The Isle Of Sin And Shadows - Keri Lake Page 0,100

bed. Crossing the room brings me alongside the bed, and I stare down at her long locks of hair, spread out over stark, white sheets that’ll probably be all over the place when she wakes up, but somehow I’m not nearly as annoyed about that as I should be.

Lying on her stomach, face smashed into the pillow beneath her, she sleeps soundly, her pale skin glowing in the darkness. One supple thigh sticks out from the sheets, and smack in the middle of it is something I didn’t notice before. A marking.

Closer examination shows a burn of some sort, but in the shape of a symbol, like a branding. With a frown, I study its shape—an upside-down triangle within a circle, from what I can make out. Or, more likely an inverted ‘A’, but poorly-healed to the point it’s hardly legible. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Céleste was at that house, that she gathered up all of those dark, religious artifacts, or that the mark on her leg might very well be associated with this cult. After watching her, I suspect she may have been a victim of something, and I intend to find out how she may be linked to Julio.

I reach down to move a strand of hair covering her eyes and am greeted by the long dark lashes that flutter over her cheeks in dreams.

At a flash of blood spattered across her snowy skin, I flinch and withdraw my hand. As hard as it is to keep my distance from her, I have to. For her sake, as well as mine.

Because one thing is certain—she isn’t safe with a man like me.

22

Céleste

Yawning and stretching, I roll over onto my stomach, pleasantly surprised by the soft, plush surface beneath my belly. The warm scent of spicy, masculine cologne consumes my senses, when I bury my face in the pillow--the same delicious scent I went to bed with last night.

The guy is bad news. Bad, bad news. But something about him is irresistible to me. Like the darkness between flashes of lightning and the shiver of thunder. Pitch black fantasies with muscles and teeth, just waiting to tear into innocence.

Opening my eyes brings into view the dimly-lit room, where only slivers of light stretch through cracks in the blinds that cover the small windows lining the top of the wall. Pushing up onto my elbows, I look around to find it’s as empty as the night before, and by empty, I simply mean void of Thierry. Of course, I knew that before I even opened my eyes, because something in the air snaps like electricity whenever he’s around. I can typically feel it pulsing and burning beneath my skin, and at the moment, the only thing I feel is the rumble of a severely empty stomach.

A glance at the clock shows it’s after noon. Jesus. I haven’t slept this late since the first week of summer vacation after my senior year.

Yawning again, I crawl out of bed and stumble my way to the bathroom. Flipping on the light shows the reflection of a well slept, but sickly-pale looking girl who could really use a dose of sunlight. My hair sits cocked upright in a tangle of messy curls that I lodge my fingers through to tame. The toothbrush that I left out on the sink the night before dangles beside Thierry’s in the glowing spaceship, and I smile when I remove it to brush.

After a quick rinse with mouthwash, I return everything to its place and head for the kitchen, where a note sits alongside a danish on a plate and an empty coffee cup. Twisting around for the pot, I frown on finding some other contraption I don’t have a clue how to use.

Keurig?

Back at the cabin, Russ opted for old fashioned grounds in a paper filter, and a pot that probably didn’t get washed nearly as often as it should’ve.

Shoving the danish into my mouth, I search the nearby cupboards for the pot that goes to this thing, frowning on finding nothing but perfectly stacked dishes and pans. His drawers hold a minimal amount of tools, but all of them are neatly arranged. Even what I assume to be his junk drawer, the catchall for batteries and markers and rubber bands, is disgustingly organized.

With drool seeping out of the corner of my mouth, I tear away another bite of the danish and set it directly onto the counter--a sight that’d probably send Thierry into cardiac