A Crown Of Fire And Wrath (The Shadow Walkers Saga #5) - Sloane Murphy Page 0,76
today. It was exactly what I needed.” I hug him tightly, because while he might suspect, he’ll never truly know just how much I needed to see her today. I watch on quietly while Olivia and Astrid say goodbye to Everly one last time, trying not to lose the very thin hold I have on any sense of calm. Levi walks them out and Everly comes and hugs me one last time.
“I am always here for you, sweetheart. Always,” she whispers before letting me go, and as her and Michael leave the manor, I don’t try to stop the tears that fall down my face.
Chapter Eighteen
It’s officially the new year. We didn’t do anything special, though you better believe I made them all stay up to watch the ball drop. Usually, I’d make resolutions around now, but this year, I’m not going to. We still have so much unresolved around us that it doesn’t seem right to set even more expectations of the year. Fuck knows we’ve got enough to juggle for now.
It’s been nearly a week since Michael and Everly left, and despite his promise for answers, I’ve not heard a thing from him. I’m very aware that I technically could go to Avalon, but I’m also aware that that isn’t really a viable option considering what happened last time I was there. I’d really rather not get into an argument with the Archangel council and spark up with shadow fire.
Nope.
Not in any lifetime.
I’ve been feared and hated enough as it is, thank you very much.
That doesn’t stop me sitting out here on the dewy ground, staring up the sky, like something out of a cliché movie, waiting not so patiently for Michael to make a fucking appearance. Really, I’m doing yoga, because even an angel needs to stay supple and bendy, but still.
“How are you not frozen?” Creek’s voice startles me, but I finish my stretch before sitting up properly to smile at him.
“I don’t really feel it anymore,” I tell him with a shrug. “Angel wins.” He eyes me sitting on the ground in the yoga pants, sports bra, and thin jacket.
“Maybe you don’t feel it, but it can’t be great for you. Come inside and get some breakfast, I just made a fresh pot of coffee.”
“Yay coffee.” I jump to my feet and hug him. “Good morning.”
His eyes smolder at me before he presses his lips against mine and steals my breath away. I feel every inch of him pressed against me and run my hands under the hem of his t-shirt, against the hard lines of him. He pulls back and leans his forehead against mine.
“Your fingers are fucking freezing,” he says with a soft laugh.
“I guess you had better warm me up then, hadn’t you?” I tease, curling my fingers around the top of his jeans. He groans as he pulls my hands from the band of his boxers and holds them inside of his.
“Remy, you’ve been going through a lot, are you sure you’re ready?” he asks, watching me closely. He’s always been considerate, a gentleman to fault until I get under his skin enough.
“I’m not made of glass,” I tell him, pulling back a little.
“I know that, Remy, but you also nearly died, found out one of the most traumatic things of your entire lifetime, and I don’t want to rush you into anything.” I take a deep breath at his words. He’s not wrong, but I miss him. Damn him and his moral compass.
“Fine,” I huff. “Let’s just get some coffee.” I follow him inside the house, trying not to feel rejected, even though his rebuttal stings a little, I know he means well. Doesn’t stop my frustration being very real though.
We get inside and Nonnie is fluttering around the kitchen, humming as she moves. She waves her wooden spoon at Creek as he goes for the coffee pot, so he retreats, his hands in the air in surrender. He pulls a chair out and sits me in it, kissing the top of my head before sitting next to me.
The glass doors we just entered from opens and Michael enters the room.
“What are you doing here?” Creek asks, his arms folding as he stands to face Michael.
“I came to speak to Remy,” Michael answers him, practically dismissing him. I roll my eyes at the testosterone showdown going on in my kitchen, while Nonnie clicks her tongue behind us. I guess the whole, me staring at the sky cliché thing actually worked.