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Celia’s Picks: Spooky Spots in San
Francisco
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Luke was cannon-balled out of slumber by the sudden presence of one hundred-and-fifty pounds of hound landing on his back.
Facedown atop a supremely soft mattress with his arms stretched wide and his head hanging off the foot of the bed, it took him a second to rally his speech center. “What the actual bloody hell,
Bolt?”
Bolt ignored him, bouncing around Luke’s body, pitching him side to side, up, down, up, down.
“For feck’s sake.” What the double bloody hell was Bolt on about with all the yapping and yipping and bashing of Luke’s kidneys with his big paws?
Luke rolled onto his back. “Enough, Bolt. Sit.”
Eyes closed, he batted a hand at his hound, warding off the canine’s attempts to lick his face. “Go chase a squirrel, will you? Crikey.”
Bolt whined and smacked one large paw down upon Luke’s bare chest. Ouch. “Duuude,” he drawled. “Chill.”
Fingers snapped, silencing his dog lickety-split. Bolt plopped down next to him, tail thwacking against Luke’s leg right where his board shorts ended above the knee.
He elbowed his dog in the side. “Cut it out, cur.” Hold on. Snapping fingers… Who possessed the ability to boss his animal around and convince the stubborn bugger to obey?
Only one person in any dimension wielded this kind of puppy power. But no, it can’t be her. She’d made it clear he remained persona non grata in her life with her recent no-show in the Underworld.
With his heartbeat jackhammering in his chest, he sucked in a deep breath, soaking in the unique floral scent of the woman who broke his rarely used heart, hoping this was no mere post-party hallucination.
“Gabrielle,” he whispered. God’s messenger and elite warrior, the angel he’d admired and cherished. “Elle.” The woman he’d let down, and who ultimately walked away.
A grin spread over his face and happy chills frolicked down his body.
“Angel baby. You’re here.” He cranked open his eyelids to gaze up at her in wonder.
Lightning crackled in the depths of her glittering green eyes as she loomed over him, her unhappy expression promising pain. Yep, his angel was clearly not as thrilled as he was about this unexpected reunion.
Years of yearning crashed to the forefront. He ached to caress her smooth, cloud-pale skin, to bury his fingers in the long fire-red hair she always kept swept up in a high ponytail. Memories surged, of her curves pressed against him while they kissed under the stars in Faerie, of her wicked strong legs wrapped around his torso while they made love against his castle wall, on the spiral staircase, in the sky—
A snarl escaped his angel’s throat, and her arm shot downward, her fingers of steel snagging him by the throat and squeezing his windpipe.
“Luke.” She uttered his name as if it were the vilest curse word in any dimension, then lifted him with little effort and slammed him up against the wall…
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1 comment:
Thanks for hosting Elle and Luke on your blog. Happy Halloween month! :-)
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