Page 43 of Touched By Darkness

She pulls me to a stop. “You’re not fine.”

I look back at the way we came, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. The sconces on the walls burn brightly, their flames dancing over the stone, shadows crawling and elongating.

“Come with me.”

Before I can protest, she hauls me along, gripping my arm tightly in her hand.

I let her lead me outside into the fresh night air, where we take a seat on the stone steps to the academy.

Nudging my knee with hers, she says, “Why don’t you tell me what happened to spook you?”

At the mention of the robed man with the knife, I shudder, wrapping my arms around myself to ward off the cold. “Someone tried to attack me in the library.”

Dariana stiffens. “Are you sure?”

“Unless it’s normal to carry knives and walk around in black robes, yes.” I meet her steady gaze. “He chased me when I ran.”

“You need to tell the headmistress.”

I’d rather peel off my own nails, one by one, than subject myself to that woman. She’s scary as hell.

“I don’t want her involved. It was probably someone playing a prank.”

At least, that’s what I’m choosing to believe. It’s easier than facing the truth.

Dariana looks unconvinced but lets it go, probably sensing my hesitancy to talk about it. “Is it true that you escaped Eden?” she asks instead.

It hurts that she doesn’t remember me.

Because she doesn’t. She’s not looking at me the way she used to.

There’s no fondness in her eyes; I could be anyone.

“Yes,” I breathe, looking back out at the forest. It’s less painful to stare at the shadows lurking beyond the thick trunks than to see the truth in her gaze.

Imaginary eyes peer back at me.

“Why did you leave Eden?”

“It didn’t feel like home anymore,” I whisper.

I stiffen when she shifts and smooths her hand over my wing. “They used to be white?”

“Yes.” My voice is weaker this time, barely audible over the evening breeze that rustles the leaves in the trees. I like the feel of her fingers gliding through my feathers.

I suppress a delicious shiver, then look at her. “Your stories about angels are true. They have white feathers, blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a shimmering hue to their skin.”

“But yours are black as night. And big.”

“They are.”

“What happened?”

I hold her gaze, trapped in her night sky. The urge to lean in and kiss her overwhelms me as I dig my nails into the stone to stop myself from acting on the impulse. “I fell from grace.”

I fell for you.

The last thought is a whisper on the breeze that tingles, unspoken, on my lips before floating away into the night.

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