Page 79 of The Prodigal

Sitting up, I crack open the closet door and find the room enveloped in a warm glow, its light seeming to gravitate around the dark angel sitting upon his plastic throne, watching as the rain soaks his kingdom in a vengeful cleanse. It’s hard to imagine anyone could be so cruel to someone so…majestic.

Remington wasn’t created to serve.

He was created to rule.

Standing, I smile when I see Remington’s hand hanging off the chair, an unlit cigarette between his fingers. And he says we aren’t friends…An enemy would have smoked if he wanted to. He wouldn’t refrain for the sake of anyone’s health but his own. But here he is, stuck inside during a thunderstorm, denying himself…for me.

I’ve never seen such chivalry.

I take a step, coming to a stop when something crinkles under my foot. What in the world? Reaching down, I grab what looks to be the motel’s stationery and gasp at the sight.

It’s an angel.

An angel with his sword raised high in the air, protecting the world from evil.

It’s the image that’s been burned into my mind for years.

St. Michael, the archangel—the very man I wear around my neck.

He drew him.

He drew him forme.

Aw, hell, he’s mine now. Villain or not, this complicated man is mine—every shattered piece of him.

“I’m warning you now,” I say, approaching his still form with the drawing clutched in my hand. “How you answer my next question will determine your fate.”

I come to a stop between him and the window, blocking his view.

“I’ll admit, love, you had me atwarning.” His mouth twitches as he fights back a smile.

See? So fucking charming. Every man should take notes. This is how you find a wife who will follow you to the throne and bow at your feet. She will show a kingdom how to serve their king.

She will show them true loyalty.

True love.

And true devotion.

I find Remington’s brow cocked as he stares at me, rolling the cigarette between his fingers. “Should you come back later?” His gaze drifts to my hard nipples straining under my thin tank top. “Possibly when you don’t look so innocent and appetizing.”

I fucking love him.

I know it’s too soon and possibly a touch insane, but my gut has never steered me wrong. This man is my hateful king—the kindest villain I’ve ever met.

“No,” I tell him. “I won’t come back later.”

I force his knees apart and step through them, pushing the small paper up against his bare chest. “Did you draw this?”

He never looks down—he simply holds my gaze in a challenge. “No, I didn’t draw anything.”

What a beautiful liar he is.

“You drew this,” I correct, plucking the unlit cigarette from his fingers and placing it between my lips. “And you left it for me.”

Those fathomless eyes are hooded with desire. “You’re mistaken.”

“I’m afraid I don’t agree.”

---