Night Kissed (Chosen Vampire Slayer #1) - Mila Young Page 0,51

wings upon my back.

It was stupid to believe she could grant me a wish that I’d already taken on an enormous debt to fulfill. And yet I couldn’t seem to help myself. I wanted to see her again. Her aura haunted me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a blur of movement out in the hallway and turned to see the door to the room I was in swinging wider. There she stood, as if a vision manifested by the call of my desires. Skin-tight pants, thick coat that remained unbuttoned to reveal a gray simple top, and unruly pink hair draped over her shoulders. But those deep yellowing eyes carried so many emotions. Fear. Confusion. Anger.

I blinked. She blinked. We stared dumbly into each other’s eyes for a few moments longer than necessary.

“Oh my God. I didn’t see you in here.” She spoke suddenly. The puzzled clouds in her eyes cleared. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I thought this was…actually, I don’t know what I thought this was. The bathroom?” An apologetic little smile tilted her lip, then immediately faded in the face of another booming impact from upstairs of our large home. The ceiling trembled.

“The bathroom is there.” I nodded to the opposite wall, where another door led out. “If that’s what you need.”

It wasn’t what she had been looking for. We both knew that. My best assumption was that she had really been searching for a way out that might protect her from Orion’s keen perception. Her gaze darted toward the window, more or less confirming my thoughts.

“Come on!” Seth bellowed again from the floor above. He guffawed. The sound was becoming a regular refrain that I expected to keep up for some time yet. When those two really got going, they could trade hits for hours. And still, no matter how hard I listened, Orion remained inaudible. His anger, on the other hand, seeped through the entire house. It was almost tangible, a smothering haze.

The girl rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe them. Honestly, I can’t believe this.” She opened her mouth to continue, changed her mind, and closed it again, pressing her lips into a thin line. Then she just looked at me.

I said, “You can hide out in here until they’re done. I don’t care. But it might be a while.” The silvery splintering of glass supported my statement. I shrugged. “See?”

She took a deep breath. I watched her lungs fill and deflate, her heartbeat slowing. One hand wandered through her mane of messy pink waves, the other wrapped like a security blanket around her own waist. “I guess this happens pretty often, huh?”

“They were getting better,” I admitted. “Don’t think that’s the case anymore.”

“Ugh.” She sat down heavily on the end of the couch and balled her fists up in the cushion. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how you stand living here.”

“You say that like you don’t assume this is where I belong.” I kept my eyes on her. How much was she able to work out about me, about who I was? How far could she see into the nature of my spirit? These were questions I hadn’t bothered to ask about anyone before. None had mattered before her. But suddenly I was hungry for—what? Gratification, perhaps. Or in a strange, abhorrent way…approval?

She paused long enough to take another breath and weigh her response. “My name is Veronica,” she said at last. “In case you forgot from the last time we met.”

Somehow it made sense to me that she’d been given a devoutly religious name, despite, or maybe because of, the utter profanity of her chosen profession. She had the look of a modern saint, inner strength cloaked in a shroud of innocence. The hue of her hair was a strange, befitting touch. Highlighted by gentle beams of moonlight, it held a pale glow.

“I’m Logan,” I told her. “Orion calls me Logan.”

“And what about Seth?” she asked dryly.

I chuckled. “He doesn’t call me anything.” Not quite true. He had a whole repertoire of irritating nicknames. The only one I had ever heard him consistently calling by name was Orion, and then only because he knew he was required to show a modicum of respect in order to get what he had been promised.

“I like Logan,” Veronica responded, glancing up to the shaking ceiling. “It suits you.” She turned to face me. Her shoes were untied, the laces dragging along the floor. Clearly she’d dressed in a hurry. “What are