Page 33 of Inferno

My heart rate speeds up, and my palms go clammy. I lift my eyes to meet Inferno’s, and it’s all there. The recognition, the danger, the lust, the truth, the… safety.

“Emmy, breathe,” he cajoles. “I’m gonna take you home, but I can’t put you on the back of my bike until you calm down.”

Breathe? How am I supposed to breathe when I’m holding onto a ghost?

16

Inferno

“How is this possible?”

I rub my hands up and down Emmy’s arms in an effort to comfort her. I’m surprised she hasn’t run screaming yet, but I guess that has more to do with the fact that right now, all she has is suspicions that don’t make a damn bit of sense.

“Let me get you home, and we can talk,” I offer.

“He recognized you, too.”

I sigh and thrust a hand through my hair. “He did. But, like you, he’s mistaking me for?—”

“Don’t,” she snaps, slowly regaining composure. “Don’t lie to me.”

Well, shit. Now what?

“I can see it clear as day in your eyes,” she continues. “There's some sort of freaky explanation for all of this, and I want to know what it is.”

“Not here,” I plead.

Emmy takes a deep breath, then another and another. After a few minutes, her shaking subsides, and her breathing is under control. But the utter confusion in her expression is on full display.

“Take me home,” she demands, walking to my bike, picking up the rose and extinguisher as she goes.

“Here.” I reach for the items, and she hands them to me.

After securing them in the saddle bag, I bend down for the box to see if there was anything inside that I missed. There’s an envelope, and I stick it in the pocket of my cut before helping her onto the Harley.

The ride to her place is tense, and the pizza is forgotten. All I can think about is what I’m going to tell her, the consequences a confession will have, and the feel of her body pressed against mine.

It’s an odd combination.

By the time we reach her house, I have a basic outline of how I’m going to tell her who I really am. The fact that Odin hasn’t struck me down is encouraging. He can tap into our thoughts, and I tell myself that he knows what I’m about to do and doesn’t care. Forget the fact that he just might not be listening at the moment.

After I park my bike, Emmy slides from the seat and puts some distance between us before facing me with a scowl.

“I want the truth,” she snaps.

I groan. “Can we at least go inside so I’m not airing my dirty laundry for the entire neighborhood?”

She thinks about that for a second and then spins around and rushes to the front door. “Better hurry, or I’m locking your ass out,” she calls over her shoulder.

I lunge toward the porch and manage to slide through the doorway before she closes the door in my face.

“You’ve got five minutes,” she bites out.

How am I supposed to explain everything in five minutes? I waste the first two trying to regroup because my plan when I pulled in the driveway has disappeared from my brain.

“Time’s ticking.”

Before I can talk myself out of it, I spit out my entire story. I confess to who I am, the fact that I’m dead, all about Valhalla, and being sent back to the human world for her.

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