Dark Secrets - Linsey Hall Page 0,32

against mine.

“To your friends,” he said. “We’ll find a way to heal them.”

“To Mac and Seraphia.”

We ate in comfortable silence. It should have been like a date. Pizza and beer and a beautiful view.

Instead, it was weird as hell. Not so much the energy with him, but the threat that hung over us. It tugged at me, making me anxious and worried.

“Miranda will let us know soon about the ingredients,” he said, clearly trying to calm my nerves by reminding me of our forward progress on our problems.

“Yeah. Great.” I looked at the clock, shocked to see that it was nearly four a.m. The time change from Chicago had thrown us all off. “I should head home.”

“Sleep here tonight. In the spare room.”

I swallowed hard, wanting to take him up on his offer, yet knowing it was a bad idea.

“It’s an entirely separate room,” he said. “And it will save you travel time.”

“That would be helpful.” And I was exhausted. “Do you mind if I get a shower?” I’d stayed in an en suite bedroom the last time.

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” I polished off the last of my pizza and stood, grabbing the beer that I hadn’t finished. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He nodded. “Thank you for your help tonight.”

“No, thank you.” I turned and all but ran for the bedroom, disappearing into the quiet silence.

The shower was divine, as it had been last time. I finished off the beer while standing beneath the hot spray, replaying the day in my head. By the time I stepped out, I was clean, but no more relaxed. Despite the late hour, the idea of sleep was absurd right now. I was too keyed up. Too worried.

Maybe a book would help.

I put my clothes back on and went to the door, listening carefully for any sign of movement in the living room. There was none, so I peeked my head out.

Silence.

Grey must have gone to his room.

I strode into the living room and went to the bookshelf, feeling like I was poking around his private space.

I was, actually.

And I did want a book . . . but not as badly as I wanted a look at his collection.

Honestly, I was snooping.

But it was just books, so it didn’t seem so bad.

The collection was varied, and this was only part of it. There was an enormous bookshelf in his bedroom, too. Novels, nonfiction, and a surprisingly large assortment of poetry. I reached for one that looked well-worn and gasped at the vision that popped into my head:

Grey, reading alone.

It was a lonely sight rather than cozy. I couldn’t tell if he actually felt lonely in the vision, but it sure looked that way. I put the book back and reached for another.

A similar vision shot into my mind. I went down the line of the bookshelf, running my fingertips over the spines. Grey’s clothes changed each time, flashing from past to present depending on when he had read the book.

So many years.

Alone.

That was the thing about immortality. You were constantly alone. Even if you found someone, they died eventually, leaving you alone. Again.

From what I understood of my new world, heavens and hells were real. They were called afterlives, and almost all supernaturals went to one when they died. What you believed in life would determine where you went in death, so it wasn’t really an end.

Except for Grey and the other immortals. They stayed on earth forever. Alone.

Tears pricked my eyes.

“Exploring?” Grey’s low voice sounded from the corner.

I jumped, gasping. Slowly, I turned, the book clutched in my hand. He wore simple charcoal sleep pants and a T-shirt, looking more casual and handsome than I’d ever seen him. I swallowed hard. “I…uh…couldn’t sleep.”

“Looking for reading material?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a good one.” He nodded to the book in my hand. “Does your gift work on it?”

“It does, but I didn’t come out here to snoop.”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly not buying it.

“Well, not entirely.”

A smile tugged up at the corner of his mouth. “See anything interesting?”

“You, reading a lot of books.”

“Helps the time pass.”

“You don’t hate being immortal?”

“Hate?” He frowned. “I don’t know if I hate it. This is just the way life is.”

“It sounds terribly lonely.” I wanted to hug him.

He turned and strode to the window, as if he didn’t want to consider the idea. Finally, he said, “I’m used to it.”

“I’m worried about you.” About his health, but also about this. About the fortress he’d locked himself inside for so long.

“You don’t need to