Page 22 of King of Wrath

Rising from the bed, I stretch my arms over my head, the clock on the nightstand reading ten in the morning.

My eyes bug out. I never sleep this late.

And granted, I was exhausted yesterday, and up really late, but I was also in a strange place with a strange person. How did I manage to sleep so soundly?

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Jake calls a moment before he sticks his head into the room.

He’s still shirtless. In the light of day, I can see every cut angle of him, every pronounced muscle. The smattering of chest hair only making him hotter.

He steps into the room, his hand running down his own body, which is when I catch the flecks of grey in the dark strands of the hair on his chest.

For some reason, this fact instantly makes me wet. What the actual hell?

“Good morning,” I say, clearing my throat. I force my eyes away, my gaze going to the window as I stare out into the desert, now shimmering in the sun.

“Hungry?” he asks like he didn’t notice me ogling him.

My stomach betrays me with a growl. “Got any coffee?”

“Of course,” he answers as he leaves the room again, heading, presumably, back to the kitchen.

I follow, still groggy from the deep sleep. “I never sleep like that,” I say with another yawn. If I’m being honest, I’ve spent years on high alert. How strange that I relaxed with a…stranger.

“I’m glad you slept well.”

He’s got a blender on the counter, some green concoction all mixed. I wrinkle my nose. “What is that?”

“Smoothie,” he answers with a wink. “I worked out this morning and this is how I power back up. Got the recipe from my nephew Leo. His wife is pregnant, and she drinks these by the gallon.”

Working out right now sounds wretched. Instead, I take the mug of coffee he offers and take a large gulp.

The caffeine does little to clear my foggy head and the heat of the drink scalds my tongue. Setting it down on the counter, I yawn again. “It’s hot. I think I’ll take a cold shower and then drink it. That will clear my head as much as anything.”

“All right,” he answers, pouring himself a large glass of the green liquid.

I wrinkle my nose. “Are you always so health-conscious?”

He chuckles, the sound deep and rich. “Nope. I gave up smoking cigars a month ago, and I drink bourbon the way most men do water.”

I stare at him, my gaze drifting down his body. He’s joking. Like seriously joking. Except, I caught the faint scent of cigar smoke on his jacket last night.

Heading to the bathroom, I turn on the water and brush my teeth before I shuck off my clothes and step into the cool spray, humming to myself.

Singing has grounded me the last four years. It’s the only time I feel alive, whole, worth something. I let my voice grow, swell, my mezzo-soprano filling the bathroom.

It’s a funny thing, singing is the one thing I do that is for me…. I wonder if I would actually like making money with my voice? Then it would have to be for someone else. It doesn’t matter now. I’m here and not in Canada.

And here is proving to have a few advantages.

This feels wonderful and I close my eyes, just letting the water pour over me for a few minutes as the final notes of my song die and for a moment, I’m just quiet. Nothing but the sound of water.

That’s when a strange noise hits my ears. It’s like a hissing…

Is it the pipes? We are in the desert. My guess is water pressure isn’t the best. But as I turn in the spray, I let out a blood curdling scream.

In the corner of the shower, a snake has curled up, its head lifted, its tongue tasting the air. I scream again, scrambling to get out of the tub but my foot catches the shower curtain and I’m falling, the curtain and the rod come down with me as I land hard on my shoulder.

I let out a moan, pain so sharp it steals my breath, radiating through me.

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