Shattered Grace

Impending doom was the gripping feeling Quentin couldn’t shake as he followed Tommy’s Blazer from three cars back. Grace’s emotions were all over the map again, making it especially difficult to determine the actual feeling crushing his chest.

Road signs advised drivers of the speed limit slowing just up ahead, a warning of caution for a four-way stop light on the highway. Strategically, Quentin weaved through the few cars ahead of him, maneuvering his way behind the car directly behind the Blazer. His getting closer didn’t help lessen his worry; it magnified it. He grabbed his cell phone, and called Grace.

“Come on, pick up!” he yelled out loud.

Something was wrong.

“Hello?”

“Grace!”

That’s when it happened, his biggest nightmare. He watched helplessly as Tommy’s Blazer entered the intersection as a black SUV from the cross traffic accelerated, plowing into the section behind the passenger-side quarter panel, tossing the Blazer in the air to land on its side. The vehicle continued its momentum, scraping with sparked tracers across the pavement into the on-coming traffic on the opposite side of the highway. Quentin and all the other vehicles behind him skidded to a halt. The car directly in front of him veered right, driving off the shoulder to avoid the collision.

His heart would have stopped if it could. It constricted painfully in his chest. Grace. With all of his weight, he slammed his body against the door, pushing it open. Squealing tires and burning rubber assaulted his ears and olfactory senses the moment his feet hit the pavement. With one hand he reached for his blade, then took off with inhuman speed to the SUV responsible for the accident. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. All he cared about was Grace and whoever was responsible. Ripping the driver’s side door off its hinges, he tossed it aside like a crumpled piece of paper. Slumped over the seat against the steering wheel was a Fallen. They’d found her.

Not understanding why the driver couldn’t move, Quentin grabbed him and slammed him back against the seat. “You’ve come to help me, have you?” the Fallen said with an evil sneer.

Glancing down, Quentin saw that his legs were crushed and stuck under the smashed steering column and dashboard. A tempting thought shot through his mind. The enemy was stuck, which meant he wasn’t going anywhere. Quentin could make him pay—slowly and painfully. Fallen and Guardian didn’t die, not by human means, but they could surely be hurt. Every sick method of torture rushed to the forefront of his mind.

Quentin’s smile turned equally evil. “Actually, I have.”

The blade’s hilt gripped tightly in his hand, he swung it over his head and slammed it into the man’s groin, and the Fallen shrieked in pain. Quentin knew he could have sliced him anywhere and the Fallen would have appeared to have died, sending his soul back to his holding chamber in hell; however, Quentin felt Grace’s pain and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to mete out a little justice on the responsible party. He wanted to inflict more, but he didn’t have time for pleasantries. The groin seemed like an excruciatingly painful, but quick spot.

He pulled himself away from the SUV, crossing the intersection to the Blazer with a few strides. Only a couple of moments had passed since he’d arrived at the accident, but it felt like an eternity. Not knowing how badly the others were hurt, he refrained from righting the vehicle. Squatting slightly, he powered himself over the vehicle, ripping Grace’s mangled door from its hinges and pulling it with him as he rolled to the other side. Quentin opened his hand and the hunk of metal clanked loudly on the concrete beside him. With both hands, he tested the stability of the Blazer on its side. Satisfied it wasn’t going anywhere, he leapt atop it, one foot on the top of Grace’s door frame, the other on the bottom.

Grace and Emily were unconscious. Tommy moaned and Leah cried with confusion. He knew it seemed harsh, but he couldn’t worry about the welfare of the others; there was no time. Sirens screamed in the distance. From past experience, he knew just because someone wore a badge didn’t mean they were at the scene to help. The Fallen could be anywhere, or anyone.

He peered down at Grace and then around to her friends, as he took his blade and gently cut her seatbelt. With lightning speed, he bent inside and gently slipped his arms under her shoulders and legs, and pulled her out. Before leaping off, he told the others they’d be okay and help was on the way. As he was running back to his Jag, ignoring all the gasping onlookers, Grace came to and began mumbling about her friends.

“It’s okay, Grace, I’ve got you. Your friends are safe.”

Relief washed over him as he buckled her into the passenger seat of his car. She was safe and was going to be alright.

Shoving the gear in drive, he slowly made his way through the stalled cars surrounding the accident. Grace came to completely, trying to make sense of the wreckage. When she noticed Tommy’s car, Quentin’s seneschal band twisted with fear.

“Emily,” she whispered. “Stop the car!” she screamed.

“I can’t,” he said tersely. He glanced at Grace and, sensing her resistance, gentled his voice in an attempt to sound sympathetic, but firm. “I have to get you home. It’s my responsibility to keep you safe.”

Quentin blinked hard and groaned as she grabbed the door handle and shouted, “If you don’t stop the car, I’m getting out anyway.”

He pulled over on the shoulder. “Please, Grace, listen to me. The Fallen know where you are. There could be more coming.”

“I don’t care,” she hissed. The seatbelt clicked free, and she scrabbled for the door again.

Desperate, he grabbed her hand. He watched as she sucked in a breath, staring at him with the same wonderment in her eyes as she did every time he touched her. “Don’t. Please,” he begged.

Grace relaxed and her face softened. “I have to. I can’t leave my friends.” Then she smiled that beautiful smile. “You’re my Guardian. Guard me.”

After sending up a little prayer, he let go of her hand and followed her back to the accident, the police and ambulance just arriving.

Luckily, Grace was spared the trouble of giving a statement since she couldn’t remember any of the accident. Quentin gave his more than once, tweaking details here and there so as to not give away too much of the truth. It took a lot of arguing to convince the medics not to take Grace to the hospital in the ambulance. Instead, Quentin called Christophe’s personal physician, who showed up quickly. He guaranteed he’d treat her and promised there was no dire need for her to go with them. After his assessment, the doctor said Grace had a slight concussion and minor whiplash, and gave instructions to Quentin on signs to watch out for and how he was to care for her through the night.

Unfortunately, the other three did need to go to the hospital. Both Leah and Tommy suffered concussions as well, Leah’s worse than Grace’s or Tommy’s. Emily’s arm was broken. Grace was awash with guilt, but Quentin tried reassuring her they’d be okay.

By the time the accident was cleared and they were given permission to leave, Grace was weaving with exhaustion. He picked her up and cradled her in his arms. She protested feebly all the way to the car. As soon as they were back on the road, she fell asleep. Quentin glanced at her every few minutes, knowing it could have been a whole lot worse. His heart gave a painful squeeze at the thought.

Once they were home he didn’t bother trying to wake her just yet; she needed the sleep. Carefully, he pulled her from the Jag, kicking the door softly shut with his foot. He thought for sure once they were inside and Laney saw how late it was, she’d come running. But she didn’t. Once again, the house was empty. With Grace still in his arms, he walked up the stairs toward her room, and wondered where Laney had been going so often and so late at night.

Somehow he managed to pull the blankets back from Grace’s bed and lay her down without waking her. Her feet dangled off the edge of the bed and he tugged gently, amazing himself that he was able to get her shoes off without so much as a disturbance in her breathing.

Satisfied, Quentin stared down at his charge sleeping soundlessly and realized he was still in a quandary, wondering how in the world was he going to get Grace out of those dirty jeans without making himself uncomfortable now … and Grace much more so later. Where the hell was Laney, his mind shrieked. He cursed her mother silently and ground his teeth, realizing he needed to get creative, and fast.

In a flash of genius, he covered her with her bed sheet. He then knelt at her feet and reached underneath it in search of the button and fly of her jeans. The heat that radiated off those long, shapely legs unnerved him so he gave up, peeked under the sheet, and quickly undid her jeans.

Inch by inch, he pulled them down slowly so he didn’t wake her, which only made him think things he shouldn’t. Baseball. Concentrating on baseball only made him think about how he was already at second base with her. Stop it! Desperate for distraction, he sang inside his head, counted backward, and ran over the list of the most violent movies he’d seen. When her pants were finally free and hanging from his hands, he heaved a sigh of relief and dropped them as if they were on fire.

He truly was a jerk.

Gently, he put his hands under her ankles, and moved them only enough so her feet no longer hung over the edge. He walked to the corner of her room where the lounge chair was and moved it next to her bed.

It was still an hour and a half until he had to wake her to check her vitals, but he wouldn’t leave. Without a sound, Quentin sat watching as she slept peacefully in her bed. He wasn’t Fallen, so he knew better than to fall for her, but he was. His heart wouldn’t listen. And he didn’t know what to do about it, or how to stop it … without his heart ceasing to beat.

He needed to find a way before it clouded his judgment. Or worse, before he made a mistake that might just get her killed.

Fragments of dreams mingled with fuzzy images from the night before, making it tricky for Grace to swim through her consciousness to reality. She remembered waking up in Quentin’s car and seeing Tommy’s Blazer on its side, and pretty much everything after that up until when Quentin carried her back to his car. The rest of the night was a blur.

Stiffly, she turned her head toward the clock on her nightstand, and gasped in surprise. Quentin was sleeping upright in her chair. He didn’t look very comfortable. His neck was kinked awkwardly as his head rested on the back of the chair, his jaw slack as he breathed deeply in his slumber. Her gaze roamed over his crossed arms, and the bare feet that rested on the end of her bed. He must have pulled an all-nighter, she decided.

More images flashed before her eyes. Soft lips against her forehead. Tender touches of care through the night. The sweet hum of song lulling her back to sleep each time he woke her.

Grace rolled away from him, carefully pulling her blankets back so she could try to get up without waking him. Her muscles screamed in protest, her entire body as sore as if a Mack truck had driven over her, backed up, and run over her again. Grace wondered how long it would take until she could move without hurting. Carefully, she placed her hands on either side of her legs, when her fingers brushed against bare skin. Looking down, she inhaled sharply, yanked the blankets back over the bottom half of her body, and flopped backward on the bed so Quentin couldn’t see her underwear from behind. Oh God, she groaned mentally, throwing her arm over her eyes.

There was nothing careful in the way she fell back onto the bed. Quentin woke, startled. Jumping off the chair, he looked frantically around the room. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, just about everything,” Grace muttered.

“Is it your head?” He tugged on her arm. “Let me see your eyes.”

Mortified beyond belief, she tried keeping her arm in place, but wasn’t strong enough to resist.

“Oh my gosh, you look like you’re burning up. Here.” With the back of his hand, he felt for a fever, much like her mother had when she was younger.

Someone kill me now, Grace silently begged. Humiliation burned bright red over every square inch of her face. “Stop it, Quentin!” She batted his hand away and scowled at him. “I’m not running a fever. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” he said, staring at her with skepticism. “Just tell me, because you’re not going to be able to keep it away from me anyway.”

“Fine. I’m embarrassed. Happy now?”

“Embarrassed.” He rolled the word around like he was trying it on for size. “But why?”

“I’m not wearing any bottoms, just panties.” Panties that were way too skimpy for him to be seeing her wearing.

“Oh.” He straightened, took a step back, and said nothing more.

Raising her eyes, she met his gaze straight on. “Please tell me you didn’t undress me.”

“Well… uh… I—” Quentin stumbled over his words and looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

“Quentin!” Grace yelled, as she pulled herself up in her bed, scrambling to get into a sitting position without revealing more of herself.

He swiped a hand across his face and looked away, his voice uncertain. “I had to.”

“Uh-huh.” Grace grunted in mortification and crossed both arms over her face as she fell back again, wishing she could be anywhere else.

“Your mom wasn’t home and your jeans were filthy from the wreck.”

Grace dropped her arms to her stomach and frowned. “And so you thought you’d just help me out of them?”

He paused, and let out a sigh. “Yes.”

She grunted again and turned her face to the wall.

“No—” he started again, before she cut in.

“Which is it, Quentin, yes or no?”

He sat back down in the chair behind Grace’s head, releasing an exasperated breath. “I tried my best to do it as discreetly as I could. I did it under your sheet. I didn’t see anything, I promise.”

His promise made her feel a little better. The truth of the matter was that although he was the first man to ever take her pants off, she’d never quite pictured it happening like that. Tilting her head back, she forced her lips to curve up. “Thank you for not being a jerk then.”

Quentin didn’t reply. Instead, he stood up, asked if she needed anything, and then hurried out of the room, she assumed to give her privacy so she could get out of bed.

Ten minutes passed and she still hadn’t moved. Suddenly cold, she wrapped her arms around herself. Last night could have ended very differently. Badly. Stunned at the realization of how close she’d come to mortal danger, she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, but she couldn’t stop the images. A light tap on the door tore her from her thoughts. “I’m not dressed yet, Quentin.”

The door opened slowly.

Annoyed, she sat up and propped herself on her elbow. “Quentin, I said—”

“It’s me.” Laney peeked her head through the opening of the door. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Grace said, relieving her elbow of lifting duty as she fell back against the bed.

Laney shut the door. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been run over a couple of times.”

Laney stood at the foot of her bed. “The doctor told Quentin you’d be sore for a couple of days. He wrote a prescription. I can go and fill it for you.”

Grace wished for once Laney would act like a parent and make decisions on her own, especially since Christophe was no longer around to make them for her. “Don’t you have to get to work?” she asked, not letting Laney off the hook.

Her mother’s gaze fell to the dirty jeans on the floor, and Grace watched as she picked them up and tossed them in the hamper inside her bathroom door. “Not today,” she said, walking back to the foot of the bed. “I called in so I can take care of you.”

Elephants somewhere must be flying, because Laney calling in to work to stay home and take care of Grace was a fluke. Christophe was the one who had always stayed with her, usually because she somehow managed to get hurt. Come to think of it, Grace never stayed home because she was sick. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever being sick. Which was odd, once she thought about it.

She glanced at her mom, looking so hopeful she took pity. “Okay, if you think the meds will help.”

“I do. Is there anything else you want me to pick up? I can get you some of your favorite snack foods, a movie?” Laney’s eyes lit with excitement. She seemed all too eager to be given a to-do list. Grace shook her head, still not used to any part of her new life. Everything, and most everyone, had changed with it.

After agreeing to let her mom get everything she suggested, Grace moved as slowly as an eighty-year-old grandma to her closet before shuffling to the bathroom. She went to the bathroom, changed her clothes, and brushed her teeth, not bothering to brush her hair or wash her face. It took all of her energy just to get dressed and pee. Before heading downstairs, Grace slowly knelt next to her bed, reaching for the backpack that held Pandora, and ran her fingers down the front of the bag. I hope you’re worth all this, she thought.

It felt like it took an hour just to get down the stairs and to the sofa in the family room. Someone had laid out a blanket and pillow against the armrest of the sofa, and Grace sighed with gratitude at the sight. She slowly eased back against the pillow and tossed the blanket cockeyed across her body.

“Hey, you need anything?”

Barely opening her eyes, she saw the glass of lemonade in Quentin’s hand as he stood next to her.

“Thanks.” She sat up enough to take a drink without spilling it or choking on it. Drinking deeply, she saw Quentin leave from over the lip of the glass. He came back with a brush and a smile. “What?”

“I’m going to brush your hair.”

“I don’t need you to,” Grace said stubbornly, putting her half-finished glass of lemonade on the coffee table.

“Yes, you do. It looks like a couple of rats have nested in your hair.”

He was right, it did. Upstairs, in front of her bathroom mirror, she couldn’t have cared less. Now that Quentin had noticed and pointed it out, she suddenly did. Thrusting her hand out, she demanded the brush. “I can do it.”

“Scoot forward and relax.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and urged her forward. She moved grudgingly to make room for him. Sulking on the middle cushion, Grace stretched her legs out the rest of the length of the couch. Quentin sat behind her, one leg stretched out beside her, the other dropped to the floor.

It didn’t take long until he was able to brush from the crown of her head to the ends of her hair. After each stroke of the brush, he’d follow with a tender hand. Before she knew it, Grace was leaning into his gentle ministrations.

“There,” he said, putting the brush on the table. “Much better.”

Quentin patted her shoulder awkwardly, then he slipped back so he could stand up. Beyond comfortable, she fell back against the pillow. Without a word, he picked up the brush and walked out of the room.

Grace watched him leave and tugged the blanket over her shoulder, wishing she could understand why her relationship with him was so unique. Quentin’s feelings were completely different from anyone else’s she’d ever sensed, making him very, very unusual. He could feel hers because of the band, and she felt his because of her curse. What if when she touched him she was really feeling her own emotions through him? Great! Talk about projecting one’s feelings onto someone.

Quentin didn’t return. Laney came back just as Grace was dozing off. She eyed the prescription bag in her mother’s hand, uncertain if she wanted to take any meds or not. The bag of chocolate Dove Promises didn’t get by her either. Nor did the rented chick flicks. Oh yeah, sappy romance is exactly what she needed. Not! Laying the items on the coffee table, Laney scrutinized her from head to toe. “Is there anything else you need besides water?”

“Nope, just the water.” Grace picked up the bag and tossed it aside. If she needed the drugs, they were there at least, but she’d rather not take anything. Her mom returned with a glass of water, then slipped into the DVD player, of all the thousands of movies to choose from, City of Angels. Seriously? Grace thought. Is this some kind of cosmic let’s-mess-with-Grace joke? She couldn’t find the humor in it and didn’t appreciate the irony.

“Anything else,” her mom asked.

“No.” Grace sighed inwardly. She knew her answer had come out a little short and gruff, but the helicopter mothering was beginning to freak her out a little.

Laney’s gaze raked over Grace. “Are you hurting?”

It wasn’t her mom’s fault she wasn’t feeling in the chick flick mood. “I’m fine. I’ll take my meds and veg on the couch.”

Not seeming convinced, Laney continued to push. “Have you eaten yet? You really shouldn’t take Ibuprofen on an empty stomach, it could make you nauseous.”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll go make you some food. You just relax and watch the movie. Here—” Her mom moved the corner of the coffee table closer to the couch. “This will make it easier for you to reach your stuff.”

“Thanks.” Grace reached for the chocolates, tore it open, and took four out of the bag. Glancing at the four squares in her palm, she shook her head. Even to Grace, her neurotic even-number OCD issue was impossible to understand. She couldn’t even remember now when it started. It felt as if it were always there. Even numbers of things had always made her feel comfortable and right, whereas odd numbers were like fingernails on a chalkboard.

While Grace ate her candy and the oatmeal her mother brought her, she watched the movie. Her body hurt, her head hurt, and her weary heart hurt.

Tearing up during every part of the movie she always had in the past, she was glad Quentin was somewhere else other than the family room—with her, watching her, and feeling her cry.

She thought she was fine until the scene where Seth chose to fall for Maggie, which only reminded her of herself and what she was. If she could fall off a building, shed her massive responsibility, and become normal, she just might take the plunge.

Instead, a few minutes later she simply fell asleep.

“Come here often?” he asked. He sat next to her on the bench but Grace didn’t look his way, choosing instead to look at the lake that stretched out before them.

A memory nudged below the surface of her mind. His voice was familiar. It surprised her that anyone had found her; she’d thought she was alone. She turned her head, intending to acknowledge his presence, and was met with brilliant emerald eyes. It was him. She’d promised herself to stay away from him, but knew she was safe here.

“I’m Darius,” he said, his hand outstretched. She looked into his eyes and marveled at how they blazed with fire and color.

Grace took his hand in hers. It was surprisingly cool. “I know.”

His laughter danced atop the glassy surface of the lake. Even here, his laugh was magical. “Still not going to give me your name?”

She loved how her subconscious recreated their little banter. A brave smile lifted the edges of her mouth. “I’m hurt you forgot already.” Her gaze went back to roaming the calm waters before her, the sun beginning to set on the horizon.

The wooden bench creaked as he leaned toward her. With the back of his hand, he slowly moved her hair off her shoulder, causing long tendrils to cascade down her back, and intensifying the shivers the sweep of his hand caused. Whispering in her ear, his lips were almost close enough to feel. “Never.” His breathy response caused the shiver to run deliciously to her center.

“Never?” she asked, not daring to turn her head toward him. He still hadn’t moved away.

“No, Grace, never.”

At the mention of her name, she smiled. “Good.” She relaxed a little, settling a little more into the bench. “Why are you here?”

Darius mimicked her movements, making himself comfortable. “To see you.”

“What about Red?”

“Who?” He sounded genuinely confused.

“The tall, beautiful redhead I saw you with at Latté Da’s?”

Another magical chuckle rolled from his chest and bounced along the lake. “Oh, her. She’s a friend, more like a sister. No one you need to be worried about.”

Grace shrugged. “Okay.” Unlike in her normal life, here she didn’t worry about a thing.

Before long, the sun set completely behind the lake, the darkness deepening until a blanket of stars was revealed above them. Overflowing with an abundance of confidence, she shifted her body and leaned to face him. “Why did you come to see me?”

In his eyes, she saw all pretense fall away—the cool facade and aloofness gone. He was just himself. “Because I can’t shake you.”

“Do you use that line on all the girls?” She laughed quietly.

“Only on you,” he said softly, grabbing her hand. Not taking his eyes away from hers, he lifted her hand slowly to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles. The stroke of his lips sent a quiver up the length of her arm that caressed and burned simultaneously. If he tried to kiss her, she knew she would let him. She crossed her ankles, and smiled to herself, hoping he would try.

His eyes blazed brighter, and the color deepened. “I’ll see you soon.” The intensity of his stare seemed to burrow straight through to the center of her, touching the very essence of her being. It left Grace breathless. He lifted himself off the bench and slowly walked away without looking back. Suddenly she knew she was in trouble, even here. The kiss on her hand left her wanting more, and she trembled with equal parts longing and fear.

The torture she’d watched her mother go through when her father left was horrendous—beyond heart-breaking. Since the moment she met Darius, he was all consuming. All she could think of was him … still. Every fiber of her being sensed he could cause a great pain that could mirror her mother’s, and that frightened her more than anything. As she watched him disappear, she vowed to find a way to avoid him—even in her dreams.

Grace stirred, giving in to the relentless pull of reality, and opened her eyes. The flat screen was lit with that DVD bright blue; the movie was over. Wiping a bit of embarrassing drool from the corner of her mouth, she reflected on the dream she’d just had. It disturbed her, made her feel uneasy, so she pushed it from her mind.

By mid-afternoon, Quentin still hadn’t made an appearance, and Grace had chewed her nails to nubs waiting to talk to Emily. Laney had gone outside to check the mail and walked past the family room.

“Hey, Mom.”

Laney trotted backward a couple of steps, stopped in the middle of shuffling through the mail, and stood in the archway. “Yeah?”

“Would you be willing to get my cell phone for me? I need to check on Emily and Leah.”

“Sure,” she said. “Where is it?”

Grace tried to think back. She couldn’t recall where it was. “I don’t really know. You can try my purse, or the top of my nightstand.”

“If I can’t find it, I’ll bring you the house phone.”

“Okay.” Grace hoped she found it, because she couldn’t remember Emily’s cell number off the top of her head.

Laney came back minutes later, cell phone in hand. Grace took it from her, smiled, and gave her a quick thank-you.

She remembered Emily’s broken arm and decided not to text her. Grace listened while the phone rang on the other end.

“Hey, Grace,” she said, sounding tired.

“Hi, how are you feeling?” Instantly, tears snuck up on Grace. She blinked them fast away while trying to swallow the lump of guilt wedged in her throat. Both were nearly impossible.

“My arm’s killing me. The doctors can’t cast it until Monday. It’s too swollen. But hey, the pain meds they have me on are great.” The medicated laugh was a painful shot across the bow of Grace’s heart. “How are you?” Emily asked, slicing through her guilty thoughts.

“Feeling physically well at the moment. My body hurt and so did my head earlier. I’ve got a huge goose egg.” Grace rubbed the sensitive spot with her right hand, wincing from the sharp, cutting pain.

“It’s sad the guy who hit us last night died,” Emily said, suddenly sounding remorseful.

“What?” Grace jolted upright. Her lungs didn’t want to work. The air crushed out of her in a long, drawn-out breath. “How do you know that?” She choked on the words.

“My mom and I saw it on the news this morning. They still don’t even know who he is. Can you imagine—” But Grace couldn’t hear through the underwater effect the loud whooshing in her ears caused. A purplish haze covered her sight and she thought she might faint. Her world started to tip as the reality of last night knocked her sideways. The Fallen had intended for her to die, and had almost killed her friends in the process. “Grace? Hello?”

“I’m sorry. It’s awful he died.” Her words were robotic. Empty. A tear ran down her cheek, but it didn’t fall for him. The fact someone had died last night had her already frayed nerves threatening to break. “How’s Tommy? What about Leah, do you know?” Grace asked rapidly, teetering on the edge of hysteria.

“Tommy’s fine. He’s got a raging headache, but he’s good. Leah was kept in the hospital overnight for observation, but was released this morning. I haven’t talked to her, though. My mom’s been in contact with her mom and yours, if you can believe it. I was floored when my mom said Laney stayed home with you.”

You and me both, Grace thought. “Yeah, I was a bit surprised. I’m so glad everyone’s okay.” The Fallen being dead made her glad. The thought of more coming frightened her, but thinking about one of them coming after someone she loved to get to her, completely terrified her. “Do you think Leah’s mom would care if I called?”

“The worse that can happen is she says to call later.” Emily yawned loudly. “Sorry, even though I have painkillers, I can’t sleep. My arm’s throbbing.”

“I’m so sorry, Em.” Another sob choked Grace, making it nearly impossible to breathe again. Her lungs painfully sawed the air in and back out.

“It wasn’t your fault, Grace. Stuff happens.”

If she only knew. “Well, I’m going to let you go. It sounds like you need to try to sleep.”

“Yeah, okay,” Emily said, yawning again. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye, Em.”

Staring at Emily’s picture on her cell phone, Grace let out a sob.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Quentin said softly as he came up behind her, touching her briefly on the shoulder before lowering himself to sit on the edge of the coffee table. He leaned toward her, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared into her eyes, his expression conveying his compassion.

Grace raised her tear-filled eyes. “It wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t in the car with them.” Tears spilled over her lower lids, blurring her view of Emily’s picture glowing from the cell phone she still gripped.

“Look at me.” Quentin lifted her face with a gentle finger. “It was my fault. It’s my job to keep you safe and I failed.”

She heard every word Quentin spoke, but couldn’t cling to them like he intended. Every one of her friends could have died—because of her, not him. Visions of caskets and grieving families had her pulse quickening. Worry festered in the center of her chest—circling and tearing at her until what rose forth was anger. With every beat of her heart, the anger pulsed stronger. No. In her head, she said it again. No. The word ricocheted like a war cry through her cerebral cortex until it owned her, heart and soul. Energy channeled through every inch of her body. A shiver chased behind it. Those she cared for and loved would not pay for what she was.

In that instant, Grace felt the power of her choice thunder through her like an electrical current. Just like Seth in the movie, she chose to be what she was meant to be, and not to shed what she originally thought was a burden. Newly determined, she leveled her gaze with Quentin’s.

“What do I need to do to make sure they never hurt anyone I love again?”

Quentin gazed back at her, his features rearranging themselves into an expression flat and cold—deadly. “You train and you fight back. You let me do my job. And we don’t let them win. Ever.”

Resolve steeled her voice. “We won’t.”

Quentin’s face lit up with his best smile. “That’s my girl.”

And like always with that smile, Grace couldn’t help but smile back.

News of the crash spread like wildfire through Woods Cross. By Sunday afternoon, Laney turned the ringer off the house phone and convinced Grace to do the same with her cell. She finally spoke with Leah and was relieved to hear she was fine, but like Grace, had one hell of a headache. Leah nattered on about how Brian had visited her bearing gifts—bringing magazines to read, snack foods, and movies. She smiled at the excitement in Leah’s voice; Brian was alright in her book.

Even though Grace was feeling better by Sunday evening, Quentin convinced her to stay home from school the next day, no matter how good she might feel when she woke up. Nephilim don’t get sick and they heal quickly. That certainly explained her lack of memories of ever being sick. It would raise a few eyebrows if she was completely healed and her friends were still banged up, so she stayed home.

Grabbing her book out of her backpack, Grace settled in her favorite comfy spot on the sofa and opened The Crucible. She was so done with chick flicks. Since it was inevitable she’d miss a day or two of school, Grace decided to read as much of the book as she could and forego the movies. Hopefully she’d then be ready if Miss Township decided to throw down another stupid pop quiz.

Grace was barely through a chapter when she heard the doorbell. Laney came barreling down the stairs, so Grace didn’t move. When the sound of padding feet came toward Grace, she looked up to see her mom standing in the archway.

“There’s a Zeke here to see you.” Laney’s eyebrows arched.

“Seriously?” Grace let out a little huff of exasperation, checking the time on her phone to see if school was already out.

“I can tell him you’re sleeping.”

Tempting, she thought, but she couldn’t bring herself to be mean and lie to him. There was no announcement in the school bulletin advertising she’d moved to her grandfather’s house, so Zeke had obviously gone out of his way to find her. “No, that’s okay. Let him in.”

When Zeke stood in the archway holding what looked like magazines, Grace prayed he hadn’t brought her the typical Teen Beat or Seventeen. She’d never liked reading any of that crap. She smiled, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Silently, he gave her a once-over. “I was really worried you’d look awful.” His shoulders heaved with the air he let out. “But you look great, like you weren’t even in an accident. How are you feeling?”

Grace pulled her legs in, making room so he could sit at the other end of the sofa. She waited for him to sit down before answering. “I still feel like I’ve been run over, but I’m feeling better.”

“I’m so relieved.” Zeke nervously rolled the magazines in and out of a tube shape in his hands. “Oh, here. I got these for you. I didn’t take you for the kind of girl that reads tabloids, so I got you these instead.”

He handed her a crossword and Sudoku magazine. Two things she loved. “Thank you, I love these,” she said with a huge smile. “You didn’t have to get them, though.”

“I know, I just thought it’d give you something more to do than watch movies and homework.” He picked up the book that lay open in her lap. “Case in point.”

“But it’s a good read and it’s homework. Two birds, one stone.”

He chuckled to himself. “I’ll take your word for it.”

They talked for a while. No pressure, just friends. Grace learned he loved racing motorcycles and was secretly taking guitar lessons so he could someday play like Tommy. Tommy probably had no clue his best friend looked up to him. Grace thought it was sweet.

“What’s a pet peeve you have?” Zeke asked. “The one that drives you completely nuts.”

“Only one?” she asked with a laugh, not daring to tell him about the numbers. “The one that drives me absolutely insane is messed-up eyebrows.”

“What?” He chuckled.

“Yeah, it’s bad. If I’m talking to someone and their brows are all crazy, I can’t focus on anything but their eyebrows. I literally have to restrain myself from fixing them.” Zeke instantly swiped his fingers across his brows. They both laughed. “What’s yours?”

“I’m thinking mine’s a lot worse than yours.”

“Oh no, I gave you mine. Now, spill.”

Zeke’s attention went to his hands held together in his lap. “I can’t share bars of soap with anyone, because I can’t handle hair or fuzz…well, any kind of anything on it. It really grosses me out if I see it. I freak out.” He still didn’t look back up at Grace.

“So … you scream like a girl who sees a rat?”

“I wish,” he said, looking a little deflated. “I get the dry heaves really bad. I’ve even thrown up a couple of times.”

“Wow, that is bad.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“So what do you use then?” Grace tried to sound sensitive.

“I use watermelon body wash.”

Grace pulled her lips in between her teeth to keep from laughing. Despite the fruity scent, his solution didn’t make it sound so bad. When she was certain she wouldn’t laugh, she said, “At least you found a way to deal with it. I’m doomed. I’ve contemplated carrying around tweezers and an eyebrow brush, but I don’t think that’ll work.”

At that, they had another good laugh. Minutes later, Zeke stood. “I need to get home. I have homework. Give me a call if you need anything.” She agreed, and listened as he closed the front door behind him.

Quentin finally came in after dinner. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good. I still have a little goose egg.” Tentatively going over the sensitive spot with the tips of her fingers, she grimaced from the pain. “It still hurts.”

“You’ll be a hundred percent in the morning.”

“We’ll see,” Grace said.

“You feel well enough to go on a tour?”

“A tour? Where?”

“Here. I have something I’d like to show you,” he said.

“Um, okay.” She rose from the sofa and followed him out of the family room.

Quentin paused, turning back to her. “Go get Pandora and bring her with you.”

Grace’s eyebrows rose in question, but he remained quiet. “Okay, be right back.” She hurried as fast as her painful body would allow her up the stairs, grabbed Pandora from under her bed, and met Quentin back in the foyer.

They walked down the large, open hallway lined with oil paintings of her ancestors and family photos toward her grandfather’s office. “Quentin, were any of these men Chosen?” Grace asked, pausing to peer up at the faces.

Quentin turned around and stood by Grace’s side. “They all were.”

“All of them?”

“Every single one.”

Quietly, she scanned the faces of the twenty-five men who had come before her and her grandfather. She wondered about the lives they’d led, if they’d found solace in marriage, and if they were happy with the responsibility forced on them. “Did any of them marry?” Grace asked.

“They all did. You and Christophe would never have been born if they hadn’t.”

She hadn’t thought about it like that. “Do you think they were scared?”

“Oh yeah, they were.” A smile touched his lips.

Watching him, she regarded his smile. “You talk as if you knew some of them.”

Quentin turned to her. “I knew all of them.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” she asked with an uncomfortable chuckle. “You’d be like, seriously old.”

His mouth turned up in a smile that reached his eyes. “I am seriously old.” Turning back around, he continued toward the study.

Like a barking Chihuahua nipping at his heels, Grace fired continuous questions his way. “Really? How old are you, Quentin? You don’t look that old.” Before he could get any closer to the office, she briefly touched his arm and stopped walking. “Seriously, how old are you?”

His shoulders reflexively rose as he breathed in deeply, before turning toward her. “I’ve been here since before man.”

Confused, she cocked her head sideways. “What does that mean?”

Quentin’s gaze met hers. His right hand rubbed at the edge of his shirtsleeve. “It means, I’ve been around since time began.”

Grace’s eyes bugged. “But you don’t even look older than twenty-three. How is that possible?”

Quentin ran a hand through his hair, holding on to the back of his neck. “Because I don’t age.” She was about to ask another question, but then he sighed, which stopped her. “Come on, Grace.”

Thoughts of more questions seized when they came to the office door. She’d only been in her grandfather’s office once since his passing. It had been unbelievably tough. Since then, she’d had no intention of ever returning. “Do we really need to go in there?” she asked softly, clutching the backpack to her chest.

With key in hand, Quentin swiveled around to face Grace. “I’m sorry you’re still hurting. One thing I’ve learned in my old age…” His face lit up with a joking smile meant to lift her spirits. Something she appreciated about him. “Time eases all pain. You’ll never forget him, or how much you loved him, but you’ll welcome his memory instead of shy away from the pain of it.”

As Quentin turned the key and opened the door, Grace was stricken with the threatening prick of tears but managed to blink them away. Her feet felt glued to the floor in the open doorway; she couldn’t move…didn’t want to move. She wanted to be anywhere else in the house other than here. Her gaze roamed over the desk and the shelves behind it, the couch she’d laid on talking about her day while her grandfather worked, and finally rested on the fireplace he’d loved so much. God, she missed him.

Quentin stood patiently in the bathroom doorway, hands braced on either side of the frame, leaning into the office.

“Okay, I’m here. What do you need to show me?”

He let his hands fall to his sides, and nodded his head. “In here.”

Grace stayed where she was, crossing her arms over her chest. “The bathroom?”

He held his hand out to her. “Trust me.”

It took everything she had, but she managed to force her heavy feet forward, stopping a few inches outside the bathroom door. Grace eyed his hand, but didn’t touch it. Quentin let it fall back to his side, obviously realizing she wouldn’t take it. An emotion flickered across his features, but disappeared quickly. Grace wondered if she imagined it since it was there one second and gone a nanosecond later.

Curiously, she watched Quentin open the door to the linen closet, then slide aside the towels resting on the shelves inside. She heard a click, felt a draft of cold air, and stared wide-eyed as the shelves swung backward and he walked through the dark opening that appeared.

“Come,” he said. She was surprised to hear his voice echo.

Scrambling, her feet moved fast to catch up. Once inside, the door closed behind them and sealed shut. Unable to see, she didn’t move. “Quentin?” Her voice sounded hushed in the velvet darkness. “Where are you? I can’t see.”

Lights on either side of the narrow hallway clicked on in domino fashion, two by two, revealing Quentin several yards away, rounding the bend of the hallway that stretched before her. “Come on, Grace.” His demand echoed and swirled about her. Again, she forced her feet forward, and almost fell down the flight of stairs she didn’t realize was there. She breathed a sigh of relief, glancing down at the bag in her hand. It would be her luck to be the first Chosen to break what she was supposed to protect.

Before her foot even stepped off the bottom step, her head had begun to swivel back and forth as she took in the ornate gold sconces set in recesses in the intricate stone walls. When she looked closer, she realized that the sconces were formed like angels. Her eyes widened in wonder. Like a kid in a candy store, she wanted to caress every angel, tuck a finger in every crevice, run her hand across each flat surface. In the back of her mind, she knew she should be angry. This was another huge secret. But she had never seen anything like this, and was flabbergasted that it had been here all along…right under her nose.

Once she rounded the corner, two hallways branched off the main corridor, left and right. She wouldn’t have known if she should go left, right, or continue forward if Quentin hadn’t been patiently waiting next to a door straight ahead. Settling next to Quentin against the wall, Grace smiled.

“Pretty great, isn’t it?”

“Great?” she repeated in amazement. “Try un-freakin’-believable.” Quentin’s laughter echoed and bounced from side to side against the walls, swirling around the angels as it traveled away from them. Grace smiled. “Where do the other hallways go?”

With his foot, he pushed off the wall, turning his body so he was standing in front of her. “One way leads to the linen closet of your old house. The other leads to the back of an apartment I own downtown.”

“Really?” Her jaw dropped and she stared at him wide-eyed. “This is under my house too?”

Quentin used the key that opened all the rooms in the house. “Yes, this is under the other house too.”

“But how?” she asked in frozen wonderment.

He turned and rested his shoulder against the door frame, staring deeply into her eyes. Even in the dim light, Grace could see the instant his gaze switched from playful to intense. Down there in the closed confines of the underground, it became more than just a stare. It seemed like the stare sucked the air right out of the hallway, because she suddenly couldn’t breathe. Her heart rate spiked simultaneously, making it that much harder to gasp for the depleted oxygen quietly. Grace took a step backward and her shoulder blades pressed into the wall. She held the bag against her chest, hoping to seem at ease, even though his gaze made her want to squirm.

Slowly, Quentin folded his arms over his chest as well and crossed one foot over the other, never taking his eyes from hers. A devilish grin turned the edges of his mouth up like horns, and she couldn’t take it anymore. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, turning his head and smirking at the wall. When he pushed himself away from the door frame, the hole-boring intensity was gone. “Relax.” Right, she sighed mentally.

The seneschal band peeked out from the bottom of his sleeve, and Grace glared at it. She was beginning to dislike it. She didn’t like him knowing how she was feeling—always—while she was left guessing about what was going on inside him. Unless, of course, she touched him. And after what had just happened, touching in any way would be asking for trouble. She had to work on setting up those boundaries between them, and soon.

Quentin disappeared through the doorway, talking as he went. “Your grandfather designed all of this down here and had it constructed. The hallway extends beneath all the houses on Belmont for a few blocks to your other house—” Still caught up in the intensity from a minute earlier, Grace remained leaning against the wall. “Hey, you alright?” Quentin asked as he leaned out into the hallway from the door.

“Uh yeah, sorry.” She shook her head. “What were you saying?” Grace waited for her heart rate to stabilize and then followed Quentin through the door. Again, he was unfazed and she was a ball of nerves. He continued as if nothing had just happened. “If you go in the other direction, the hallway continues underneath all of the houses heading west to my apartment, which is across the street from the bank.”

She noticed another door , but wasn’t sure what the rest of the room was. Quentin unlocked the other door and stepped aside so she could enter first. Inside was a large, fully furnished living room awash in artificial light. There was a small kitchen, and a bar.

Grace stood in the middle of the room, pondering the point of everything down there. “What’s through there?” She pointed at a door.

“A bedroom and bathroom. Come.”

The bedroom was the size of a jail cell, and the bathroom was about as comfortable-looking as a port-a-potty. To the left of the bedroom door was another door.

Quentin opened it and motioned for her to follow. It was a walk-in closet, a large walk-in closet—way bigger than the bedroom and bath. Clothes hung on hangers along the left and right sides of the wall. Shelves and drawers were strategically placed in columns throughout.

“This is the most important room of the entire estate.” His face was serious.

“The closet,” she asked incredulously. “Why?”

“This,” he said. Walking to the far back wall, Quentin separated two shelves, revealing a steel door behind it. “Give me your hand.”

Trying to avoid skin-to-skin contact with Quentin, she stayed put. “I’m okay to walk through myself.”

“Unless you give me your hand, neither one of us will be walking through this door.”

Grace braced herself for the onslaught of emotion, held her breath, and raised her arm toward him. Thrown a little off balance by the not-so-gentle tug of her wrist, her eyes narrowed into a glare. “What are you doing, Quentin?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted her arm and pressed her hand flat against a rectangular-shaped frame. Instantly the space within lit up in neon green, scanning her hand repeatedly from top to bottom. Mesmerized, she watched the light move up and down. Quentin slowly pulled her hand away, curling her hand into a fist except for her index finger.

“You’re going to feel a little poke.”

Before she could pull away, he stuck her finger in a rounded divot next to the scanning frame. “Ouch!” Damn it, needle pokes were the worst.

Chuckling, he gave her a sheepish grin. “Ah, poor baby. You going to be okay?” he teased.

“Ha ha.” She frowned and jabbed her finger in her mouth.

“I’m sorry, don’t be mad. Some people have a deadly fear of needles and I wasn’t sure if you’re one of them.”

She grunted and gave him a sarcastic grin around the finger in her mouth.

Still smiling, he turned back around, pointing to a small rectangular piece of rubber on the left side of the frame. “I promise this won’t hurt. Place your forehead against the strip here.”

“What’s it going to do?” Grace frowned, not entirely sure she could trust him to determine what hurt and what didn’t.

“A retina scan. It’s cool, just trust me.”

Oh sure, easy for him to say. Knowing she might regret it, Grace stepped forward and pressed her forehead against the strip like he instructed.

“Don’t move and keep both eyes open.”

Very easy for him to say. When the red laser burst out of nowhere, the impulse to close her eyes fought against her will to keep them open. She pushed through it, not closing them. When the scan was done, she jumped back, startled by the sound of the unlocking mechanism. Gears clicked and turned, and a noise that sounded like steel bars sliding through the floor and ceiling met her ears before doors opened with a hiss.

Blue light spilled out from the opening. As she crossed the threshold, she had the uncanny sensation that she’d walked inside a live video game. Lined up along the floor of the long walkway were squares that lit up a slightly brighter blue as she stepped on each one. At the end of the hall was an open square room. A clear case sat empty in the middle, lit up by a bright white light shining down from above. Grace expected Quentin to be behind her, and was surprised to see that he still stood in the doorway of the closet.

“What are you doing?” she called out to him.

“Waiting for you to be out of the way.” With one foot, he stepped on the first square. Red laser beams shot out in spinning arcs from one end of the hall to the other, searching him out like an intruder. When he removed his foot, the laser beams disappeared. Quentin still stood in the doorway.

Confused, and too scared to walk back toward him, she shouted again. “Why can’t we walk down the hall now?”

Quentin shook his head. “I can’t, not without you. No one can.”

“Why not?” Despite her lowered voice, her question bounced along the floor and walls until it reached him.

“Because this is Pandora’s room and you’re her protector. No one can be more than five feet away from you in here, or zap,” he said, making a Broadway spectacle of his fingers.

It was all so strange. She almost felt cool, like a superhero. Coming to her senses, she shook off the ridiculous superhero notion. “That’s all well and good, Quentin, but what if the laser doesn’t recognize me and I get toasted?”

“You’re not going to get toasted.” Quentin bit his lip and turned his face away.

“Yeah, right,” she muttered to herself. Despite how quietly she said it, he still heard.

“This room knows you all the way down to a cellular level now. Believe me, you’ll be fine.”

Grace didn’t bother testing his assurance by putting a measly toe on the ground and waiting for the laser beams. No, she decided, it was all or nothing. She booked it as fast as she could, leaping like a dancer through the doorway when she reached the end where Quentin stood waiting. Surprised by how incredibly fast she didn’t know she could run, she was even more relieved she wasn’t fried to a crisp. “Well, look at that. You were right,” she said with a wobbly smile, looking up into Quentin’s face.

Quentin walked away from her, leaving the walk-in closet. “Come on.” With a wave of his hand, he returned her smile. “Let me show you the gym.”

What Grace hadn’t seen when she walked in from the hallway was the state-of-the-art gym. Every kind of cardio machine imaginable ran the length of an entire wall. Free weights, Nautilus machines, and kettle bells were spread around the room. In the center was a boxing ring where, Quentin informed her, they’d train. When he noticed her apprehension, he said they wouldn’t start until next week and used the accident as the excuse why. She figured it was because she was the first girl he had to train. Either way, the delay worked for her.

Quentin walked through the laser security guards, to show Grace how to secure Pandora in the case. No matter what he’d said, she couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief when they both cleared the closet doorway without sizzling like bacon on the hallway floor behind them.

By the time she had finished with her guided tour and put Pandora to bed, it was slightly after eleven. Laney had left soon after Zeke arrived earlier, and hadn’t returned home yet. A tingle of fear crept along Grace’s skin and over her scalp. What if something happened to her mom? What if they got her? Oh God, she screamed in her head.

Fear crushed her ribcage, making it hard to breathe. Full of panic, she ran to the family room for her cell phone, fumbling over the touch screen buttons as she texted Laney.

Grace: Its l8. R u ok?

In her head, she visualized every bad thing that could have happened to her mother. When the phone vibrated in her hand, she nearly dropped it.

Mom: I’m fine. Out w/a friend. Be home soon.


The painful squeeze let go of her ribcage so she could breathe again. Her mom was fine, but she couldn’t shake the unease that filled her. Laney had been disappearing a lot the last couple of weeks, and had been sketchy with her explanations. Maybe it was time for Grace to ask more questions.


Tuesday morning, Grace was given the okay to return to school. And Quentin was right, she did feel a hundred percent better. He coached her on walking a little slower so she looked more like her recovering friends. Emily had been fitted with a cast the day before and would be returning to school today as well. Grace figured her safe bet would be to copy Em.

She parked closer to the school than usual, assuming that’s what she would have done if she’d really been hurt, then slowly made her way to first period. Amanda was already in her seat, a first. Seeing her reminded Grace she’d meant to call and check on her over the weekend. So much for mental notes.

“How are you doing?” Amanda asked, twisting her long hair around her finger, not waiting for Grace to sit down.

“I’m fine, still a little sore.” A lie. Grace flinched inside; she hated lying. “How are you? I was kind of worried about you.”

The strong lines of Amanda’s face hardened. “Why would you be worried about me?”

“After what happened last week in the hall, and then you were gone for a couple days after…I wasn’t sure if something happened.”

Amanda narrowed her eyes to slits. “With Mr. Peters?” She turned her head, obviously annoyed. “I told you that was nothing.”

Grace didn’t correct her. It absolutely was something. “Okay.”

“Do you really want to know where I was?” Amanda asked with a sudden excitement alight in her light blue eyes.

“Sure.” Grace shrugged a single shoulder.

Amanda’s irritated sneer returned. “Try not to sound so enthused.” Grace sighed and left it alone; Amanda was seriously PMS’ing.

“You have to keep it to yourself, though,” Amanda continued. “You can’t even tell Emily, Grace, I mean it.”

Grace forced a hand up, placing the other over her heart.

“I met someone, and we went away for the weekend.” Amanda’s words were fast and clipped.

“Someone who took you somewhere for a couple of days? Does he have really cool parents or something?”

Amanda leaned over in her seat to get closer. Grace glanced at the clock above the door. Amanda better hurry, she thought, because Miss Township will be walking in the classroom any minute.

“He’s older. He was supposed to be on a business trip, but we spent a few days together instead.”

“How much older?” Grace asked, now suspicious.

“Older.”

Grace flattened her palms against the top of her desk and leaned toward Amanda. “Yeah, I heard you the first time. How old is he, and what do you mean he was supposed to be on a business trip?”

Amanda’s eyes were guarded as she stared at Grace in contemplation. “Don’t judge me.” She held up a finger in warning and Grace bit her lip. “He’s thirty-two, and his wife thought he was on a business trip.”

“Thirty-two?” Grace screeched so loud, it almost couldn’t be considered a whisper. “Amanda!”

“Sshh!”

“What are you thinking?” she hissed. “He’s thirty-two, he’s married, for crying out loud, and technically old enough to be your father.”

“Come on, Grace,” Amanda said, closing her eyes briefly and nodding her head slowly like a disappointed adult chiding a child.

“You know how many fourteen-year-old mothers and fathers there are?”

Amanda rolled her eyes, and responded with a “Pfft.”

Abruptly, Grace twisted in her seat facing the front of the class, pretending to give Miss Township her attention. “This isn’t over,” she threatened from the corner of her mouth.

As soon as the bell rang, it was over for Amanda. She bolted out of her seat and out of class. Grace caught a glimpse of her standing at her locker. “Amanda,” Grace shouted, trying to get her attention before she took off in the other direction. “Wait up.”

Amanda shut her locker door, and twirled around. “Save the mothering, Grace, you’re wasting your time.”

“Oh, knock it off. I’m your friend,” Grace insisted.

“Are you?” Amanda asked sarcastically, her glare a little ferocious.

“You’re seriously going to ask that? God, Amanda, I’m starting to really worry about you.”

With a hand on her hip, Amanda stared unseeing at her locker door. “Well, don’t. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Grace spat back. “Because the way I see it, the only thing you know you’re doing is another woman’s man. No, I take that back…another woman’s husband.”

Amanda’s eyes flew open wide and she gaped at Grace in disbelief. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t even know him. He loves me.”

Grace knew what she had to say. And it was going to hurt. Possibly ruin their friendship forever. Amanda was on a serious downward spiral, and needed to hear the dirty truth in all its gut-mutilating glory. “Sure he does. He told his wife he loved her too. He doesn’t love you, Amanda, he’s using you. And as soon as you get too clingy, too needy, he’ll toss you out with the morning trash.”

Tears covered Amanda’s eyes like glass, but she didn’t allow it to shatter in front of Grace. Seeing her start to cry caused Grace’s stomach to turn inside out. She couldn’t move when Amanda wheeled around and pushed past the few onlookers, then barreled out the front door. The click of the door reverberating through the hall left Grace with a hollow feeling. Her stomach heaved. She hated herself, and had to fight the urge to go after Amanda. Grace convinced her feet to move in the direction of second period, even though she was already a few minutes late.

At the sound of the bell, every student shot out of their seats like thoroughbreds from the starting gate at the Kentucky Derby. Grace was no exception. Quickly scrolling through her contacts on her phone, she hurried out of the classroom.

“Here, let me get that for you,” someone said, as the weight of her backpack lifted off her shoulder.

Startled, she whipped around. It was Zeke, trying to be helpful. “Thanks, but you don’t have to do that.” She watched him toss the heavy backpack with ease over his shoulder.

Shaking his head, he glanced at her with incredulity. “Don’t get me wrong, I get that you’re not the damsel in distress type, but you were just in a serious accident a couple of days ago.” The side of his mouth curled up, making the dimples appear in his cheeks. “Indulge me. We’re going the same direction anyway.”

He was right; she was supposed to be healing. While they walked, she divided her attention between Zeke and her phone, playing the familiar should-I-or-shouldn’t-I-call game, desperate to resolve the tension with Amanda.

“You waiting for a call?” he asked, pulling her away from her iPhone screen.

“No, why do you ask?”

“You haven’t taken your eyes off that phone. Is everything okay?”

It was far from okay. What she’d said to Amanda was the truth and she needed to hear it, but did Grace need to be the messenger? Amanda was eighteen and could do what she wanted—which she clearly was doing—but she was the “other woman.” How on earth could she have allowed that to happen? More than disappointed in her friend, Grace was truly worried about what she was doing to herself, and possibly her future.

“No,” she said, walking a little closer to his side. Enough people had already played witness to the incident. No one else needed to hear about it. “Amanda and I got into an argument, and I was hoping she’d try to text or call me.”

“Oh.” He’s such a male, Grace mused. “I’m sure you guys will work it out.” He even tried giving her an encouraging, albeit awkward, smile. With a slight chuckle, Grace grinned back, wrapped her arm around his elbow, and continued on to third period.

After class, Grace and Zeke got caught up in a little tug of war over her backpack. “Zeke, no. You’re going to be late to fourth period. I can carry it to lunch. Really.”

“The longer you fight me on this, the later I’ll be,” he said with a cocky grin. “Besides, Miss Stone loves me. She won’t care if I’m a little late.”

With an exaggerated sigh, she let go. “Fine, but if you get detention, it’s all on you, buddy.”

“Okay.” He chuckled.

When they arrived in the cafeteria, Emily and Tommy were already seated and eating. Emily’s purple cast waved like a look-what-you-did banner. “Hey, guys,” Grace said as she sat down.

“Hi!” Emily nearly squealed. “How are you feeling?”

“I was just about to ask you two the same thing.” Zeke carefully placed her tray of food on the table in front of her and put the backpack at her feet. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled down to her. “Hey, man,” he said to Tommy. “How’s the head?”

“Better. Still have a hellacious headache.”

“You’re not driving, are you?” Zeke asked, sounding concerned.

Tommy shook his head slightly. “Nah, my mom dropped me off.”

“Good,” Zeke said. “I have to get to class before I get detention.” Winking down at Grace, he waved good-bye to the others.

Emily eyed her from across the table. “Just friends, huh?”

Grace’s gaze instantly went to her lips, wondering what flavor she was wearing. “Yes, Em, just friends.”

“I’m not so sure he thinks so.” She smelled like cinnamon, but Grace wasn’t sure. Cinnamon was bad.

“Actually, babe,” Tommy spoke up through a mouthful of food, as usual. “He does. He’s just hoping she’ll change her mind.”

Grace hoped he continued to understand she only wanted to be friends. Otherwise…well, otherwise she had no clue. She’d worry about it then. “How’s your arm?” she asked Emily trying to forget about Zeke and cinnamon.

Emily glanced down at the purple plaster covering her arm. “Not throbbing as much, thankfully, but I have to keep this stupid cast on for six weeks.” She slurped a big drink from her chocolate milk through a straw. “You should have seen the colors I had to choose from…awful.” Grace laughed when Emily scrunched her nose.

“It’s a good thing you wear a lot of purple then.”

“Not enough,” Emily said mid-bite. “Now I have to go shopping. You want to go with me?”

“Sure, when?”

“This weekend sometime.”

“Yeah, that works,” Grace said.

Leah showed up a few minutes later, looking exhausted. “Hi, everyone.” Her voice was subdued, nowhere near its normal ear-piercing decibel level.

“Hey,” they all said in unison. “How are you feeling?” Grace asked as Leah sat next to her. Like Zeke, Brian placed Leah’s tray in front of her, but sat down in the open seat next to her.

“My head still hurts a little and I’m kind of tired, but I feel a lot better.”

The all too familiar danger of guilty tears threatened. While pretending to focus on something on the ceiling, Grace blinked them fast away. When she was able to talk without crying, she replied to Leah. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

Nope, she spoke too soon. Tears assaulted Grace’s eyes a nanosecond after uttering the word “alright” and trickled embarrassingly down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry, Grace.” Leah handed her a napkin. “We’re all okay.” That was true for today, but what about tomorrow?

“Babe, don’t cry.” Emily put her hand on top of Grace’s, a few tears escaping her eyes as well. Leah sniffled softly next to her, and slipped her hand on top of Emily’s in a show of solidarity. Grace smiled at both of them, grateful they were safe.

Grace sat there in the uncomfortable, emotionally charged silence, waiting for someone to cut through it by saying something. Finally, Tommy cleared his throat. “Uh… is everyone still going to the party this weekend?”

“I’ll understand if you guys aren’t up for it,” Brian said quickly. A unanimous chorus of “We’re going” made him beam with pleasure.

After lunch, Grace wasn’t too surprised to find Zeke outside the double doors of the cafeteria, waiting to relieve her shoulders of the burdensome backpack.

By the end of fourth period, she was getting used to seeing him. As fifth and sixth periods rolled around, she was expectantly looking for his face, which she found waiting for her outside every door. He even insisted on helping her unload stuff at her locker. She closed her locker door, and thanked Zeke for all his help.

“No problem.” He twirled his keys from his lanyard, round and round his finger.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Grace smiled and spun on her heel.

“I’ll walk with you,” he said, catching up to her in a few quick strides. “I’m parked out there too.” He winked down at her. She came to the conclusion in that instance, Zeke needed to go to winker’s anonymous, or get an eye flush. A small chuckle escaped her lips.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, a smile on his own face as if he got her inside joke.

“Nothing.” Grace shook her head, grinning.

On the way home, Grace wondered where Amanda had run off to, and hoped it wasn’t to the married jackass. The thought enraged her. She didn’t have to know the guy to know he was using her. If only Amanda could see that.

Grace was again thankful for the embracing arms of the air-conditioning when she walked through her front door. Quentin wasn’t too far behind her.

“How was your day?” he asked as he walked into the kitchen.

Rooting through the refrigerator for string cheese and apple juice, she said, “It was alright.” She got a glass out of the cupboard, poured some juice, and put the bottle back into the refrigerator. “I got into an argument with a friend.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Another lie. “I’ll be fine.”

Later, she tried calling Emily, who said she and Tommy were studying—uh-huh—and that she would call her later. Grace didn’t expect a call back. All Emily had time for anymore was Tommy. Before Tommy, she and Emily were practically joined at the hip. Since Tommy, Grace had started feeling pretty lonely. It more than surprised her when Emily asked her to go shopping. Apparently accidents had a way of making people reorder their priorities, and behave in ways they normally wouldn’t. Grace had wanted to accept Emily’s invitation with the caveat, “as long as it was a girl’s trip only.” But considering how everything went down with Amanda, she didn’t want to risk an argument with another good friend.

The sick, inside-out hollowness had Grace’s stomach churning again. She gazed down at her phone, forcing her fingers to move across the screen and texted Amanda.


Grace: U ok?


After twenty minutes of telepathically sending Amanda messages to respond, she gave up. Hunkering down into the corner of the sofa, she forced herself to read. It only took her ten minutes to finish the book. Emily never returned her call and Amanda didn’t text her back, neither of which was a huge surprise.

Laney wasn’t home from work yet, and Grace assumed it was because of her mystery friend. Quentin had been somewhere other than where she was ever since they got home.

Before she realized where her feet were taking her, she found herself in front of the office door. Grace didn’t have her key, and almost turned to walk away when she changed her mind and tried the door anyway. Shocked it was unlocked, she tiptoed in, and closed the door behind her.

Staring at the linen closet, she wondered if it was smart to go down below alone. She opened the door, slid the towels over, and pushed the button like she’d seen Quentin do. With a click, the door slid back. Inside was nothing but an inky blackness. Barely inching inside, she waited for the door to shut and the angels to light up. Briskly, she made her way down the passageway, and continued past the branching hallways until she reached the gym door.

From outside, she heard manly grunts and sounds of objects being smacked against a wall. Slowly, and trying to be as quiet as possible, Grace turned the door handle and snuck inside. Stunned by what she saw, she leaned against the door. Quentin whirled about, alternately beating and kicking punching bags that surrounded him in a large circle.

So this is where he’s been hiding, she thought, as she watched his graceful but lethal movements, completely mesmerized. Quentin wore only boxing shorts. His hands were wrapped in tape, and his feet were bare. He prowled around the bags, rage in his eyes. His movements were lithe and fluid—beautiful—and he moved faster than she should be able to track. Sweat glistened along every line and swell of his muscles. A flurry of naughty butterflies wrestled in the pit of her stomach.

Suddenly, Quentin snapped his head in her direction. This sharing feelings thing is getting out of control, she decided. His gaze demanded her attention. His steel-colored eyes no longer burned with rage. Instead, they glazed over with a liquid silver longing. As he stalked toward her, the beating of her heart pounded so hard, each beat swooshed deafeningly in her ears. Grace couldn’t tear her eyes away. Once again, her lungs quit working about the same time her heart stopped beating.

When he passed where she expected him to stop and marched right into her personal space, Grace searched frantically for a possible way out. She didn’t move though, and he didn’t stop coming. Grace gasped when he cupped her face with a hand, not caring about the rough edges of tape wrapping it.

The corners of his mouth lifted in triumph. Like a cat with a mouse, he toyed with her. His thumb caressed her jawline as he moved it softly down her face. Slowly, but purposefully, he leaned down, never taking his eyes from hers. His hand pulled her face closer, bringing their lips close enough together to touch, but only hovered there. Her mind ran in circles, confused by his hypnotic touch. She squeezed her eyes shut, torn apart by her warring instincts. Her heart started beating again, and didn’t let up. It pounded fiercely against her breastbone, and probably against his as well. Grace licked her dry lips.

“Look at me.” The feel of his breath against her mouth caused goose bumps to rise all over her body. She opened her eyes, but only because he told her to.

The moment Quentin pressed his soft, parted lips against hers, a tingling surged through her veins, causing every nerve ending to fire off in rapid succession and awakening her from within. Her head was screaming at her to stop, but her body begged for more. Her lips were his to command. She followed his lips’ urgings and slightly parted her own to welcome more of him. Grace moved her tongue with his as she rose up on her toes to get closer. More. Quentin tasted like chocolate and mint; the best combination in the world. He was all consuming. The smell of fresh night air and water was all around her, Quentin’s scent. All of her senses were bombarded with everything that was him and she didn’t want it to end.

Taking his hand away from her face, he braced himself against the door at Grace’s back. Slowly he pulled away from her. Sadness replaced the longing that had filled his eyes moments before. “I’m sorry, Grace, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“What? Why?” She thought it felt rather perfect and had to swallow the whimper that almost escaped her lips when he stopped.

“I’m your Guardian. It’s wrong.” He looked away, focusing his gaze somewhere above her head. “Besides, you were sad and I—”

“Okay,” she said, pushing him away from her with a hand at his chest. Her embarrassment felt like a heat wave as it replaced the tingles and the goose bumps and moved like an out-of-control wildfire up her face. “I don’t need your pity. I had a bad day and you felt it. I get it.”

“No, that’s not—”

Apparently, he didn’t hear her. “Quentin, I said I understand. Now, please move so I can go to bed.” When he didn’t budge, she insisted, “Please! I really don’t want to do this tonight.”

When he finally moved aside, she ran past him and out the door, not looking back until she was in her own room. Grace flopped down on her bed and thought back to the kiss. Men, she hissed in her head. She needed to stay away from all of them. If she ever was in a situation like that again, and that was a big if, she’d make sure she touched him first—to check his emotions and make sure he wasn’t playing with her.