Serenity
It was too bright.
Always too bright.
Iâd been in that glaring room for two days, and each day a different immortal being too beautiful for words had waited on me hand and foot.
The angel, Cassius, had a body of stone and feathers that felt like velvet when touched.
I imagined it wasnât exactly normal to randomly touch an angelâs feathers, but theyâd whispered when theyâd seen me, as if they held secrets, as if that was their purpose, and I could have sworn the minute my fingers came into contact with them, they sighed with pleasure, shuddering beneath my touch.
Then again, Iâd been attacked by a rabid wolf, so it could have been blood loss.
Blood.
I shivered as my body convulsed again in bed.
Blood. It consumed my thoughts. Made my body burn.
And then, the man with the deep brown eyes and shaggy brown hair had licked me.
Iâd reached for his head to push him away but had only seemed to encourage him more as Iâd dug my fingers against his scalp.
And felt an energy so electric between us I wondered if I would be able to pull my hand away without dying.
Heâd never visited my room alone.
The man with the haunting brown eyes.
The vampire had come after the angel; heâd looked like he couldnât quite figure me out. ~Get in line, buddy.~
The siren always stayed as far away as possible; I didnât blame him.
Iâd seen the aloe veraâs reaction near my bedpost; the poor plant had nearly crashed to the ground in effort to lean toward the sirenâs smile.
I really didnât blame the plant.
He was pretty, in an inexplicable way; if you looked at each individual attribute, he was almost too pretty.
But put them together, and suddenly you wondered if it was possible to keep yourself from blinkingâbecause those seconds were seconds you had to take your eyes off perfection, and it seemed unfair, so ridiculously unfair.
The sound of heavy footsteps filled the room. I moved into a sitting position, fully expecting the angel to come crashing in.
The doorknob twisted.
And my breath hitched as the shaggy brown-haired man took one booted step into the guest room.
Completely shirtless.
In low-slung jeans with more holes than fabric.
And flip-flops that had seen better days.
His wild brown hair fell just past his chin. Pieces of dark brown and orange intertwined around larger pieces of chocolate brown.
He looked like a fall drink at Starbucks.
Hot. Comforting. Yet dangerous if spilled or sipped too soon.
He was a tall dark order of pumpkin spice.
I licked my lips and forced my eyes away from his face as he slowly made his way toward the bed.
My heart picked up speed, as if it were trying to warn me we were in danger.
But the only danger I saw was embarrassment. Iâd been badly attacked.
I had bruises all over my body.
And even though the bleeding had stopped a day ago, I had bites that would scar.
And I had absolutely no recollection of why Iâd been walking by myself down that abandoned road in the first place.
Except that heâd been crying.
Again.
And Iâd needed to find him.
I had the same nightmare every year.
And every year I searched for the source of the tears.
By stupidly walking in the dark wherever my heart led me.