Cooper slips his hand into mine, warm and strong.
My body whips forward into walking pace. Dazed, I try to focus on my surroundings, but my brain feels scrambled. Fat raindrops pelt the top of my royal blue parka. Slow, heavy awareness draws my attention to a device in my hand. I squint at its rain-dappled screen as moving pedestrians make snide remarks around me. I’m blocking the flow of traffic, but that doesn’t matter. Not when I’ve just received the greatest email of my life.
Dear Ms. Grace,
We would like to thank you for your interest in the intern program with The Greater Library System of New Malcolm. In regards to the position at our main branch, I am pleased to inform you that your application has been approved and passed to our committee for further consideration.
We will contact you again if we wish to pursue an interview.
Yours Sincerely,
Magdala Lanston
Human Resources Manager
Buzzing lightness fills me up, makes me float, untethered within myself like a balloon on a string. The culmination of four hard years of work in undergrad were wrapped up in the validity of this moment. I had Checkmate and protecting New Malcolm, but this was different. This was just for me.
“Can you spare some change?”
Time seems to cease around me at the sound of that voice, air frozen in my lungs as an icicle of recognition drips down my spine. Ten feet in front of me, a man sits quietly out of the way for traffic, eyes glistening from body to body as if any one of them could have been a dying man’s buoy out at sea. The years had not been kind to his haggard face, but his voice was just the same as I remembered it.
Always the same, even in my nightmares.
Let me out!My scream stays trapped between my lips.Please!
“Miss, can you spare some change?”
Our eyes meet. His are watery and bloodshot, lined with bruise-like crescents under each bottom lash. A beard of matted hair decorates his chin. Smells of sweat and street cloud around him, and beneath it the sweet, acidic scent of alcohol. One look and a hundred memories pass in my mind—days spent fishing, nights hearing his voice raised against my mother’s in a stuporous rage. Watching him comb his thick, dark hair into a perfect coif before a night out.
“Dad?” It falls in a tremble from my lips.
NO.
My visions goes blank under a sudden assault. Unseen hands tear at my insides with supernatural strength. A shriek tears through my throat.
It isn’t gentle, this wakening.
I come back into myself all at once, the adrenaline I missed before taking vengeance for the lost time on my system now. My temples pound as blood and oxygen course through my system at triple their usual speed.
Strong hands wrap around my arms, palms brushing up and down in warm, soothing lines. “It’s okay. You’re having a panic attack, but you’re safe. You’re here with me, Kaye. Focus on me. Listen to the sound of my voice.”
Even without the hypnotic lure of his powers, Charade’s voice cuts through the haze, grounding me. My enemy. My savior.
Gentle fingers tip my chin, but I can’t bring myself to open my eyes. Not with the memory of those fingers grasping my throat, cold rage spilling from his electrifying eyes. I can’t bear to see it again.
“Look at me, Kaye.”
A shudder runs through my body. It doesn’t feel like this chill will ever stop. My eyelids press tighter together, doing nothing to stop the tears from spilling out. The wet trails they track aren’t new. I don’t even know when they began.
Strong arms fold me in, band me to his chest with his constant, beating warmth. Our breathing syncs, the rhythm of Charade’s heart steadying my own. I need to pull away, but no one has ever held me like this before. The inky black of his suit presses against my cheek. There are threads of silver woven throughout, glittering like secret starlight.
“I’m not going to hurt you. You surprised me.” His breath puffs against my hair, tickling the loose strands. “It’s a little unnerving to wake up with your mortal enemy looming over you, especially after the dream I had.”
“It wasn’t a dream.” My vocal cords are raw, voice haggard as it catches in my throat.
My fingers still clutch the journal, the edge of the leather cover biting into my palm. I wedge it to his chest between us, using it to leverage space that I’m not sure I want, but desperately need.
“I see.” One of his hands covers my own, holding us both in place as the fingers of his free hand tip my chin again. This time my eyes meet his.
