this afternoon. Barron wants to talk to her, clue her in gently as to the gravity of the situation.
Gage was reluctant to cover my shift once he learned where I was headed. It wasn’t so much the where as it was the with who . It’s as if he’s afraid to help me out. He thinks working the lanes at the bowling alley will somehow enable my relationship with her. I was hoping I had drilled home the fact Skyla and me are going to be together, that he should point his hard-on in another direction. Who the hell could have imagined that Gage and I would be after the same girl? Thank God Skyla isn’t confused over which one of us she wants to be with. It’s just too damn bad Gage is choosing to learn the hard way.
I give her hand a gentle squeeze as we walk past the cemetery into the long marbled halls of the mortuary. She smiles up at me, but there’s a nervousness about her. Just being here freaks her out. She’s already streamed a riot of protests in her mind, and I can’t say I blame her. Hanging out with a bunch dead bodies isn’t exactly high on my list of ways to kill an afternoon.
I put up the missile shield around my thoughts—only letting her in when I have to. No point in making her listen to my nonsensical and oft sexually charged musings.
We step into Barron’s office, bright and clean, the slight scent of vanilla warming the air.
“Skyla, this is my Uncle Barron, Gage’s dad.” Crap. I need to stop mentioning Gage in the event her affections decide to curve ball in his direction.
“Nice to meet you.” She takes up his hand, still holding mine with the other. He has a warm glow about him. He’s tall and shares the same stunning blue eyes as Gage.
Gage? Stunning blue eyes?
My stomach pinches at the thought of Skyla feeling anything for Gage—for noticing those freakishly blue eyes God gifted him with, as if the dimples alone weren’t enough to drop the ladies to their knees. It’s one thing for Gage to notice Skyla, but it’s another animal for Skyla to reciprocate. I shake the thought away. Gage does have stunning eyes. She was probably just making an observation.
Barron motions for us to follow him down the hall.
“Come into the kitchen.” He holds the door open and we head inside the palatial room filled with machinery and a series of stainless bathtubs that house the most recent dearly departed.
Skyla glances over at the covered body lying in state, and her face bleeds out all color.
“Chin up,” Barron barks. “Sorry”—he offers a brief smile—“I’m short on smelling salts.”
“No, it’s okay,” she whispers like it’s not.
I hand Barron the vial from my pocket.
“You have any other gifts?” he asks, observing the sanguine plasma in the light.
Skyla gazes into the vial and loses herself in the necrotic color, black as midnight with the hint of a crimson hue.
“Gifts?” Barron addresses Skyla once again, awaiting his answer.
Other than the mind reading, I tell her.
“Um, no. I don’t think so. Do you?” She looks at me confused by the conversation.
“A few.” Although, I’m not eager to share. Some of my gifts are rare and others are from another faction all together. I don’t think we’re ready to go there yet, maybe not ever.
“What you have, Skyla, is a ‘unique’ gift.” Barron gets right down to brass tacks. “It’s the trademark of a special faction of Nephilim known as Celestra.”
“Celestra.” She annunciates it slowly, and I memorize how she looks when she says it. Discovering who you are for the very first time is monumental. This is a paramount moment in her existence, and I’m not sure she fully grasps it—but I’ll be sure to cherish it. It was as if I’d heard her first word. It sounded sensual coming from her lips, sexual.
“Most Nephilim around these parts are Levatio,” Barron continues. “Once in a while, you roll the genetic dice and you get a win.”
“A win?” She looks amused.
“Celestra is the highest
Gage was reluctant to cover my shift once he learned where I was headed. It wasn’t so much the where as it was the with who . It’s as if he’s afraid to help me out. He thinks working the lanes at the bowling alley will somehow enable my relationship with her. I was hoping I had drilled home the fact Skyla and me are going to be together, that he should point his hard-on in another direction. Who the hell could have imagined that Gage and I would be after the same girl? Thank God Skyla isn’t confused over which one of us she wants to be with. It’s just too damn bad Gage is choosing to learn the hard way.
I give her hand a gentle squeeze as we walk past the cemetery into the long marbled halls of the mortuary. She smiles up at me, but there’s a nervousness about her. Just being here freaks her out. She’s already streamed a riot of protests in her mind, and I can’t say I blame her. Hanging out with a bunch dead bodies isn’t exactly high on my list of ways to kill an afternoon.
I put up the missile shield around my thoughts—only letting her in when I have to. No point in making her listen to my nonsensical and oft sexually charged musings.
We step into Barron’s office, bright and clean, the slight scent of vanilla warming the air.
“Skyla, this is my Uncle Barron, Gage’s dad.” Crap. I need to stop mentioning Gage in the event her affections decide to curve ball in his direction.
“Nice to meet you.” She takes up his hand, still holding mine with the other. He has a warm glow about him. He’s tall and shares the same stunning blue eyes as Gage.
Gage? Stunning blue eyes?
My stomach pinches at the thought of Skyla feeling anything for Gage—for noticing those freakishly blue eyes God gifted him with, as if the dimples alone weren’t enough to drop the ladies to their knees. It’s one thing for Gage to notice Skyla, but it’s another animal for Skyla to reciprocate. I shake the thought away. Gage does have stunning eyes. She was probably just making an observation.
Barron motions for us to follow him down the hall.
“Come into the kitchen.” He holds the door open and we head inside the palatial room filled with machinery and a series of stainless bathtubs that house the most recent dearly departed.
Skyla glances over at the covered body lying in state, and her face bleeds out all color.
“Chin up,” Barron barks. “Sorry”—he offers a brief smile—“I’m short on smelling salts.”
“No, it’s okay,” she whispers like it’s not.
I hand Barron the vial from my pocket.
“You have any other gifts?” he asks, observing the sanguine plasma in the light.
Skyla gazes into the vial and loses herself in the necrotic color, black as midnight with the hint of a crimson hue.
“Gifts?” Barron addresses Skyla once again, awaiting his answer.
Other than the mind reading, I tell her.
“Um, no. I don’t think so. Do you?” She looks at me confused by the conversation.
“A few.” Although, I’m not eager to share. Some of my gifts are rare and others are from another faction all together. I don’t think we’re ready to go there yet, maybe not ever.
“What you have, Skyla, is a ‘unique’ gift.” Barron gets right down to brass tacks. “It’s the trademark of a special faction of Nephilim known as Celestra.”
“Celestra.” She annunciates it slowly, and I memorize how she looks when she says it. Discovering who you are for the very first time is monumental. This is a paramount moment in her existence, and I’m not sure she fully grasps it—but I’ll be sure to cherish it. It was as if I’d heard her first word. It sounded sensual coming from her lips, sexual.
“Most Nephilim around these parts are Levatio,” Barron continues. “Once in a while, you roll the genetic dice and you get a win.”
“A win?” She looks amused.
“Celestra is the highest
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