me to get it down for you?” I question as I point to it.
Her head snaps to mine. “No. You can leave now, Al.”
And I slip. On purpose. “Alpha.”
Her eyes narrow at me. “What?”
“My name is Alpha.”
Plump lips pop open in surprise. Her lips are perfect.
“Alpha. What exactly does that mean? What kind of mother names her kid Alpha?” Her sadness is momentarily gone as she studies me.
“I don’t know my mother.”
More confusion. “Who are you, Al?”
“I could ask you the same thing, Lark.”
Her teeth bite her bottom lip—the bottom lip I’d love to be right about now. “Alpha? Seriously, that has to be the most god-awful name I’ve ever heard.”
I chuckle, but my eyes never leave her mouth. Stepping toward her, I say, “And Lark? That name’s pretty terrible as well, babe.”
Her green eyes flicker with amusement, and a small smile tugs at her lips. I’ll take it.
“My mom wanted Clark. I was supposed to be a boy. They dropped the ‘c’ and voila. Lark was born.”
I take another step and brush a long, brown strand out of her eyes. Those eyes should always be visible for my viewing.
“I’m glad you were born,” I tell her honestly.
Jade eyes sparkle at my words. “I’m glad this world has an Alpha. It would be a much hungrier world with him.” Another small smile.
Her smiles do something to me. When she smiles, joy fills every ounce of my being. This is exactly why I don’t want to ask her my next question. I hate the idea of breaking this moment, but I need to know.
“What’s up with the eighteenth, Twiggy?”
Her eyes dull before she looks down at her feet. Sliding a hand under her chin, I tilt her head up so I can see her.
“Tell me, woman.”
With a quiver of her lips, she shakes her head. She won’t tell me, but I can see the hurt written all over her face. Dipping my mouth to hers, I graze my lips across her perfect ones. A hint of mustard invades my senses. Su
ch a temptation.
I will kiss her. Kissing isn’t against the rules. I can still do my job after one kiss. She needs something to take the tears away. A small kiss will help that ache in her heart. This has nothing to do with me. I will keep her whole and alive for a little over two more months. Kissing her is a strategy.
I’ve convinced myself now.
Leaning in ever so slightly, I press my lips to hers. My tongue doesn’t enter her mouth and hers doesn’t breach mine. We simply connect with our lips. Her softness of her kiss is such a contrast of the jagged edges that are her. Flashes of her soul flood my mind. Dark. Then light. Dark again. And, finally, a ray of light. I see pain. Love. Hate. Hope. Fear. I see blue eyes and coffins. I see headstones and roses. I see positive pregnancy tests. I see blood. Dog tags. Tears. Oreos. Darkness. Light.
Once I wrench my lips away from hers, my eyes dart around as I realize the intensity of our kiss. She’s still every bit a mystery, but my soul has locked with hers in some way I don’t understand. I feel a fierce protectiveness over her that goes beyond a job.
She’s mine.
WHO IS THIS man? He breaks our kiss and regards me angrily. Like I bewitched him into kissing me. I didn’t ask for his delicious lips on mine. I didn’t ask for him to follow me around like a bad habit.
“Who are you, Lark Miller?” he questions again.
It would seem he wants to know about me as much as I’d like to know about him. The man who works for the “government” yet never works. The man who doesn’t have one imperfection on his body. The man who just showed up out of nowhere to suddenly look after me for no reason.
So show him.
I meet his stare, but I don’t answer him. After grabbing the hem of my T-shirt, I peel it from my body and reveal my bare tits. His eyes darken when they drop to my chest, but then he drags them back to mine.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m showing you my story.”
He nods and swallows a lump in his throat as I unbutton my jeans and push them down my thighs before standing in nothing but a red pair of panties. His gaze drink up every bit of me.