Beauty in the Ashes

My lips quirked up in a small smile. “Black knight?”

“You’re sure as hell not a white knight. I don’t see you helping any old ladies across the street,” she mumbled and—what the hell? She was kissing the floor.

It was official. Sutton was the most entertaining drunk I had ever met.

“I’m sorry I haven’t helped any old ladies recently.”

I took a seat on the couch, wondering if I should leave her there, or what.

“You’re mean. Always so grumpy. ‘Turn your music down,’” she mimed my voice poorly. “And always so cryptic. You—” Her words stuttered to a stop as she jolted into a sitting position. “I’m going to be sick,” she clapped a hand over her mouth. Coming to her feet, she ran around like a chicken with its head cut off as she searched for the bathroom.

I grabbed her by the wrist and led her there.

As soon as she saw the porcelain throne, she collapsed to her knees, emptying the contents of her stomach. Her small body heaved, and I reached down to pull her hair back. I was surprised by its silky texture. It was smooth between my fingertips and smelled of coconuts. In fact, she always smelled like coconut. It must have been her favorite scent.

“Whoa,” I cried when she fell to the side.

Her eyes were closed, and she’d clearly lost the battle of staying awake. Most people didn’t have a tolerance for alcohol like I did.

“All right, Sleeping Beauty,” I groaned, lifting her into my arms once more. I cradled her against me like you would a child. She buried her face into my shirt, inhaling the scent.

I knew I should do the normal Caelan thing and take her to her apartment, dump her on the floor, and not care what happened to her.

But I couldn’t.

No.

Old Caelan was resurfacing from a long slumber—resurrected from the dead—and Old Caelan didn’t leave drunk girls to fend for themselves. Fuck, I was starting to care and that was such a bad thing.

Caring isn’t bad, Cael. Cayla’s ghost voice echoed through my head. What you’ve been doing is bad.

“Shut up!” I screamed at the voice.

Reigning in my quickly accelerating temper, I looked down at Sutton. She was beautiful. She was warm. She was vibrant. She was a fighter. She was everything I was not.

I needed to distance myself, before we were both destroyed.

My gut told me that would be easier said than done.

CHAPTER 9

Sutton

My arms were wrapped around the softest, nicest smelling pillow I’d ever come into contact with. I squeezed it closer to my chest, inhaling the scent. There was something woodsy and masculine about the scent with bitter undertones of paint.

Paint.

Oh, shit.

I jerked awake, my eyes opening to take in the unfamiliar apartment.

With a scream, I fell out of the bed onto the floor.

I rubbed the sore spot on the back of my head where it had connected with the floor.

I heard rustling, then, peering over the edge of the bed was a boyish looking Caelan. His eyes were hooded with sleep and his blond hair stuck up wildly around his head. “Mornin’,” he yawned. “You know, you talk in your sleep, and you like to snuggle. I don’t like snuggling,” he glared.

“Why the fuck am I in your bed?” I cried, clutching my head, which throbbed painfully from a killer hangover as well as from getting bonked on the floor. I tried in vain to remember what happened last night, but all I could recall was alcohol and dancing. Lots of dancing.