Read Online Splintered Energy (The Colors Book 1) by Arlene Webb - Free Book Online

mimicked her shrug, dropped his chin, and closed himself off in the car.
    New York State approached, and he tried to regain his serenity in the music. The sunlight sparkled off the shades covering his barely opened eyes, creating a constant nausea in harmony with his brooding. That woman had wanted something from him. Clarification would enable him to survive without harming, or most important, having his personal space evaded.
    A rush of despair compounded his worry as he acknowledged his chronophobia. The hourglass ticked in his thoughts, an uncontrollable obsession. If he took too long understanding the means of escape from this confusing plane of existence, he’d fail. So, he’d left the computer and reacted to inconclusive data by hopping in a car? No. He’d made the correct move. If the woman in the morgue had a connection to him, her future autopsy made it certain he’d never see the pure light of his past again.
    In this moment, he’d best forget the female he ran from and the one he headed toward, before his head exploded. Time for a concrete distraction involving speculative fantasy. He needed a force field to block rays in his imaginary super-car capable of instant velocity regardless of space curvature. Windows must be down, simple tinted glass ruled out…

Chapter Six
     
     
    Demon had been trapped, wherever he was, for what seemed a very long time. The irritating light had disappeared. Darkness and the soft breeze demanded activity. He bounded up from under the tree and headed toward the glimmering in the east. He’d take more answers from the first thing that confronted him—such as the pretty, yet deadly threat looming in his path.
    He crept closer and closer to the metal with the octagon shaped STOP image. Not a circle, it had eight equal sides and acted important perched on top of a thin pole. Arms crossed, he stood under it.
    Nothing.
    A long two seconds passed. He couldn’t wait forever. He reached his littlest finger to brush the lowest section of the dead-white S—he jerked back. He, Demon, remained wherever he was!
    A careful pat on the beautiful-red caused the metal to splinter, cracking into the dead-white, and he understood another constant. Death was powerless. STOP, Jaylynn’s arm, the ugly little thing, the orange-clad one, everything broke with ease. Demon was very strong in this bewildering existence.
    Air snorted from his nose, he uncrossed his arms and let the night currents flow round him. Charged with power, his energy escalated into an explosion of movement under the impotent image. He danced in place, a riotous delight of strength.
    He wished he held Jaylynn. Even a mean cruel demon from hell could learn to be careful with the fragile ones afraid to die—if they didn’t yell at Invincible forever.
     
    * * *
     
    The man put his beer in the cup holder, eased his foot off the gas, and squinted in the streetlight. A barefoot guy with long red hair pranced under the stop sign. He appeared sunburnt all over his shirtless chest and face. Athletic looking, but scrawny. Faggot ballerina. This was a politically red state. So what if the freak matched? Shoulda stayed in a goddamn blue state.
    He lowered the wailing country music, slammed on his brakes, and yelled through the open window, “Go back to San Fran, ya fag.”
    His laugh died on his lips. The red man strode faster than he’d ever seen anyone move in his life, and the passenger door opened. Jesus . Almost ripped off the hinges? The freak jumped in while he scrambled to yank his rifle from behind the seat. If the door to his truck had been broken, this was one dead son of a bitch.
    “Demon don’t know fag. Teach San Fran.”
    Up close, the guy’s skin looked unnatural. Not Indian, not burned, and in no way normal. The man lit-up and radiated energy. Warm, almost hot blasts of air sparkled blood red around him. Wearing cracked sunglasses at night to hide being high on somethin’ other than alcohol? What type of queer