grabbed a glass from the drying rack and filled it up with water. I almost dropped the glass when thunder shook the house again.
“Holy shit,” I muttered.
This was ridiculous. I wasn’t a kid anymore. I couldn’t be afraid of storms, even if it was because of bad memories. This fear was unreasonable.
There was only one way I knew how to win against fear—to face it.
Inhaling deeply, I opened the kitchen door and stepped out onto the back porch. A bright flash of light rolled through the sky, followed by loud thunder. I jumped out of my skin, but stayed there, at the edge of the porch, just out of the rain, forcing myself to face it, to overcome it.
A new sound reached my ears between the lightning and the thunder.
A scream.
No, a roar.
I glanced around, trying to find what animal was doing that.
The roar came again.
My head whipped to Devon’s house.
It was coming from inside.
Lightning and thunder flashed once more, but this time, I barely moved as I waited for another sign, another scream.
A moment later, the roar came back, followed by a loud crash.
I didn’t think.
I ran into the rain, jumped over the fence, and rushed to his house. Shit, the backdoor was locked. I called my power, a piece of cake because of all the darkness around me. I had never done something like this, but besides breaking down the door, it was the only thing I could do. I sent my darkness inside the lock and molded it around the pins, forcing it to move with my will. A faint click sounded, muffled by the storm, and I turned the knob.
The door opened.
Another roar chilled my spine.
I raced into the house and up the stairs.
I halted beneath the doorframe and watched as Devon thrashed in his bed, groaning and breathing hard. His arms moved to the side, and he hit the nightstand, almost knocking it over.
He screamed again.
Careful with the shards on the floor—what once was a lamp was now fallen beside the wall, a million pieces of glass spread around the room—I rushed to him.
“Devon,” I called. He didn’t stop moving and grunting. Sitting down beside him, I grabbed his shoulders. “Devon! Wake up!”
He lunged at me. Teeth bared, he pressed my shoulders down on his bed, his body hovering over mine. Fear filled my veins as I realized that, like this, he looked dangerous. A monster. Someone who could hurt me.
Then, he opened his dark eyes and blinked.
“Kenna?” Finally aware of what was going on, Devon retreated to the other side of the bed. “What are you doing here?”
Swallowing the fear lodged in my throat, I sat up. “I heard screams and a crash.” I pointed to the lamp broken on the floor. “I thought something was wrong. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have barged in.”
He ran a shaking hand over his distraught face. “I-it’s okay.”
Then I realized two things: Devon was shirtless, and even in the dim darkness of the room, I could see all the muscles in his chest and shoulders. And my arms and hair were a little wet from running in the rain.
I jumped up, afraid of wetting his sheets. “I’m sorry. For barging in, and for sitting on your bed.” I took a step back. “I-I should go.”
“Wait,” he said, standing from his bed. He grabbed a t-shirt and pulled it over his head, and then he grabbed a towel from a closet and threw it at me. “Do you want some tea?” I frowned at him. It was almost three in the morning, and he was offering me tea? “Since I won’t be able to go back to sleep now, I’m going to make some tea.”
I should go. I should leave and go home and back to sleep.
Instead, I nodded.
A moment later, we were in his kitchen. He placed a kettle on the range and picked up two mugs from the cabinets. His house was much like mine, but well kept, with newer, wooden flooring, and more contemporary furniture. His kitchen had sleek gray cabinets, black marble counters, and fancy stainless-steel appliances.
Seated on one of the high, metal stools around the kitchen island, I tried not to watch him too much. But it was way too hard when he was wearing black pants and a thin white t-shirt that hugged his shoulders. His black hair was messy, but for some reason, I liked it this way, maybe even more than when he combed it into a neat style.