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White-blond hair.
Square jaw.
He turned, and our stares collided. Those electric-blue eyes were a bolt of lightning through my entire body.
I stood there completely blown away. Electrocuted from the inside out.
Nothing else existed in those seconds as I found what I unintentionally—what I triednotto—looked for but never found.
He was here.
Right in front of me.
I could touch him. Taste him.Never let him go again.
I jolted. No. No. No.
This was not at all what I wanted. What the hell was he doing here?Why does he still make me feel this way?
My angel.
As literally nothing else existed in that second except for me, him, and the uneven pounding of my heart, I reminded myself probably for the one-millionth time…
Lucifer was an angel once too.
8
Lars
“How could you?”He fumed. I’d never seen him so mad before. I wasn’t even sure he was capable.
No. I knew. I saw the steel edge inside him. He’d revealed it the day he met Oskar and scared him away. I liked it then.
I did not like it now. Now that his dark ire was pointed at me.
“News flash. This isn’t about you!” I flung back at him. His anger might make me uncomfortable, nervous even, but I wouldn’t back down. I would never back down again.
“The fuck it isn’t!” he growled. Win never yelled. He didn’t have to. His voice dropped, turned even. It was far more menacing than the violence a yell embodied.
Yet I wasn’t afraid.
If I wasn’t so incensed, I would likely be awestruck.
I was always afraid.Always. And this new form of anger should have sent me into a tailspin. Into a panic-induced attack that had me reaching for the bottle in my nightstand.
I didn’t need a pill right now. I didn’t need to run either.
“It became about me when I saw you fall to the floor gasping like someone ripped the lungs from your body as you swelled and welted up like some kind of zombie in a horror flick.”As he spoke, he pointed accusingly at the place in the kitchen where I’d collapsed.
The memories around it were hazy. I mean I’d been busy at the time.
I was sorry for that, though. It was something that seemed even worse than almost dying. Prickles and moments of awareness blew through the haze of him leaning over me. Of my head being clutched in his lap. His hoarse pleas. His shouts. Lips on my hairline.
Oh, I’d had to have been dead for that not to get through.
How gentle his lips were. How he brushed the hair away so he could make full contact with his lips. How his uneven breathing pattered against my skin when he pressed his mouth against my forehead.
“I didn’t ask for your help!” I spat.
