“Because you’re an angel?” I prod.
Breckin sighs, his warm breath sending a puff of smoky air between us. “Part angel, yes.”
Part angel. Half-breed.
I sniff, my nose running, thanks to the cold. Flexing my stiff fingers, I look about. We’re high on the mountain. The air is thin, the trees scarce, the wind gusts consistent— how did I not notice this before?
Taking advantage of my preoccupation, Breckin’s wings surround me, drawing me near as he bridges the gap between us. He’s taller than me. Tall enough for me to fit under his chin as I walk into his arms and press my cheek against his unnaturally warm skin. My fingers lock behind his back, and he leaps at my icy touch. His dark wings envelop me—a Breckin cocoon, of sorts—and an overwhelming mix of tranquility and trepidation washes over me. Being in his arms is so right, yet I’m terrified. Not of him, or what he is—but of what’s happening. I fight the pull coaxing me to stroke his wings as his feathers ruffle. His hands shift on my back, one low and one high, his fingers slipping under the hair at my nape and holding my head against his chest.
“Please don’t drop me.”
“I’ve got you.”
A rush of cold air hits me, stealing my ability to reply, as we shoot into the sky.
This time I’m brave enough to turn my head and open my eyes to the world below. The lights of Havenwood Falls glow. It’s a cheery, lit-up town in an otherwise dark canyon of mountains and trees. Mathews River shimmers from one end of town to the other, and beyond. Cars dot the streets, moving slowly from work to home, from homes to stores. From here, the moonlight turns the flecks of gold in Stuart Fountain into glowing dancing fairies. The gazebo in town square is a beacon thanks to all the Christmas lights wrapped around it. My world is so small, so peaceful from this vantage point. Breckin’s wing shifts into my sightline, and with a deep breath, I understand: my world is nothing like I thought.
We circle the town twice—“to assure we’re not being followed,” Breckin says tightly—before descending to a snow-covered deck. Breckin’s house is a completely updated and remodeled historic Victorian located on the corner of Fairchild and Eleventh. Not exactly the most private spot for a family of angels. The fence around the yard is a stone wall and iron bars. Anyone who passes by can see us standing here. I would have expected them to live up in the woods on a private lot, or in Havenwood Heights. I’ve passed this street hundreds of times. How did I not know he lived here?
“You’re not worried about people seeing you?”
Breckin shrugs as his wings disappear before my eyes, and he pulls his shirt from where it’s tucked into the back of his pants and draws it over his head. “Humans don’t see us like this.”
“I see you,” I counter, leaning this way and that for a glimpse of his back as his shirt covers his skin.
Amber eyes lock on mine. “I let you.”
My argument dies, my breath catching at the cocky arch of his brow. I allow Breckin to lead me inside, his fingers warming mine. He pushes a hand through his hair, releasing deep sighs as we walk through the richly decorated—and unusually dark—house and down a set of stairs. He flips a switch, and we end up in what might as well be called an apartment in his basement. A living room, complete with a stone fireplace, a huge projection screen, and dark leather couches and chairs, fills the right side. An eat-in kitchen and bar fills the left. On the far end of the room is a second sitting area with two doors on the far wall. I make out the end of a bed through one and spot a sink—obviously a bathroom—through the other. Biting my nails for the sole purpose of ensuring my jaw hasn’t dropped to my knees, I turn and gawk at the rest of the basement: built-ins, a full-sized pool table, an old-fashioned arcade game, and a bar-height table with chairs in the corner.
“I think this place is bigger than the apartment Mom and I live in.”
“My house?” Breckin asks, leaving me standing at the bottom of the steps.
I laugh at the excess laid out before me. “No, your basement.”
The fireplace flares to life with the flick of another switch, and Breckin straightens. “Sorry,” he says uncomfortably.
My eyes wander the room. No Christmas tree, lights, presents, or stockings. The upstairs was dark and unfestive as well. Christmas is in two weeks. “Don’t you celebrate the holidays?”
He’s an angel—isn’t Christmas a pretty big deal to them?
Breckin’s mouth twists, his shoulder sort of popping up in a half shrug as he looks around. He seems indifferent. I should have kept my mouth shut.
“Sorry, that’s not my business.” I hug myself, and my teeth chatter as a shiver works from my toes to the top of my head.
Breckin grabs a throw. “You’re freezing. Take off your shoes and jacket and come sit by the fire.”
I wiggle my toes in my boots. They’re ice, despite the thick wool socks I wear. The fire looks delectable, but I stand fixed at the base of the stairs—uncertain. Searching my bag, I pull out my phone as Breckin remains beside the fire, his face impassive.
“I won’t hurt you.”
My eyes lift from my cell.
“You’re safe, Vivienne. He won’t come here, and I won’t hurt you,” he repeats.
“I know.” I sigh, like I’m surprised the words came from my lips.
Breckin shoves his hair back, his right eye narrowing thoughtfully.
“That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? After tonight . . . I don’t think I truly know anything, but . . .” I pause. My fear and hesitation aren’t rooted in what he is, or isn’t. We’ve lived in the same town and gone to the same school all our lives. He’s got an ego, he causes trouble occasionally, but he’s not a bad guy. And he isn’t someone I’ve ever been afraid of. Still, my heart races as nerves dance in my stomach. I’m terrified of letting down my guard. Terrified of my thoughts, my feelings. Feelings? Where did this come from?
“I trust you. I’m just—” My shoulders lift when I can’t articulate properly.
“Freaked out? Scared as hell? Considering a mental institution?” He says it with such calm—straight-faced, mouth drawn—I can’t prevent laughter from bubbling up.
“Well, thank goodness.” My fingers fumble with my jacket as my hesitance melts away. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who thinks I’m crazy.”
Breckin’s poker face slips as I untangle my bag from around my neck and set it on the floor. I shrug out of my jacket, kick off my boots, and inhale deeply before daring to move forward.
He holds the throw blanket out as I near him and the plump chair he’s angled toward the fire. “You’re not crazy, Vivienne.”