“Since you have no problem serenading me, then surely you wouldn’t mind talking now,” he says to greet me.
Hell no!
I finally remember to check the front pocket for my keys, and by sheer luck, they’re in there. I yank them out, hurrying to unlock my car door—but my hands are shaking so fucking badly that I fumble them and they fall to the ground with a loud metallic clatter. My chest tightens, terror ripping into me.
I snatch my keys up as quickly as I can, and in the process, I realizewith terrifying clarity that I’m the stupidest woman alive. By parking in the goddamn corner, my driver’s side door is right next to a wall.
I’ve trapped myself in a corner.
The man glances over his shoulder, seeming to make sure we’re alone, before blocking my path. Every clouded instinct I havescreamsat me, all at once, leaving me with no logical solutions. How do I get out of here? Should I try to get in my car, or barrel roll over the hood to run away?
Taking one step closer to me, he reaches out a hand. “Kae?—”
“GET AWAY FROM ME!”
He pauses, and for a split second, I think my screaming might have stopped him, but then it gets even worse.
He starts unbuttoning his shirt.
The horrifying implications come crashing down on me like a tidal wave, and suddenly, I’m no longer treading water.I am drowning.
All that separates us is two short steps. There are no cameras, no witnesses, nobody running to my rescue. This is it. He’s going to rape me.
Then, by some miracle, I get a single clear idea: Pepper spray! I have pepper spray! That could buy me enough time to get away. It has to.
My trembling fingers dive into my bag again. I rip out my spare pair of scrubs, throw them on the ground, and frantically dig around the remaining contents. I just need a few more seconds. “STAY BACK!”
Daring to glance down into my bag, I see the vague outline of the bottle. My shaking hand latches around it, jerking it out as my life depends on it. I aim, and?—
And—
My body goes completely still.
There, hanging on the back of the man in front of me, are massive, white-and-gold wings.
Angel wings.
3
Istare in sheer disbelief, pepper spray still armed, while my mind struggles to process the impossible sight before me.
A few seconds of pure, unadulterated silence pass by.
“Look,” he finally sighs. “I’m sorry to scare you, but I need you to take me seriously. Sure, I could have tried to get to know you andthenshown you the proof, but this is significantly quicker.” He outstretches his wings, giving them a gentle rise-and-fall motion. As if to signify that they are, in fact, real. “Now, can I put these away? Somebody else might see, which is not what we want.”
I close my gaping mouth, slowly lowering my weapon. “No…”
“Well, I reallyneedto. If we go somewhere more private, I don’t mind popping them out again—” He startles as I take a bold step forward. “What are you doing?”
“You’re not real.” I reach out to touch the wing, convinced it won’t be there, that I’ll phase right through the image like it’s made of mist.
But I feel the softness against my fingertips.
What the fuck is going on.
“Yes, actually, I am. And it tickles when you stroke it lightly like that. Here, just take a feather if it’s quicker.” Casually, he plucks one from his wing and holds it out to me, as if this is a completely normal thing. After a moment’s hesitation, and still very much in a daze, I take it.
It’s about a foot long, heftier than expected, and softer than anything I’ve felt in my entire life. I run my fingers along the edge, tracing the transition from pristine white to sparkling gold.
