Chapter 8
SUMMER
From the bathtub, the growls and snarls of monsters outside have faded. Something heavy lands on the roof, and I hold my throbbing hand to my chest. I curl my knees to my chest, ducking my head. My entire body trembles as I rock back and forth. “They can’t get in. They can’t get in. They can’t get in.”
Around the edges of the closed bathroom door, and the outline of the curtains covering the single window in here, a brilliant bronze light glows. I squint as it gets brighter. The light flashes with an accompanying roar, and I have to close my eyes. I can still see the bronze light behind my eyelids.
I recognize this light. But it can’t be. I must be mistaken.
I can feel the light filling every available space. It’s warm. I wince as it gets impossibly brighter, and I’m afraid I’ll be blinded even with my eyes closed and my face hidden.
Curiosity mingles with my terror. No one survives the light of an angel. I’ve seen it once, on a video shot on a phone. The clip only lasted seven seconds. It was a view of a city at night from high up, like the person was looking out of a window from the top story of a building. A figure hovered in the distance, wings spread wide, then a flash of silver light exploded on the horizon. A second later, the video went dark.
An angel’s holy light.
This light isn’t silver. It’s bronze. But it’s the same. So intense, it’s not hard to imagine it purifying the entire world. I want to see. What does an angel look like up close? Are they as beautiful as the rumors suggest? The power of the light surrounding me feels … hot, tingly, comforting somehow. Like the sting of sunlight but more intense.
Much more intense.
Eventually, the light beyond my closed eyes dims slightly, but the air around me hums with residual power. I’m afraid. Okay, I’m terrified, but … I … I want to see. Just a quick look. The angel probably isn’t even still there.
As if to prove my thoughts wrong, faint thuds come from the ceiling, like someone or something is walking on the terrace. My heart rate speeds up. Is it up there?
Being careful of my hand, I climb out of the tub. The soft bronze light shimmers like pixie dust around me as it dims. Walking on the balls of my feet, I make my way through the bedroom, into the hall, and quietly tiptoe up the stairs to the terrace. I pause at the door, my fingers trembling slightly as they hover over the handle. I strain to hear if there’s still movement out there, but it’s quiet.
It’s like a scene from a horror movie as I wrap my hand around the knob and open the door just a crack. I shouldn’t be doing this. This is really, really stupid. But I want to know. I want to see. I press my face to the narrow opening, and …
Holy shit. There’s an angel on my roof. His back is facing me. He’s … beautiful. And somehow familiar. And naked, though most of him is concealed by his bronze wings. They drape behind him, the black tips trailing on the floor. His dark hair ruffles in the breeze, a delicate bronze crown circling his head.
I push the door open another few inches, needing to see more, needing to get closer.
The angel spreads his wings, his black hair fluttering in the gust created by the movement. He bends his knees, and I almost call out. With impossible speed, he launches into the air. I stand on my roof, gaping open-mouthed at the starry sky as he disappears.
Damn.
I search the sky for a full minute before I realize what I’ve done. I’m standing outside in nothing but my oversized sleep shirt with the sloth on the front … and The Divide is down.
I sprint to the door, fumbling the handle twice before I wrench it open. Safely on the other side, I press my back to the door, breathing hard. What the fuck was I thinking? Well, I wasn’t thinking, obviously. It’s like I was pulled onto the roof by … something.
Back in bed, I toss and turn, my mind deliciously combining bookshop man and the angel from the roof. Fantasies parade through my imagination until I’m grinding against my vibrator, desperate mewls slipping from my lips as I come once, then twice.
I wish I knew bookstore man’s name so I could shout it to the ceiling the next time. I curl my hurt hand, gently running my middle finger along the jagged seam of my cut. It stings slightly, but I don’t stop. My mind wanders as I stroke my hand, staring at nothing until my eyes drift closed.
I’ve almost succeeded in shaking off the crazy monster attack from last night. Toweling off my hair from my shower after my workout, I glare at the bedroom window. I could have sworn I heard it crack last night. I tilt my head, tapping my nail to the glass. Nothing. I guess it could have just sounded like it cracked.
Still …
I hold up my hand, staring at my palm for what must be the thousandth time. This morning when I rolled out of bed, I hadn’t noticed the absence of pain until I grabbed my water bottle. When I looked at my skin, there was nothing but a thin white line. The cut had healed overnight.
But how?
Once again, I press my fingers to where the cut was, recalling how deep it was, how painful. But now, there’s nothing. In fact, the scar is even more faint than it was earlier this morning. Flexing my fingers wide, I stare amazed. This is so weird.
I shake my head, tying my bikini. Sliding on my terry shorts and a tank top with a sloth doing the upward dog pose, I grab my phone. Before I head to the roof to get my tan on—the roof where I saw an angel—I need to take pictures of the shattered window downstairs to send to the landlord.
On the way downstairs, I check my email. Still nothing from Max. I pause at the bottom of the stairs, setting a three minute alarm. I won’t allow myself to get sucked in. Three minutes. Not a second more.
Opening my first social media app, I skim through the ridiculous number of notifications. Happily, most are likes and comments that basically tell me to enjoy my break and to take care of myself. I scroll to make sure I haven’t been tagged in anything important from sponsors, then move on to my next account. I’m half-way through those notifications when my alarm goes off. I’m tempted to finish checking, but I close the app and walk into the little library/office at the front of the house.
“Seriously, what the hell is going on?”
Both windows are fine. I speed walk down the hall, checking every window on the first floor. Nothing. I go back to the office and tap on the widows, then rub my hand—my completely healed hand—over the glass.
Am I still asleep? Is this all a dream? What the fuck is going on this morning?
Swinging open the front door, I jog down the steps. Branches scrape my legs as I push through the bushes that line the front of the townhouse. I bend over and pick up a piece of broken glass, muttering to myself. “I knew I wasn’t crazy.” Looking up, I glare at the perfectly fine window, my middle finger worrying at my healed palm. “Or maybe I am.”
“Summer!”
I nearly jump out of my skin as Mira calls out. Working myself free of the bushes, I turn. Mira jogs across the street, and I admit, it’s strange not seeing Paine glued to her side. Though I’m sure he’s lurking in their house peering at us through the curtains or something. I’d feel uneasy at his possessiveness over her if the two weren’t so obviously in love. They are one of those couples that just work, they click, like they were meant to be.
I meet Mira on the sidewalk, and she grips my upper arm, leaning in. “Are you okay? You must be freaked out after last night.”
I subtly drop the little piece of glass before stuffing my hands in my pockets. For a second, I consider telling her about the windows and my hand, but I just shrug. “It was a little scary.” Okay, it was terrifying. “But monsters are part of life. Thank god for the blood-carvings, right?” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her I saw an angel, but again, I keep it to myself.
She gives me a little squeeze before dropping her hand. “You sure you’re okay? Paine and I are going for coffee if you want to come with us.”
“Tempting.” I point to the rooftop terrace with a smile. “But I have a date with a lounge chair and a good book.”
“That sounds heavenly.”
“You can join me if you want.”
She shakes her head. “Nah. You enjoy your me-time, but maybe we can do a girls day on the terrace next weekend?”
“Perfect.”
She walks off with a wave, and I go inside, ignoring the glaringly not-broken window.
Hours later, my skin is wonderfully warm, sweat beading and gathering in my navel. Even though the sun is setting, it’s still hot out, and I want to soak up every bit of warmth I can. I’ve been up here all day with only short breaks to pee, replenish my drink, and grab snacks. And I’ve managed to only think about bookstore man a dozen times or so.
I sigh, sliding my finger under the string of my bikini bottoms, shifting the fabric to the side. A pale line marks across my skin, showing off my tan. Would bookstore man like my tan lines? Would he lick along that line at my hip?
Damn it. Stop it, Summer.
I pick up my glass, the surface slippery with condensation. I switched from water to margaritas an hour ago, and when I bring the rim to my lips, I find the chili salt gone and the glass empty except for the two slices of jalape?o. I like my margaritas spicy. Was this my third? Fourth?
Doesn’t matter. I’m on vacation. Time for a refill.
I smile, swinging my legs over the lounger, flexing my toes against the warm wood floor. Scooping up my towel, slightly damp with my sweat, I head inside and down to the kitchen, my head swimming with a slight buzz.
Okay, I might be drunk.
Opening my favorite playlist, I shimmy and dance as K-pop blares through the house. I grab the big bag of chips and the container of salsa, setting both to the side. The blast of cold air from the fridge sends goosebumps over my skin as I collect the ingredients for my drink. I open every drawer, and hunt behind bottles. Looking at the four limes sitting on the counter, I frown.
“That isn’t nearly enough.”
I glance at the clock. There are still a few hours until The Divide falls, and there’s that little Asian market a few blocks away. Plenty of time. I climb the stairs to the beat of the music, twirling into the bedroom. I pull on my sloth tank top, then hop around as I miss the right leg of my cut-off jean shorts twice. I hit the bed with a giggle, finally getting my shorts on. Jogging back downstairs, I slide my flip-flops on. With my bag slung across my body, I pop my earbuds in and grab my keys as I head out.
The sky is a beautiful canvas of purples and pinks and oranges with the fiery tip of the sun kissing the horizon. My music drowns out everything around me, filling me with happy beats. A woman walks by, head bowed, attention glued to her phone. A long leash trails behind her, a medium-size dog trotting along. His grey and white shaggy fur sways with each of his steps, his tail wagging like a flag. The dog looks up at me, his tongue lolling out in a cute doggy smile. He stops, and so do I. The woman doesn’t look up from her phone as she pauses, assuming the dog is peeing or something. She’s not paying attention. She stopped because the dog stopped. I have the urge to say something. It’s such a beautiful evening, and she’s out with the goodest boy, but she’s glued to her phone … like I used to be all the time.
I keep my mouth closed. Instead, I turn my music down as I crouch, only wobbling a little as I hold my hand out. The dog sniffs me, then gives me a little lick. I scratch his head, and he wags his tail faster. I smile as he leans into my scratches. I’ve always wanted a dog.
The woman finally looks over, and she tugs on the leash. “Oh, I’m sorry. Come on, Silks.”
The dog trots to its owner, and I’m about to tell her it was okay, that I love dogs, but her attention is already back on her phone as she walks away, Silks in tow.
My bottom lip pouts out as I watch them leave, but I shake it off. Any day that I get to pet a dog is a good day. With a smile back on my face, I stand, holding my arms out to steady myself from the spinning in my head. I’m all floaty from the tequila. With a smile, I turn and smack into someone.
Damn it! Why do I keep running into people?
A deep masculine chuckle has me backpedaling, and I trip over my flip-flops. A large hand wraps around my bicep, steadying me before I fall on my ass. My gaze travels up a muscled torso wrapped in a form-fitting button up short-sleeve shirt. The top three buttons are undone to reveal mouth-watering bronzed skin. His throat bobs as he swallows, and my eyes continue their upward perusal over a smooth jaw, pink lips quirked in a smile that fills his cheeks. Startling silver eyes meet mine, his shock of black hair sweeping over his forehead.
Bookstore man!
My body heats, and I blame the hours in the sun and the alcohol swirling in my system, but I know a good portion of the pulsing warmth curling through me is due to the yummy snack standing before me.
In a daze, I slide my earbuds out and tuck them into my pocket. I blink up at him, and his smile stretches into a grin as he says, “If we keep running into each other like this, I’m going to think it’s fate.”
I blush, fighting the urge to fidget under his gaze. He’s here, right in front of me. The man I’ve been imagining in my bed as I get myself off over and over and over … He’s here.
I know I’m staring, but I can’t seem to stop. He’s even more beautiful than I remember.