White Hot Kiss (The Dark Elements 1)

“There are no buts, Layla. What would have happened if the zombie was seen by anyone? We are charged with keeping the truth secret. Mankind must have faith that Heaven and Hell exist without proof.”

“Maybe we should cut back on her time tagging,” Zayne suggested. “We don’t need her doing it. Honestly, it’s all very lazy of us to rely on her tagging instead of actively searching them out.”

I stared at him, seeing my freedom shrivel up in front of me instead of his godly looks. “No one found out about the zombie today!”

“That’s not the point,” snapped Abbot. “You know better, Layla. You risked serious consequences by not telling us, not to mention risking your own safety.”

His disappointment rang through loud and clear. I shifted uneasily in my seat, feeling about a foot tall.

“We should check out the school tonight,” said Zayne. “Have the commissioner contact the superintendent—say it’s something routine so there’s no suspicion.”

“Good call.” He gave his son a proud smile.

I bristled. “So I’m not allowed to tag anymore?”

“That’s something I need to think about,” replied Abbot.

That didn’t sound good to me. I hated the idea of not being able to tag. It was the one thing that redeemed the demonic blood in me, or at least made me feel better. Taking that away was like a smack in the face. It also got me out of the house, and with Petr here that was even more important. I apologized once again and left the study. I felt as if I was on the verge of crying and screaming—or punching someone.

Zayne followed me into the hallway. “Hey.”

I stopped near the stairs, a rush of anger hitting me hard in the gut. I waited until he stood beside me. “You just had to tell him about the Seeker in the alley. Thanks.”

He frowned. “He needed to know, Layla. You weren’t being safe and you could’ve been hurt.”

“Then why didn’t you say something to me instead of running to your daddy?”

His jaw immediately clenched. “I didn’t run to my daddy.”

I folded my arms. “That’s not how it looks.”

Zayne gave me a sigh I was familiar with. It said you’re being childish and getting on my last nerve.

I ignored it. “Why would you even suggest that I stop tagging? You know how important it is to me.”

“Your safety is more important. You know I’ve never really agreed with them allowing you to run around D.C. by yourself, pursuing demons. It’s dangerous.”

“I’ve been tagging since I was thirteen, Zayne. I’ve never had any problem—”

“Until a few nights ago,” he interrupted, cheeks flushing with anger. It was so rare that Zayne ever lost his cool with me, but when he did, it was epic. “And it’s more than that. You’re young and pretty. Who knows what kind of attention you’re attracting out there.”

Any other time I would have been thrilled to hear him say I was pretty, but right now, I wanted to take that word and shove it in his face. “I can take care of myself.”

He looked at me dead-on. “What I’ve shown you will only get you so far.”

Irritation and the need to prove I wasn’t some helpless dweeb provoked what I said next. “And I know how to finish someone off.”

Zayne got what I was saying. A look of utter disbelief flickered across his face. “That’s the way you’d protect yourself? By taking someone’s soul? Nice.”

Immediately, I realized my mistake. I came down a step. “I didn’t really mean it, Zayne. You know that.”

He didn’t look too sure. “Whatever. I have things I need to do.”

“Like Danika?” I said before I could stop myself.

His eyes fell shut, and when they reopened, they were a sheltered, icy blue. “Real mature. Good night, Layla.”

The hot rush of tears clouded my vision as I watched him leave. I was making a mess of everything without even trying. That took talent. I turned around and saw Petr standing just inside the sitting room. The smirk on his face told me that he’d heard our whole exchange—and enjoyed it.

* * *

I woke up, heart pounding and throat burning. The sheets twisted around my legs, chafing my skin. Rolling over, I stared at the neon-green light of the alarm clock.

2:52 a.m.

I needed something sweet.

Throwing off the sheets, I stood. My nightgown clung to my damp skin. There wasn’t a single light on in the hallway outside my bedroom, but I knew the way by heart. There’d been so many nights when the craving unexpectedly hit hard, leading to dark and silent trips to the kitchen.

I padded down the steps and through the shadowy rooms in a hurry. My legs were starting to feel wobbly, my heart rate spiking. I can’t live like this.

My arm trembled as I pulled open the door to the fridge. Yellow light washed over my bare legs and the floor. I bent down, impatiently searching for the carton of orange juice among the bottles of water and milk. Annoyed and ready to kick something, I found the OJ behind the eggs.

The carton slipped from my shaking fingers, crashing to the floor and spilling sticky juice all over my toes. Tears welled up and spilled down my cheeks. I was crying over spilled orange juice, for chrissake. It had to be one of my lamest moments of all time.

Sitting next to the sticky puddle, I ignored the cold air from the fridge. God knows how long I sat there before I smacked the door shut. At once, the kitchen was pitched into darkness. I kind of liked it like that. It was just me being ridiculously stupid, and the darkness. No one could witness my hysterics.

Then I heard the soft fluttering of wings, growing louder as they moved toward the kitchen. I stiffened, my very breath halting in my throat. The air stirred around me. I looked up, seeing yellow eyes and fangs surrounded by skin the color and texture of polished granite. The nose was flat, nostrils thin slits. Parting the cascade of dark hair were two horns that curved inward.

Danika was just as striking in her true form as she was in her human.

She dropped beside me, claws tapping on the tile floor as she walked over to the kitchen island and grabbed a roll of paper towels. “Need help?”

It was strange seeing a six-foot gargoyle offer you paper towels.

Danika stared down at me, her dark gray lips curving into a tentative smile.

I hastily wiped my palms under my eyes and then took the wad of towels. “Thanks.”

Danika tucked her wings in as she crouched, cleaning up most of the mess with one swipe. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“I’m fine.” I picked up the carton. It was empty. Great.

She balled the paper towels, her fingers long and elegant, but those claws could rip through skin, muscle, even metal. “It doesn’t seem like you’re fine,” she said carefully. “Zayne told me that sometimes you...get sick.”

My head jerked up. A rush of hot betrayal swept through me. I couldn’t even form words.

Danika’s face grew pinched. “He’s just concerned about you, Layla. He cares about you deeply.”

I grabbed the soaked towels and empty carton, standing on shaky legs. “Oh.” I laughed harshly. “He does? That’s why he told you about my sickness?”

She slowly straightened. “He only said something so that I could help in case you needed anything.” She backed up, seeing the look on my face. “Layla, I don’t judge you. In fact, I think you’re incredibly strong.”