Page 59 of When Hearts Awaken

Groaning, I stagger off the bed and head toward the door, my legs threatening to collapse as the ground swirls with each step. I’m seasick in the middle of a hurricane and none of this is happening.

Peering through the peephole, I blink the dots away from my vision as a head of familiar blond hair comes into view. With my remaining strength, I unhook the safety chain and disengage the lock before sliding down to the floor.

I plaster my body on the cool marble tiles and close my eyes. The surface feels so good to my overheated body. Everything hurts and throbs.

The door slowly opens in a soft creak, but I barely have the energy to look at him.

“Fuck,” Charles mutters, and a wave of bergamot and cedarwood hits my nostrils and I greedily draw in a deep breath.

Anything that doesn’t smell like death is welcomed.

“What the hell, minx. I went to ABTC today, and Ainsley and your friend, Lisa, were worried sick about you, saying you blew off mandatory rehearsals for Paris.”

He pulls me up from the floor and into his arms. “You look like crap. Why haven’t you called anyone?”

“You woke me up. I didn’t get a chance to call,” I mumble.

God, he feels so good—the smell, the heat, the deep timbre of his voice. I snuggle into his hard chest, my hands seeming discombobulated from my body, but I still try to touch his pecs.

I’ve been dying to know what they feel like. I didn’t get to touch them during the kiss, the kiss I still dream about because I wish I could go back in time and experience it again. But without the fear or terror. I knead his muscles. They are so hard, so strong, just like the rest of him. Is this how normal women feel? Craving the body of a man without fear?

His pecs flex under my sporadic motions.

“That’s so fucking sexy,” I mumble, my mind woozy. I wouldn’t be surprised if drool is dripping from my mouth. I wish I wasn’t sick so I could enjoy this. He’s all man—every hard inch of him.

A deep chuckle reaches my ear. “You’re definitely sick.”

A barrage of random thoughts slam into my mind as a wave of nausea thrashes in my gut. Covering my mouth, I dry heave before finally looking at my golden archangel, cradling me like I’m precious.

Beautiful. Unmarred. Worthy of love.

An overhead light renders his face in half shadows, like he’s wearing a halo. It’s fucking ridiculous, but I swear I can hear the angels sing.

“Charles,” I murmur, my vision blurry, but I see his glorious golden blond hair, ruffled and unkempt, his scruff longer. Those piercing blue eyes darken like the stormy sea. “I’m dead, aren’t I? Is this hell and you’re here with me? That would be the hell I’ve imagined—trapped with you for eternity. But why would you be in hell? Aren’t you an archangel?”

He lets out something suspiciously like a growl and a snort.

“Agrort.” I stifle a delirious giggle. “You just grorted.”

“Oh fuck, what am I going to do with you?” he murmurs, affection in his voice. I have to be hearing things because why would he be treating me like I’m precious? He stands up and lifts me into his chest like I weigh nothing. My heart skips a beat and something flutters in my gut.

He starts moving; the motion jostles my head, and the stabbing headache worsens.

“You’re going to stay in bed. No complaints from you.”

“You’re a tyrant. You can’t boss me around. I’ll do what I want.”

“Watch me, brat.”

“What are you going to do? Punish me?” I mumble, completely exhausted. Snuggling deeper into his hold, I listen to the steady thumps of his heartbeat—powerful, reassuring, a safe harbor. I’m so tired but in this moment, I can finally rest.

“No, you’ll be awake and well when I punish you. And you’ll be asking for more.” Is it my imagination or his voice carries a rougher edge? A frisson of awareness slithers through me, but I’m too sick to think much of it. “You need rest. Lots of it.”

But something about his words earlier finally register in my mind. I open my eyes. “N-No, I’m not sleeping. There’s so much to do. The trainees’ showcase. It’s n-next week. They aren’t ready. They need this to get their scholarships for next year. And I need to practice for Paris.”

I can’t afford to mess up Paris, my first performance as Odette—the first test to see if I’m ready for a promotion.

Struggling in his arms, I push at him, but it’s like trying to move a boulder. He holds me tightly.

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