DAUGHTER OF DARKNESS

14

It all confused him. New feelings—no, forgotten ones—stirred inside his chest.

And the strongest feeling was toward the girl seating in front of him.

“What is it this time?” Kianna asked, patting her cheeks again. “Am I still too pale?”

Devon hadn’t meant to stare at her for so long, but when it came to her, he didn’t have much choice, or control. “No, you look pretty, as always.” Red quickly spread through her cheeks and she stared at the glass of water in her hands. Damn it, he shouldn’t have said that. “I’m going … to start supper now.”

Devon turned to the wood stove and filled a pot with water.

But he couldn’t resist. He watched her from over his shoulder. Quietly, Kianna stood from her seat and tiptoed to the corner of the dining room, where there was a tall shelf full of books. He had seen her reading before, especially under the cherry tree at the edge of the lake. As she fingered the spine of the books now, choosing her next read, Devon made a mental note. Next time he went to the village, he would stop by the book shop and buy a new book, or several, for her.

For some reason, the idea of giving her a present filled him with anticipation.

Kenna

We had been in this town for a week now, and nothing had happened. With every passing hour, I expected Slater and his men to break through the front door and take us away again, but it had been quiet. I sometimes doubted this peace was real. Even the darkness that usually followed me, bringing demons, had been absent.

My will to remain impassive about this move slipped away to hope. Hope that this was it. We had finally escaped Slater’s clutches. We were free.

But, since we had stopped running, I was getting easily bored.

Lia had gone out on a job interview around mid-morning, and I sat on the back porch to read. But around noon, my stomach growled, and I headed to the kitchen. The fridge had a few leftovers, but as usual, nothing called to me, so I decided to cook.

After my cake fiasco, I was determined to succeed. A lot of people cooked, why couldn’t I?

I prepped everything: thawed the shrimp, cooked the pasta, but when it was time to work on the sauce, things went downhill. Because of our limited cash, Lia and I had visited a couple of yard sales and acquired a lot of old things, especially kitchen stuff like a toaster, bowls, and a set of blue pots. Among those things was a food processor. I cut an onion into big slices and put it in the food processor. The moment I pressed the “on” button, a weird hissing sound came from the freaking thing, followed by smoke.

“Oh, s**t,” I muttered as I pressed the off button. But the thing didn’t stop. More smoke came from the food processor until sparks shot out from under the blades. I yelped and reached for the power cord, but as I pulled it from the outlet, another spark flashed from the thing, prickling my hand. I screamed as I cradled my hand against my chest. “s**t, s**t, shit.”

The back door burst open, and for a moment, my heart stopped.

This was it. Slater was here, and he would take me.

Devon looked a little disheveled with his dark hair messed up by the wind. “What happened?” His eyes scanned the place, as if searching for an enemy. Then, his gaze found the smoking food processor, and my hand pressed against my chest. “What happened?” he asked again, his tone less urgent.

I frowned at him. “W-why are you here?”

Straightening to his full height—the guy had to be at least six-two—he ran a hand through his hair, pushing the longer strands back. “I was in my backyard. I heard your scream.”

“And you just burst inside someone else’s home when you hear a scream?”

His thick brows curled down. “Yes.”

With my good hand, I gestured toward the food processor. “As you can see, I had a little technical problem.”

“What about your hand?”

I glanced at my hand. My fingertips were a little red and raw, and they stung as if I had touched a hot pan. “I … I’m fine.”

In three long strides, Devon was right in front of me. He grabbed my hand. Taking in a lungful of air, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, then shook his head and stared at my hand.

What the hell was that?

“You should apply some burn cream to your fingers.” He looked around. “Where’s your first aid kit?”

I stared at him. What was his deal? I had seen him around his house a couple of times during the past week. He had even come over once when Lia asked for his help with the new dresser she had bought for my bedroom, and of course, she insisted he stay for dinner after.

The more I looked at him, the more I didn’t understand him. As far as I knew, he was twenty-one and lived alone. He had mentioned his parents had died, though he never had said how. But besides his shady past, there was probably something wrong with him, because how could he be alone? I wasn’t blind and I had to admit to myself he was too gorgeous for his own good. A magazine cover-worthy face with sharp angles that could cut with a glance; red, full lips, which I bet were good at kissing; enigmatic, dark eyes that bored holes into my soul. His silky hair was cut short, save for a few longer strands on top, which stubbornly fell over his forehead every few minutes. And as if his perfect face wasn’t enough, he was tall, with wide shoulders. His polo shirt fit his hard chest nicely, and his arms were corded with lean muscles. Handsome, hot, single, and discreet. How wasn’t that the perfect recipe to have at least a girlfriend?

Perhaps he had one, and he just hadn’t mentioned her yet.