Broken Compass

“Yeah.” His voice is a rasp. “The aura shit is bad enough.”

“Aura?” I flick the switch, plunging the room in darkness, the only light filtering through the slats on the window, faintly illuminating the bed and Nate. I blink, waiting for my vision to adjust.

Aura. Wait, that rings a bell. Something about vision disturbances that sometimes accompany migraines.

Hell.

More time passes.

“What is this aura thing like?”

He rolls his head toward me, lashes lifting, eyes opening to slits. The faint light from the half-open blinds casts his face in milky light. “Blurry vision. Flashes of light… halos. I see halos.”

“Like those of saints?”

“I guess.” He lifts an arm and curls it under his head, pale skin stretched over strong muscle. His thick, dark hair is messy. “I saw one around you the first time I met you.”

For some strange reason, that pleases me. “You know what that means,” I say smugly. “You like me.”

He doesn’t deny it, which pleases me even more. But then what he says dawns on me. “You had a migraine when we first met?”

“No. Sometimes I catch it in time. Food helps.”

“Noted.” And the mystery of the creepy staring is now solved. “I’ll be sure to feed you next time you look at me weird.”

One side of his mouth curls up. “You really are a funny guy, underneath it all.”

“Flattery will get you anywhere.”

“Really? I’ll keep that in mind.”

For what? I wanna ask. The guy barely speaks to me on the best of days. I gaze at him, at the pallor of his face, the dark smudges under his eyes. He has pretty eyes for a guy, I think randomly. In the dim light they look gray, but they’re actually a golden color, fringed by those thick, dark lashes.

Not that West’s eyes aren’t pretty, too.

And why the hell am I thinking of the guys’ eyes? Like I ever noticed guys before. I’m straight as an arrow. What I feel for Syd… is different. Her pull on me is distinct.

Isn’t it?

God, what a fucking strange night.

Light burns my eyes, and I grunt, turning my face away to shield it. My head pounds, a steady, maddening throb in my temples. I come awake in degrees, folded awkwardly on a bed that’s definitely not mine. The angle is all wrong, and there’s a scent all around me that’s pleasant but unfamiliar—like dark spice and vanilla.

What the hell happened last night?

I push myself upright, my back creaking, my neck stiff and achy. The fuck. I push hair out of my eyes and rub at my dry mouth. It tastes vile.

“Rise and shine,” someone says behind my back, and I jerk, only to relax a second later when I recognize the voice.

“Dammit, don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Nate grins down at me, leaning back against the wall. He’s dressed in sweats and a ratty T-shirt that clings to his chest. He has a mug in his hand.

I really should stop staring at him. What’s wrong with me? “Hey, is that coffee?”

“Yeah. For you.” He walks over and places it on the nightstand. “Didn’t wanna wake you. You were knocked out.”

“Man…” I stretch and yawn hugely, my jaw cracking. “I was bushed.”