THE NIGHT WE FELL

CHAPTER FIVE

ZEPHYR

I wake up slowly, the softness of the sheets wrapping around me like a warm blanket. The sound of rain patters gently against the window. A smile crosses my face as I remember where I am, but it disappears instantly. My eyes flutter open, and I freeze. I feel something—or rather, someone—holding me. A man’s arms are wrapped around me, and my heart races.

Who is he? How did he get in here? My mind races through a thousand questions in an instant. I twist away, my breath quickening. The man stirs and pulls me closer to his bare chest. My face is buried in his neck, my hands pressed against his hard body. I catch a hint of his shower gel, but it’s overshadowed by the heavy stench of alcohol.

Mustering enough strength, I push him away and see his face—familiar, but I can’t quite place him. Panic floods my system. In a flash of instinct, I swing my hand and slap him hard across the cheek.

“Get off me!” I shout, my voice sharp and panicked.

He blinks, stunned. “What the—?” he starts to say, but I’m already swinging a pillow at him. It connects with a soft thud, but he doesn’t seem fazed. Instead, he grabs the pillow and pulls it away from me, trying to regain control. I grab another pillow and smack him again, harder this time. He snatches it easily. I run to a corner and grab my shoe, ready to defend myself. I’ll shove it up his ass if he comes a step closer to me.

“Who are you?” he asks, his voice low and tense.

“I should be asking you that!” I shoot back, my heart pounding.

“Why are you in my bed?” he demands, narrowing his eyes.

“What are YOU doing here?!” I reply, frustration boiling over. “I woke up and you were holding me! Why were you holding me? Who are you?”

“You’re not understanding me,” he responds in a low voice. “You’re in no position to ask questions here. This is my house; you were in my bed. Mine.”

He emphasizes the last word by pointing to his chest. For the first time, I take a good look at him. My eyes linger on his taut abdomen before drifting to his defined waistline. I pull myself together and focus on what he just said. Why didn’t Alda tell me the owner of this house would be here? Or at least, that he’s this attractive?

“I guess this is a misunderstanding. This isn’t my house.” He scoffs, as if to say ‘obviously.’ I already don’t like this jerk.

“Then why did you slap me?” he retorts, anger flashing in his eyes.

“What do you mean by that?” Is this man serious? “Because you scared me! Was I supposed to kiss you good morning? I woke up to a stranger cuddling me.” Disgust colors my trembling voice. Do I really need to spell everything out for him?

“Great, so now I’m the bad guy for just sleeping?” His expression is still furious.

“Well, do you cuddle everyone when you sleep?”

“You’re really something,” he says with a sarcastic laugh. “Yes, I cuddle everyone who sleeps in my bed.”

I roll my eyes, feeling the heat of my anger rising. How can a person be this rude without even trying?

“What’s your name?” he asks calmly, clearly trying to hold back his anger.

“Zephyr,” I reply defensively. “And you?”

“And me? You don’t know the name of the person whose house you slept in?”

I glance at the imprint of my fingers on his cheek, wishing I could replace them with a fresh set. But he has a point. I’m the intruder here.

“Look, I’m sorry for the intrusion. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you started hitting me!” he snaps.

“What was I supposed to do?” I shoot back, frustration boiling over. “I woke up to a stranger cuddling me!”

“Stop twisting this! You’re the one who woke up here and freaked out! I didn’t force you to be here,” he argues.

I glare at him, my heart racing. “This is ridiculous! I’m not going to sit here while you act like it’s my fault!”

“Fine! Then whose fault is it?” he asks, raising his hands in exasperation.

I need to call Alda. She’s in the best position to explain this mess. I look out at the rain falling and sigh. I should be enjoying a quiet sleep right now. If I had my way, I’d go back to bed and leave him to his rudeness. But I can’t; I’m in his bed after all.

“What are you doing?” he asks, hands on his waist.

I force my eyes to his instead of getting distracted by his muscles. Those brown orbs pull me in like swirling chocolate. He clears his throat, and embarrassment washes over me. He caught me staring.

“Get off the bed.” My words come out wrong, earning me a raised eyebrow from him. If only he’d put on a damn shirt!

“I need you to come down from the bed so I can find my phone.” I settle for that instead of giving him the satisfaction of knowing I can’t think straight with his body on display.

He hesitates for a moment, probably thinking of ways to annoy me instead of complying. I drop the shoe I’ve been holding. He seems crazy, but not enough to lay a finger on me.

He looks me up and down before slowly climbing down from the bed. Suddenly self-conscious, I remember how little I’m wearing. As soon as he’s out of bed, I climb in—but not to find my phone. Whatever I thought of his body when he was lying down is nothing compared to the reality now.

I search frantically for my phone, pushing thoughts of his sculpted body to the back of my mind. Finally, I find it under my pillow and dial Alda’s number. She doesn’t answer the first time, so I call again. Stealing a glance at the angry man behind me, I send a silent prayer. What if he decides to get me arrested?

Alda picks up on the second call.

“Thank goodness. You need to get here right now. There’s a man here who claims this is his house.”

“I claim? Come on!” He laughs, but frustration laces every bit of it.

Alda sighs into the phone, sending panic through me.

“I guess you’ve met my brother.”

I freeze, turning to look at the man leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed on me. I finally recognize him from a picture of Alda.

“This is War?”

“Yes, Zeph. You’ve met Warren.”

Oh no. This is literally war.