Page 79 of Turmoil's Target

“Later, man.” I raise my bottle in salute as he weaves back into the crowd.

Alone again, Spark and I settle into companionable silence, surveying the party as we nurse our drinks.

Despite the good-natured ribbing and cold beer, I still can’t quite shake the dark cloud dogging my heels.

I hate this listless in-between feeling, stuck in my own head with nowhere to aim this restless energy.

I need something to do, something to sink my teeth into, some way to get my edge back.

Anything to stop my mind from circling back to piercing gray eyes and pink parted lips.

Fuck.

I scrub a hand down my face.

Don’t go there, asshole.

Suddenly the party feels too crowded, to overwhelming.

Draining my bottle, I push to my feet, slapping Spark on the shoulder. “I’m out, man. Catch you later.”

“Wait, what? C’mon, you just got here!”

But I’m already cutting through the crowd, desperate for air untainted by exhaust and stale beer and too many bodies.

Cool night wind slaps my face as I walk into the parking lot, gasping lungfuls that do nothing to ease the pressure on my chest.

Jesus, get it together.

Gravel crunches under my boots as I stalk past rows of bikes, no particular destination in mind.

I just need to move, to outrun my own damn thoughts before they catch up and drag me under again.

A flash of movement at the gate catches my eye.

Shiver, in the guard shack.

He’s leaning forward, squinting into the darkness beyond the chain link, shoulders tense.

“Yo, Shiver!” I call out as I draw closer. “What’s up, man? We got trouble?”

But as I reach the gate, the words shrivel and die in my throat.

Because there, haloed in the glow of a solitary streetlamp, is the absolute last person I expected to see tonight.

Or ever again.

“Hello, Abe.”

Seraphina.

My heart stutters, then kicks into overdrive.

I blink hard, half-convinced she’s nothing more than a figment conjured by too many nights with too little sleep.

But no, she’s still there, those storm-cloud eyes locked on mine, full lips curved in a smile that’s equal parts wicked and uncertain.

“Seraphina,” I rasp, tasting her name on my tongue like a long-forgotten prayer. “What the hell are you doing here?”

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