White Hot Kiss. Jennifer L. Armentrout

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      CHAPTER TWO

      Morris didn’t talk on the way to the house on Dunmore Lane. No big surprise there. Morris never spoke. Maybe it was the stuff he saw going on inside our house that left him speechless. I really didn’t know.

      Fidgety to the tenth degree from sitting on the bench for about an hour waiting on Morris, I bounced my foot on the dashboard the whole way home. It was only four miles, but four miles in D.C. equaled a billion miles elsewhere. The only part of the trip that went fast was the private stretch of road leading up to Abbot’s monster of a home.

      With four stories, countless guest rooms and even an indoor pool, it was more like a hotel than a home. It really was a compound—a place where the unmarried male Wardens in the clan lived and operated like command central. As we drew closer, I blinked and let out a muttered curse that earned me a disapproving look from Morris.

      Six stone gargoyles that hadn’t been there this morning were perched on the edge of our rooftop. Visitors. Great.

      I pulled my feet down from the dashboard and grabbed my bag off the floor. Even with their wings folded in and faces turned down, the hunched shapes were a formidable sight against the starry night.

      In their resting form, Wardens were nearly indestructible. Fire couldn’t harm them. Chisels and hammers couldn’t breach their shell. People had tried every form of weapon since the Wardens went public. So had the demons since, well, forever, but Wardens were only weak when they looked human.

      The moment the car drifted to a stop in front of the sprawling porch, I jumped out and tore up the steps, skidding to a halt in front of the door. In the upper-left corner of the porch, a small camera shifted to where I stood. The light blinked red. Somewhere in the massive rooms and tunnels under the mansion, Geoff was in the control room and behind the camera. No doubt getting a kick out of making me wait.

      I stuck out my tongue.

      The light turned green a second later.

      Rolling my eyes when I heard the door unlocking, I opened it and dropped my bag in the foyer. Immediately, I started toward the stairs. After a second thought, I swiveled around and raced toward the kitchen. Finding the room blissfully empty, I dug out a roll of sugar-cookie dough from the fridge. I broke off a chunk and then headed upstairs. The house was cemetery quiet. At this time of the day, most would be in the training facility underground or had already left to hunt.

      All except Zayne. For as long as I could remember, Zayne had never left to hunt without seeing me first.

      I took the steps three at a time, munching on the dough. Wiping my sticky fingers across my denim skirt, I nudged his door open with my hip and froze. I seriously needed to learn how to knock.

      I saw his pearly-white, luminous glow first—a pure soul. Different from a human soul, a Warden’s essence was pure, a product of what they were. Very few humans retained a pure soul once they started exercising the whole thing called free will. Due to the taint of the demonic blood I carried, I knew I didn’t have a pure soul. I wasn’t sure I had a soul at all. I could never see mine.

      Sometimes...sometimes I didn’t think I belonged with them—with Zayne.

      A sense of shame curled low in my stomach, but before it could spread like noxious fumes, Zayne’s soul faded, and I wasn’t really thinking about anything.

      Fresh out of the shower, Zayne tugged a plain black T-shirt on over his head. Not quick enough that I missed a tantalizing glimpse of abs. Rigorous training kept his body chiseled and rock hard. I dragged my gaze up when the stretch of skin disappeared. Damp sandy hair clung to his neck and sculpted cheeks. His features would be too perfect if it weren’t for those watered-down blue eyes all Wardens had.

      I shuffled to the edge of his bed and sat. I shouldn’t think of Zayne the way I did. He was the closest thing I had to a brother. His father, Abbot, had raised us together and Zayne looked at me like the little sister he somehow ended up saddled with.

      “What’s up, Layla-bug?” he asked.

      Part of me loved it when he used my childhood nickname. The other part—the part that wasn’t a little girl anymore—loathed it. I peeked at him through my lashes. He was fully clothed now. What a shame. “Who’s on the roof?”

      He sat beside me. “A few travelers from out of town needed a place to rest. Abbot offered them beds, but they preferred the roof. They didn’t—” He stopped suddenly, leaning forward, grabbing my leg. “Why are your knees scuffed up?”

      My brain sort of shorted out the moment his hand touched my bare leg. A hot flush stole over my cheeks, spreading way, way down. I gazed at his high cheekbones and СКАЧАТЬ