Read Online Twenty-Four Hours by Sherrie Henry - Free Book Online Page B

hugged herself, trying to fool her body that someone actually was touching her, soothing her. After an hour, the tears wore her out and she fell into a fitful sleep, trying to imagine someone comforting her.
     
    … And the Elders heard her prayer and looked upon her lives, then directed the Guardians to choose one of their own …
     
    The buzzing of the doorbell woke her from a deep sleep. She groaned as she glanced at the clock on her way to stop whoever was trying to play Mozart’s Fifth on the doorbell. It was 6 a.m., as in the morning, on a fucking Saturday morning. After the night she had, the dried tears on her face, she had most certainly planned on sleeping until noon, if not the next few years.
    "Who the hell could it be at this fucking hour?" She grumbled, wanting to give whoever it was a piece of her mind as she trudged to the front door. She peered through the peephole to find the most handsome man she'd ever seen standing on the other side. Her breath hitched at the sight of him.
    This sculpted god was dressed impeccably; neat blue jeans, a skin-tight black t-shirt outlining all the right bulges and a black leather jacket slung over his shoulder. He was at least six foot two, very well built with dark hair and perfectly-styled hair, nothing out of place. His eyes were bright blue and his slight, crooked smile nearly melted her into a puddle. His skin positively glowed, like the permanent tan models had, but this didn’t look fake. He looked like he was right out of a GQ photo shoot. Looking like what she imagined Tracie’s fiancé looked like. The perfect specimen of a male who needs the perfect size two blond bimbo specimen of a female on his arm.
    She knew, just by looking at him, he had to be lost. No man like that would ever knock on her door on purpose. No man like that would ever want anything from her. Or maybe he was a delivery guy, although with those looks, she didn’t think he’d need to stoop to deliveries to make a living. Whatever the case, she looked down at herself; while she was decent, a pair of sweats with holes in the knees and a t-shirt plucked from a dozen ratty pajama tees, she knew she probably looked frightful after a night of crying. She shook her head … what difference did it make? The guy was probably lost, she’d give him directions and he'd forget about his encounter with this disheveled nobody in seconds. She opened the door. "Can I help you?"
    "I think that is the other way around. Michaelia?"
    "Ye … Yes."
    "Your prayer was heard."
    "Huh? What?” She shook her head. “I don't understand."
    "May I come in? I'll explain. I promise, I'm a good guy." He beamed a smile at her that would have melted the polar ice caps.
    Michaelia blinked a few times, trying to make sense of this perfect idol of a man asking to come in to her apartment. She just knew that he wasn't going to hurt her, how, she didn’t know, but she wasn’t going to let her guard completely down. She allowed him into the cramped foyer, crossing her arms in front of her. “So, what do you want?”
    The god in human form looked around the room, taking in the brightly colored rugs, the immaculate tasteful furniture, simple TV and stereo. "My name is Michael; I'm a Guardian of sorts. We look after those souls that have asked for help from the Elders. I’ve been sent to help you Michaelia. To give you what you wished for.”
    Michaelia snorted. “You’ve got the wrong Sarah Connor.” Michael’s expression told her that he wasn’t exactly up on pop culture references. “Okay, I don’t know what you’re on, but maybe you need to take your fairy tales and go.” Her mind berated her left and right, screaming at her to get this lunatic out of her apartment before something bad happened. She went to open the door to show him out, brushing against him slightly as she did so. That lightest of touch, that scant skin-to-skin contact and her doubts vanished. She leaned back away from the door and stared up at